BY the blue taper's trembling light
No more I wafte the wakeful night,
Intent with endiefs view to pore
The fchoolmen and the fages o'er:
Their books from wildom widely stray,
Or point, at beft, the longest way.
I lock a readier path, and go
Where wildom's furely taught below.
How deep yon azure dyes the iky!
Where orbs of gold unnumber'd lie;
While thro' their ranks, in filver pride,
The nether crefcent feems to glide.
The flumbering breeze forgets to breathe,
The lake is fmooth, and clear beneath,
Where once again the spangled show
Deftends to meet our eyes below.
The grounds which on the right afpire,
In dimnels from the view retire;
The left profents a place of graves,
Whofe wall the filent water laves.
That feeple guides thy doubtful fight
Among the livid gleams of night.
There pas, with melancholy state,
By all the folemn heaps of fate;
And think, as foftly-fad you tread
Above the venerable dead,

'Time was, like thee they life poffeft,
And time shall be, that thou fhalt reft.'
Thole graves, with bending ofier bound,
That namclefs heave the crumbled ground,
Quick to the glancing thought difclofe,
Where toil and poverty repofe.

The Hat fmooth ftones that bear a name,
The chifels flender help to fame,
(Which, ere our fet of friends decay,
Their frequent fteps may wear away)
Amiddle race of mortals own,
Men half ambitious, all unknown.
The marble tombs that rife on high,
Whofe dead in vaulted arches lie,
Whofe pillars fwell with fculptur'd stones,
Arms, angels, epitaphs, and bones;
Thefe, all the poor remains of state,
Adorn the rich, or praise the great;
Who, while on earth in fame they live,
Are fenfclefs of the fame they give.
Ha' while I gaze, pale Cynthia fades,
The bursting earth unveils the shades!

All low, and wan, and wrapp'd with shrouds,
They rife in vifionary crowds;
And all with fober accent cry,
"Think, mortal, what it is to die."

Now, from yon black and fun'ral yew, That bathes the charnel-house with dew, Methinks I hear a voice begin(Ye ravens, ceafe your croaking din, Ye tolling clocks, no time refound O'er the long lake and midnight ground)It fends a peal of hollow groans, The fpeaking from among the bones: "When men my fcythe and darts supply, great a King of Fears am I!

HOR

They view me like the last of things;
They make, and then they dread, my ftings.
Fools! if you lefs provok'd your fears,
No more my spectre-form appears.
Death's but a path that must be trod,
If man would ever pass to God:
A port of calms, a state of cafe,
From the rough rage of fwelling feas.

Why, then, thy Howing fable stoles,
Deep pending cyprefs, mourning poles,
Loofe fcarfs to fall athwart thy weeds,
Long pails, drawn hearfes, cover'd steeds,
And plumes of black, that, as they tread,
Nod o'er the 'fcutcheons of the dead?

Nor can the parted body know,
Nor wants the foul, thefe forms of woe:
As men who long in prifon dwell,
With lamps that glimmer round the cell,
Whene'er their fuff'ring years are run,
Spring forth to greet the glittering fun;
Such joy, tho' far tranfcending fenfe,
Have pious fouls at parting hence.
On earth, and in the body plac'd,
A few, and evil years, they wafte:
But, when their chains are caft afide,
See the glad fcene unfolding wide;
Clap the glad wing, and tow'r away,
And mingle with the blaze of day.".

THE curfew tolls the knell of parting day,

The lowing herd winds flowly o'er the lea, The plowman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. Now fades the glimmering landfcape on the fight, And all the air a folemn ftillnefs holds, Save where the beetle wheels his drony flight, And drowly tinklings lull the diftant folds; Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tow'r,

The moping owl does to the Moon complain Of fuch, as, wand'ring near her fecret bow'r, Moleft her ancient folitary reign.

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's fhade,
Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,
[heap,

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.
The breezy call of incenfe-breathing morn, [fhed,
The fwallow, twitt'ring from the straw-built
The cock's fhrill clarion, or the echoing horn,

No more fhall roufe them from their lowly bed, For them no more the blazing hearth fhall burn, Or bufy housewife ply her evening care: Nor children run to lifp their fire's return,

Or climb his knees the envied kifs to fhare.

Oft did the harvest to their fickle yield;

Their furrow oft the ftubborn glebe has broke; How jocund did they drive their teams afield! How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy ftroke!

Let not ambition mock their useful toil,

Their homely joys, and deftiny obfcure; Nor grandeur hear with a difdainful fmile The fhort and fimple annals of the poor. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Await, alike, th' inevitable hour;

The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault,

If mem'ry o'er their tomb no trophies raife, Where thro' the long-drawn ifle and fretted vault, The pealing anthem fwells the note of praise. Can ftoried urn, or animated buft,

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can Honour's voice provoke the filent duft, Or Flatt'ry foothe the dull cold car of death?

Perhaps in this neglected fpot is laid

Some heart once pregnant with celeftial fire: Hands, that the rod of empire might have fway'd, Or wak'd to ecstasy the living lyre.

But knowledge to their eyes her ample page, Rich with the fpoils of Time, did ne'er unroll; Chill Penury reprefs'd their noble rage,

And froze the genial current of the foul. Full many a gem, of pureft ray ferene,

The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear. Full many a flow'r is born to blush unfeen,

And wafte its fweetnefs on the defart air.

Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breaft
The little tyrant of his fields withstood;
Some mute inglorious Milton here may reft;
Some Cromwell guiltlefs of his country's blood.
Th'applaufe of lift'ning fenates to command,
The threats of pain and ruin to despise,
To fcatter plenty o'er a fimiling land,

And read their history in a nation's eyes, Their lot forbade: nor circumfcrib'd alone [fin'd; Their growing virtues, but their crimes conForbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind; The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, To quench the blufhes of ingenuous fhame, Or heap the fhrine of Luxury and Pride

With incenfe kindled at the Mufe's flame. Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife Their fober wifhes never learn'd to stray; Along the cool fequefter'd vale of life

They kept the noifelefs tenor of their way. Yet ev'n thefe bones from infult to protect,

Some frail memorial ftill erected nigh, With uncouth rhimes and fhapelefs fculpture Implores the paffing tribute of a figh. [deck'd, Their name, their years, fpelt by th'unletter'd The place of fame and elegy fupply: [mufe, And many a holy text around the ftrews, That teach the ruftic moralift to die.

For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey,

This pleafing anxious being e'er refign'd, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,

Nor caft one longing, ling'ring, look behind? On fome fond breaft the parting foul relies,

Some pious drops the clofing eye requires: Ev'n from the tomb the voice of nature cries, Ev'n in our alhes live their wonted fires. For thee, who, mindful of th’unhonour'd dead, Doft in thefe lines their artlefs tale relate; If, chance, by lonely Contemplation led, Some kindred fpirit fhail inquire thy fate, Haply fome hoary-headed fwain may fay, "Oft have we feen him at the peep of dawn, Brufhing, with haily fteps, the dews away,

To meet the fun upon the upland lawn. There at the foot of yonder nodding beech,

That wreathes its old fantaftic roots fo high, His littlefs length at noon-tide would he ftretch, And pore upon the brook that bubbles by. Hard by yon wood, now fmiling, as in fcorn, Mutt'ring his wayward fancies, he would rove; Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn,

Or craz'd with care, or cross'd in hopeless love. One morn I mifs'd him on the custom'd hill, Along the heath, and near his fav'rite tree: Another came; nor yet befide the rill,

Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he. The next, with dirges due, in fad array, [borne: Slow thro' the church-yard path we faw him Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay, Grav'd on the ftone beneath yon aged thorn."

THE EPITAPH.

Here refts his head upon the lap of earth,

A youth to Fortune and to Faine unknown; Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth, And Melancholy mark'd him for her own. Large was his bounty, and his foul fincere,

Heav'n did a recompence as largely send : He gave to Mis'ry all he had, a tear; [a friend He gain'd from Heav'n ('twas all he with'd) No farther feek his merits to disclose,

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (There they alike in trembling hope repofe) The bofom of his Father and his God.

$45. Death. Dr. PORTEUS, Bp. of London. FR RIEND to the wretch whom every friend forfakes,

I woo thee, Death! In fancy's fairy paths
The ftrain of empty joy. Life and its joys
Let the gay fongfter rove, and gently trill
I leave to thofe that prize them. At this hour,
This folemn hour, when filence rules the world,
And wearied nature makes a gen'ral paufe;
Wrapt in night's fable robe, through cloyffers
And charnels pale, tenanted by a throng [drear

Of meagre phantoms fhooting crofs my path With tint glance, I feck the fhadowy vale Of Death. Deep in a murky cave's recefs, Lavid by Oblivion's liftlefs ftream, and fenc'd By having rocks, and intermingled horrors Of yew and cyprets thade, from all intrufion Of bufy noontide beam, the Monarch fits la uni oftantial majefty enthron'd. At his right hand, nearest himself in place And frightfulncts of form, his parent Sin With fatal industry and cruel care Buties hertelf in pointing all his ftings, And tipping every fhaft with venom drawn From her internal ftore: around him rang'd In terrible array, and mixture ftrange Of uncouth fhapes, stand his dread Minifters. Foremost Old Age, his natural ally

And firmeft friend: next him difeafes thick, A motley train; Fever, with check of fire; Conlumption wan; Palty, half warm with life, And half a clay-clod lump; joint-tort'ring Gout, And ever-gnawing Rheum; Convulfion wild; Soln Dropty; panting Afthma; Apoplex Ful-gog'd. There too the Peftilence that walks In darkness, and the Sickness that deftroys Attrad noon-day. These, and a thousand more, Hond to all, attentive wait; and, when ByHeav'n's command Death waves his ebonwand, Sudden ruth forth to execute his purpofe, Aud fcatter defolation o'er the Earth.

[duft

Ill-fated Man, for whom fuch various forms
Of mis'ry wait, and mark their future prey!
Ah! why, all-righteous Father, didft thouinake
This creature, Man? why wake th'unconfcious
To life and wretchedness? O better far
Still had he flept in uncreated night,
If this the lot of Being! Was it for this
Thy Breath divine kindled within his breaft
The vital flame For this was thy fair image
Stampt on his foul in godlike lineaments?
For this dominion given him abfolute
O'er all thy works, only that he might reign
Supreme in woe? From the bleft fource of Good
Could Pain and Death proceed? Could fuch foul ills
Fall from fairMercy's hands: Far be the thought,
The impious thought! God never made a creature
But what was good. He made a living Soul;
The wretched Mortal was the work of Man.
Forth from his Maker's hands he sprung to life,
Freth with immortal bloom; no pain he knew,
No fear of change, no check to his defires, [ftood
Save one command. That one command, which
Twixt him and Death, the test of his obedience,
Urg'd on by wanton curiosity,

He broke. There in one moment was undone
The faireft of God's works. The fame rash hand,
That pluck'd in evil hour the fatal fruit,
Unbarr'd the gates of Hell, and let loose Sin
And Death, and all the family of Pain,
To prey upon Mankind. Young Nature faw
The monftrous crew,and fhook thro'all her fraine.
Then fled her new-born luftre, then began
Haven's cheerful face to low'r, then vapours
choak d

The troubled air, and form'd a veil of clouds
To hide the willing Sun. The earth convuls'd
With painful throes threw forth a bristly crop
Of thorns and briars; and Infect, Bird, and Beaft,
That wont before with admiration fond
To gaze at Man, and fearless crowd around him,
Now fled before his face, thunning in hafte
Th'infection of his mifery. He alone

Who justly might, th'offended Lord of Man,
Turn'd not away his face; he, full of pity,
Borfock not in this uttermoft distress
His beft lov'd work. That comfort still remain'd
(That beft, that greatest comfort in affliction)
The countenance of God, and thro' the gloom
Shot forth fome kindly gleams, to cheer and warm
Th'offender's finking foul. Hope fent from Heav'n
Uprais'd his drooping head, and fhew'd afar
A happier fcene of things; the Promis'd Seed
Trampling upon the Serpent's humbled creft ;*
Death of his fting difarm'd; and the dark grave,
Made pervious to the realms of endless day,
No more the limit but the gate of life. [ground,
Cheer'd with the view, Man went to till the
From whence he rofe; fentenc'd indeed to toil ́
As to a punithment, yet (ev'n in wrath,
So merciful is IIcav'n) this toil became
The folace of his woes, the fweet employ
Of many a live-long hour, and fureft guard
Againft Difcafe and Death. Death, tho'denounc'd,
Was yet a diftant ill, by feeble arm
Of Age, his fole fupport, led flowly on.
Not then, as fince, the fhort-liv'd fons of men
Flock'd to his realms in countlets multitudes;
Scarce in the courfe of twice five hundred years,
One folitary ghost went fhiv'ring down
To his unpeopled fhore. In fober state,
Through the fequefter'd vale of rural life,
The venerable Patriarch guileless held
The tenor of his way; Labour prepar'd
His fimple fare, and Temp'rance rul'd his board.
Tir'd with his daily toil, at early eve
He funk to fudden reft; gentle and pure
As breath of evening Zephyr, and as fweet,
Were all his flumbers; with the Sun he rofe,
Alert and vigorous as He, to run
His deftin'd courfe. Thus nerv'd with giant
He ftemm'd the tide of time, and stood the fhock
Of ages rolling harmless o'er his head.
At life's meridian point arriv'd, he stood,
And looking round, faw all the valleys fill'd
With nations from his loins; full-well content
To leave his race thus fcatter'd o'er the earth,
Along the gentle flope of life's decline
He bent his gradual way, till full of years,
He dropt like mellow fruit into his grave,

[strength

Such in the infancy of Time was Man; So calm was life, fo impotent was Death! O had he but preferv'd these few remains, The fhatter'd fragments, of loft happiness, Snatch'd by the hand of Heav'n from the fad wreck Of innocence primæval; ftill had he liv'd In ruin great; tho' fall'n, yet not forlorn; Though mortal, yet not every where befet With Death in every fhape! But he, impatient

To be completely wretched, haftes to fill up The measure of his woes.-'Twas Man hinfelf Brought Death into the world; and Man himself Gave keennefs to his darts, quicken'd his pace, And multiply'd deftruction on mankind.

First Envy, eldeft-born of Hell, embrued
Her hands in blood, and taught the Sons of Men
To make a Death which Nature never made,
And God abhorr'd; with violence rude to break
The thread of life ere half its length was run,
And rob a wretched brother of his being.
With joy Ambition faw, and foon improv'd
The execrable deed. Twas not enough
By fubtle fraud to fnatch a fingle life,
Puny impiety! whole kingdoms fell
To fate the luft of power: more horrid ftill,
The fouleft ftain and fcandal of our nature,
Became its boaft. One Murder made a Villain;
Millions a Hero. Princes were privileg'd
To kill, and numbers fanctified the crime.
Ah! why will Kings forget that they are Men?
And Men that they are brethren? Why delight
In human facrifice? Why burft the ties
Of Nature, that thould knit their fouls together
In one foft bond of amity and love?
Yet ftill they breathe deftruction, ftill go on
Inhumanly ingenious to find out

New pains for life, new terrors for the grave,
Artificers of Death! Still Monarchs dream
Of univerfal empire growing up
From univerfal ruin. Blaft the defign,
Great God of Hofts, nor let thy creatures fall
Unpitied victims at Ambition's fhrine!

Yet fay, thould Tyrants learn at laft to feel, And the loud din of battle ccafe to bray; Should dove-eyed Peace o'er all the earth extend Her olive branch, and give the world repofe, Would Death be foil'd? Would health, and ftrength, and youth

Defy his pow'r? Has he no arts in store,
No other hafts fave thofe of war? Alas!
Ev'n in the fimile of Peace, that tinile which fheds
A heav'nly funfhine o'er the foul, there baiks
That ferpent Luxury. War its thoufands flays;
Peace its ten thoufands. In th'embattled plain,
Tho' Death exults, and claps his raven wings,
Yet reigns he not ev'n there fo abfolute,
So mercilefs, as in yon frantic fcents
Of midnight revel and tumultuous mirth,
Where in th' intoxicating draught conceal'd,
Or couch'd beneath the glance of lawless love,
Hefnaresthefimple youth,whonoughtfufpecting,
Means to be bleft-but finds himself undone.
Down the fimooth ftream of life the stripling darts,
Gay as the morn; bright glows the vernal iky,
Hope fwells his fails, and paflion fteers his courfe.
Safe glides his little bark along the fhore
Where virtue takes her ftand; but if too far
He launches forth beyond difcretion's mark,
Sudden the tempeft fcowls, the furges roar,
Blot his fair day, and plunge him in the deep.
O fad but fure milchance! O happier far
To lie like gallant Howe 'midft Indian wilds
A breahtlets corfe, cut off by favage hands

In earlieft prime, a generous facrifice
To freedom's holy caufe, than fo to fall,
Torn immature from life's meridian joys,
A prey to Vice, Intemp'rance, and Difcafe.

Yet die ev'n thus, thus rather perish ftill,
Ye Sons of Pleafure, by th'Almighty ftrick'n,
Than ever dare (though oft, alas! ye dare)
To lift against yourfelves the murd'rous fteel,
To wreft from God's own hand the fword of
Juftice,

And be your own avengers! Hold, rash Man,
Though with anticipating speed thou'st rang'd
Through every region of delight, nor left
One joy to gild the evening of thy days;
Though life feem one uncomfortable void,
Guilt at thy heels, before thy face despair;
Yet gay this fcene, and light this load of woc,
Compar'd with thy hereafter. Think, O think,
And, ere thou plunge into the vaft abyfs,
Paule on the verge a while: look down and fee
Thy future manfion. Why that start of horror?
From thy flack hand why drops th'uplifted steel?
Didft thou not think fuch vengeance muft await
The wretch, that with his crimes all fresh about
Rufhes irreverent, unprepar'd, uncall'd, [him
Into his Maker's prefence, throwing back
With infolent difdain his choiceft gift?

Live then, while Heav'n in pity lends thec life,
And think it all too short to wash away,
By penitential tears and deep contrition,
The fearlet of thy crimes. So fhalt thou find
Reft to thy foul; fo unappall'd fhalt meet
Death when he comes, not wantonly invite
His ling'ring ftroke. Be it thy fole concern
With innocence to live: with patience wait
Th'appointed hour; too foon that hour will come,
Tho' Nature run her courfe. But Nature's God,
If need require, by thoufand various ways,
Without thy aid, can fhorten that short span,
And quench the lamp of life. O when he comes,
Rous'd by the cry of wickedness extreme,
To Heav'n afcending from fome guilty land,
Now ripe for vengeance; when he comes array'd
In all the terrors of Almighty wrath,
Forth from his bofom plucks his ling ring arm,
And on the mifcreants pours deftruction down;
Who can abide his coming? Who can bear
His whole difpleafure? In no common form
Death then appears, but starting into fize
Enormous, meatures with gigantic ftride
Th'aftonish'd Earth, and from his looks throws
Unutterable horror and difinay. [round
All Nature lends her aid. Each Element

Arms in his caufe. Ope fly the doors of Heav'n;
The fountains of the deep their barriers break;
Above, below, the rival torrents pour,
And drown Cication; or in floods of fire
Defcends a livid cataract, and confumes
Animpious race. Sometimes, when all feems peace,
Wakes the grimwhirlwind,andwith rude embrace
Sweeps nations to their grave, or in the deep
Whelms the proud wooden world; fuil many a
Floats on his wat'iy bier, or lies unwept [youth
On fome fad defart shore! At dead of night,

In