Yet ev❜n thofe bones from infult to protect
Some frail memorial ftill erected nigh,
With uncouth rhymes and fhapelefs fculpture deck'd
Implores the paffing tribute of a figh.
Their name, their years, fpelt by the unletter'd Mufe,
The place of fame and elegy fupply:
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 chearful 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 Ashes 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 fhall enquire thy fate.
Haply fome hoary-headed fwain may fay,
Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn
• Brushing with hafty fteps the dews away
To meet the fun upon the upland lawn.
< There at the foot of yonder nodding beach
• That wreathes its old fantaftic roots fo high,
His liftless length at noon-tide would he stretch,
And pore upon the brook that babbles 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 crofs'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,
the Lawn, nor at the wood was he;
The next with dirges due in fad array,
• Slow through the church-way path we faw him born, Approach and read (for thou canft read) the lay, • Grav'd on the ftone beneath yon aged thorn.'
HERE refis his head upon the lap of Earth,
A Youth to Fortune and to fame 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 fend:
He gave to Mis'ry all he had, a tear,
He gain'd from Heav'n ('twas all he wish'd) a friend.
No farther feek his merits to difclofe,
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode. (There they alike in trembling hope repose) The bofom of his Father, and his God.
ORROWING, the Nine beneath yon blafted yew Shed the bright drops of Pity's holy dew! Mute are their tuneful tongues, extinct their fires;. Yet not in filence fleep their filver lyres; To the bleak gale they vibrate fad and flow, In deep accordance to a Nation's woe.
Ye, who ere while for Cook's illuftrious brow
Pluck'd the green laurel, and the oaken bough,
Hung the gay garlands on the trophied oars,
And pour'd his fame along a thousand shores,
Strike the flow death-bell! weave the facred verfe,
And ftrew the cyprefs o'er his honor'd hearfe;
In fad proceffion wander round the shrine,
And weep him mortal whom ye fung divine!
Say firft, what Pow'r infpir'd his dauntless breast
With feorn of danger and inglorious reft,
To quit imperial London's gorgeous plains,
Where, rob'd in thousand tints, bright Pleasure reigns;
In cups of fummer-ice her nectar pours,
And twines, 'mid wintry fnows, her roseate bow'rs?
Where Beauty moves with undulating grace.
Calls the fweet blush to wanton o'er her face,
On each fond Youth her soft artillery tries,
Aims her light fmile, and rolls her frolic eyes?
What Pow'r infpir'd his dauntless breast to brave
The fcorch'd Equator, and th' Antarctic wave?
Climes, where fierce funs in cloudless ardors fhine,
And pour the dazzling deluge round the Line;
The realms of froft, where icy mountains rife,
'Mid the pale fummer of the polar skies?—
IT WAS HUMANITY!-on coafts unknown,
The fhiv'ring natives of the frozen zone,
And the fwart Indian, as he faintly trays
"Where Cancer reddens in the folar blaze."
She bade him feek; -on each inclement fhore
Plant the rich feeds of her exhaustless store;
Unite the favage hearts, and hoftile hands,
In the firm compact of her gentle bands;
Strew her foft comforts o'er the barren plain,
Sing her fweet lays,, and confecrate her fane.
IT WAS HUMANITY!-O Nymph divine!
I fee thy light ftep print the burning Line!
There thy bright eye the dubious pilot guides,,
The faint oar ruggling with the fcalding tides.
On as thou lead'ft the bold, the glorious prow,
Mild, and more mild, the floping fun-beams glow;
Now weak and pale the leffen'd luftres play,
As round th' horizon rolls the timid day;
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