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Thence Crete they view, emerging from the main,
The queen of isles; but Crete they view in vain;
There Talus, whirling with resistless sway
Rocks sheer uprent, repels them from the bay:
A giant, sprung from giant-race, who took
Their births from entrails of the stubborn oak;
Fierce guard of Crete! by Jove assistant given
To legislators, styl'd the sons of Heaven:
To Mercy deaf, he thrice each year explores
The trembling isle, and strides from shores to
A form of living brass! one part bencath [shores:
Alone he bears, a path to let in Death,
Where o'er the ankle swells the turgid vein,
Soft to the stroke, and sensible of pain.

And now her magic spells Medea' tries,
Bids the red fiends, the dogs of Orcus rise,
That, starting dreadful from th' infernal shade,
Ride Heaven in storms, and all that breathes, in-
vade;

Thrice she applies the power of magic prayer,
Thrice, hellward bending, mutters charms in air;
Then, turning tow'rd the foe, bids Mischief fly,
And looks Destruction as she points her eye:
Then spectres, rising from Tartarean bowers,
Howl round in air, or grin along the shores;
While, tearing up whole hills', the giant throws,
Outrageous, rocks on rocks, to crush the foes:
But, frantic as he strides, a sudden wound
Bursts the life-vein, and blood o'erspreads the
As from the furnace, in a burning flood, [ground:
Pours molten lead, so pours in streams his blood;
And now he staggers, as the spirit flies,
He faints, he sinks, he tumbles, and he dies.
As some huge cedar on a mountain's brow,
Pierc'd by the steel, expects the final blow,
A while it totters with alternate sway,
Till freshening breezes through the branches play;
Then, tumbling downward with a thundering sound,
Falls headlong, and o'erspreads a breadth of ground:
So, as the giant falls, the ocean roars;
Out-stretch'd he lies, and covers half the shores.

FROM THE ELEVENTH BOOK OF
THE ILIADS OF HOMER.

IN THE STYLE OF MILTON,

Now gay Aurora from Tithonus' bed

Rose in the orient, to proclaim the day
To gods and men: down to the Grecian tents
Saturnian Jove sends Discord, red with blood;
War in her hand she grasps, ensigns of war;
On brave Ulysses' ship she took her stand,
The centre of the host, that all might hear
Her dreadful voice: her dreadful voice she rais'd;
Jarring along the rattling shores it ran
To the fleet's wide extremes. Achilles heard,
And Ajax heard the sou d: with martial fires
Now every bosom burns; arms, glorious arms,
Fierce they demand; the noble Orthean song
Swells every heart; no coward thoughts of flight
Rise in their souls, but blood they breathe and war.
Now by the trench profound the charioteers
Range their proud steeds; now car by car displays

2

'Minos and Rhadamanthus.

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A direful front; now o'er the trembling field
Rushes th' embattled foot; noise rends the skies,
Noise unextinguished: ere the beamy day
Flam'd in th' aërial vault, stretch'd in the van
Stood the bold infantry: the rushing cars
Form'd the deep rear in battailous array.
Now from his Heavens Jove hurls bis burning bolts;
Hoarse muttering thunders grumble in the sky;
While from the clouds, instead of morning-dews,
Huge drops of blood distain the crimson ground;
Fatal presage! that in that dreadful day
The great should bleed, imperial heads lie low!
Mean time the bands of Troy in proud array
Stand to their arins, and from a rising ground
Breathe furious war: here gathering hosts attend
The towering Hector: there refulgent bands
Surround Polydamas, Æneas there
Marshals his dauntless files; nor unemploy'd
Stand Polybus, Agenor great in arms,
And Acamas, whose frame the gods endow'd
With more than mortal charms: fierce in the van
Stern Hector shines, and shakes his blazing shield.
As the fierce dog-star with malignant fires
Flames in the front of Heaven, then, lost in clouds,
Veils his pernicious beams; from rank to rank
So Hector strode; now dreadful in the van
Advanc'd his sun-broad shield, now to the rear
Swift rushing disappear'd: His radiant arms
Blaz'd on his limbs, and bright as Jove's dire bolts
Flash'd o'er the field, and lighten'd to the skies.
As toiling reapers in some spacious field,
Rang'd in two bands, move adverse, rank on rank,
Where o'er the tilth the grain in ears of gold
Waves nodding to the breeze; at once they bend,
At once the copious harvest swells the ground:
So rush to battle o'er the dreadful field

Host against host; they meet, they close, and ranks
Tumble on ranks; no thoughts appear of flight,
None of dismay: dubious in even scales
The battle hangs; not fiercer, ravenous wolves
Dispute the prey; the deathful scene with joy
Discord, dire parent of tremendous woes,
Surveys exultant: of th' immortal train
Discord alone descends, assists alone
The horrours of the field; in peace the gods,
High in Olympian bowers, on radiant thrones,
Lament the works of man; but loud complaints
From every god arose; Jove favour'd Troy,
At partial Jove they murmur'd: he, unmov'd,
All Heaven in murmurs heard: Apart he sate
Enthron'd in glory: down to Farth he turn'd
His stedfast eye, and from his throne survey'd
The rising towers of Troy, the tented shores,
The blaze of arms, the slayer, and the slain.

While, with his morning wheels, the god of day
Climb'd up the steep of Heaven, with equal rage
In murderous storms the shafts from host to host
Flew adverse, and in equal numbers fell
Promiscuous Greek and Trojan, till the hour,
When the tir'd woodman, in the shady vale,
Spreads his penurious meal, when high the Sun
Flames in the zenith, and his sinewy arms
Scarce wield the ponderous axe, while hunger keen
Admonishes, and Nature, spent with toil,
With horrid inroad goar'd: fierce from the van
Craves due repast--Then Greece the ranks of Troy
Sprung the stern king 3 of men, and, breathing death,
Where, in firm battle, Trojans band by band

9 V. 1665.

! V. 1679.

2 V. 48.

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3

Agamemnon, v, 148,

Embody'd stood, pursued his dreadful way:
His host his step attends: now glows the war;
Horse treads on horse; and man, encountering man,
Swells the dire field with death: the plunging steeds
Beat the firm glebes; thick dust in rising clouds
Darkens the sky. Indignant o'er the plain
Atrides stalks; Death every step attends.
As when, in some huge forest, sudden flames
Rage dreadful, when rough winds assist the blaze,
From tree to tree the fiery torrent rolls,
And the vast forest sinks with all its groves
Beneath the burning deluge; so whole hosts
Yield to Atrides' arm: car against car
Rush'd rattling o'er the field, and through the
Unguided broke; while breathless on the ground
Lay the pale charioteers, in death deform'd;
To their chaste brides sad spectacles of woe,
Now only grateful to the fowls of air.

[ranks

Mean time, the care of Jove, great Hector stood Secure in scenes of death, in storms of darts, In slaughter and alarms, in dust and blood.

Still Agamemnon, rushing o'er the field, Leads his bold bands: whole hosts before him fly; Now Ilus' tomb they pass, now urge their way Close by the fig-tree shade: with shouts the king Pursues the foe incessant: dust and blood, Blood mix'd with dust, distains his murderous hands. As when a lion, in the gloom of night, Invades an herd of beeves, o'tr all the plains Trembling they scatter; furious on the prey The generous savage flies, and with fierce joy Seizes the last; his hungry foaming jaws Churn the black blood, and rend the panting prey: Thus fled the foe; Atrides thus pursued, And still the hindmost slew: they from their cars Fell headlong; for his javelin, wild for blood, Rag'd terribly and now proud Troy had fall'n, But the dread sire of men and gods descends Terrific from his Heavens, his vengeful hand Ten thousand thunders grasps: on Ida's heights He takes his stand: it shakes with all its groves Beneath the god; the god suspends the war.

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O!
WONDROUS art, that grace to shadows gives!
By whose command the lovely phantom lives!
Smiles with her smiles! the mimic eye instills
A real flame! the fancy'd lightning kills!
Thus mirrors catch the love-inspiring face,
And the new charmer grace returns for grace.
Hence shall thy beauties, when no more appears
Their fair possessor, shine a thousand years;
By age uninjur'd, future times adorn,

And warm the hearts of millions yet unborn, ·
Who, gazing on the portrait with a sigh,
Shall grieve such perfect charms could ever die :
How would they grieve, if to such beauties join'd
The paint could show the wonders of thy mind!

O virgin! born th' admiring world to grace!
Transmit thy excellence to latest days;
Yield to thy lover's vows! and then shall rise
A race of beauties conquering with thine
eyes;
Who, reigning in thy charms, from Death shall save
That lovely form, and triumph o'er the Grave.

Thus, when thro' age the Rose-tree's charms deWhen all her fading beauties die away;

[cay,

A blooming offspring fills the parent's place
With equal fragrance, and with equal grace
But ah! how short a date on Earth is given
To the most lovely workmanship of Heaven!
Too soon that cheek must every charm resign,
And those love-darting eyes forget to shine!
While thousands weeping round, with sighs survey
What once was younow only beauteous clay!
Ev'n from the canvass shall thy image fade,
And thou re-perish in thy perish'd shade:
Then may this verse to future ages show
One perfect beauty--such as thou art now!
May it the graces of thy soul display,
Till this world sinks, and suns themselves decay;
When with immortal beauty thou shalt rise,
To shine the loveliest angel in the skies.

PROLOGUE

TO MR. FENTON'S EXCELLENT TRAGEDY, MARIAMNE.
WHEN breathing Statues, mouldering, waste away,
And Tombs, unfaithful to their trust, decay;
The Muse rewards the suffering good with fame,
Or wakes the prosperous villain into shame;
To the stern tyrant gives fictitious power
To reign the restless monarch of an hour.

Obedient to her call, this night appears
Great Herod rising from a length of years;
A name! enlarg'd with titles not his own,
Servile to mount, and savage on a throne:
Yet oft a throne is dire Misfortune's seat,
A pompous wretchedness, and woe in state!
But such the curse that from ambition springs,
For this he slaughter'd half a race of kings:
But now reviving in the British scene,
He looks majestic with a milder mien,
His features soften'd with the deep distress
Of love, made greatly wretched by excess:
From lust of power to jealous fury tost,
We see the tyrant in the lover lost.

O! Love, thou source of mighty joy or woe!
Thou softest friend, or man's most dangerous foe!
Fantastic power! what rage thy darts inspire,
When too much beauty kindles too much fire!
Those darts, to jealous rage stern Herod drove;
It was a crime, but crime of too much love!
Yet if condemn'd he falls-with pitying eyes
Behold his injur'd Mariamne rise!
No fancy'd tale! our opening scenes disclose
Historic truth, and swell with real woes.
Awful in virtuous grief the queen appears,
And strong the eloquence of royal tears;
By woes ennobled, with majestic pace,
She meets Misfortune, glorious in disgrace!

Small is the praise of Beauty, when it flies
Fair Honour's laws, at best but lovely Vice.
Charms it like Venus with celestial air?
Ev'n Venus is but scandalously fair;
But when strict honour with fair features joins,
Like heat and light, at once it warms and shines.

VARIATION.

What pangs, &c.

Then let her fate your kind attention raise, Whose perfect charms were but her second praise: Beauty and Virtue your protection claim; Give tears to Beauty, give to Virtue fame.

TO MR. A. POPE,

WHO CORRECTED MY VERSES.

Ir e'er my humble Muse melodious sings,
"Tis when you animate and tune her strings;
If e'er she mounts, 'tis when you prune her wings.
You, like the Sun, your glorious beams display,
Deal to the darkest orb a friendly ray,
And clothe it with the lustre of the day.

Mean was the piece, unelegantly wrought,
The colours faint, irregular the draught;
But your commanding touch, your nicer art,
Rais'd every stroke, and brighten'd every part.
So, when Luke drew the rudiments of man,
An angel finish'd what the saint began;
His wondrous pencil, dipt in heavenly dyes,
Gave beauty to the face, and lightning to the eyes.
Confus'd it lay, a rough unpolish'd mass;
You gave the royal stamp, and made it pass :
Hence ev'n Deformity a Beauty grew; [by you;
She pleas'd, she charm'd, but pleas'd and charm'd
Though, like Prometheus, I the image frame,
You give the life, and bring the heavenly flame.
Thus when the Nile diffus'd his watery train
In streams of plenty o'er the fruitful plain;
Unshapen forms, the refuse of the flood,
Issued imperfect from the teeming mud;
But the great source and parent of the day
Fashion'd the creature, and inform'd the clay.

Weak of herself, my Muse forbears her flight, Views her own lowness, and Parnassus' height;

VARIATION.

> Then let her fate your just attention raise, Whose perfect graces were but second praise.

ADDITION.

To nobler themes thy Muse triumphant soars,
Mounts thro' the tracts of air, and Heaven explores.
Say, has some seraph tun'd thy sacred lyre,
Or deign'd to touch thy hallow'd lips with fire?
For sure such sounds exalt th' immortal string,
As Heaven approves, and raptur'd angels sing.
Ah! how I listen, while the mortal lay
Lifts me from Earth above the solar way!
Ah! how I look with scorn on pompous crowns,
And pity monarchs on their splendid thrones,
While, thou my guide, I trace all Nature's laws,
By just gradations, to the sovereign cause!
Pleas'd I survey how varying schemes unite,
Worlds with the atoms, angels with the mite,
And end in God, high thron'd above all height,
Who sees, as Lord of all, with equal eye,
Now a proud tyrant perish, then a fly.
Methinks I view the patriarch's ladder rise,
Its base on Earth, its summit in the skies:
Fach wondrous step by glorious angels trod,
And Heaven unfolding to the throne of God,
Be this thy praise! I haunt the lovely bower,
Sport by the spring, or paint the blooming flower.
Nor dares the Muse attempt an arduous height, &c.

But when you aid her song, and deign to nod,
She spreads a bolder wing, and feels the present
So the Cumaan prophetess was dumb, [god.
Blind to the knowledge of events to come;
But when Apollo in her breast abode,

She heav'd, she swell'd, she felt the rushing god:
Then accents more than mortal from her broke;
And what the god inspir'd, the priestess spoke.

MONSIEUR MAYNARD IMITATED.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
THE LORD CORNWALLIS.

WHILE past its noon the lamp of life declines,
And age my vital flame invades;

Faint, and more faint, as it descends, it shines,
And hastes, alas! to set in shades.
Then some kind power shall guide my ghost to
Where, seated by Elysian springs, [glades,
Fam'd Addison attunes to patriot shades
His lyre, and Albion's glory sings.
There round, majestic shades, and heroes' forms,
Will throng to learn what pilot guides,
Watchful, Britannia's helm through factious storms,
And curbs the murmuring rebel tides.

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I tell how Townshend treads the glorious path
That leads the great to deathless fame,
And dwell at large on spotless English faith,
While Walpole is the favourite theme.
How, nobly rising in their country's cause,
The stedfast arbiters of right,

Exalt the just and good, to guard her laws,
And call forth Merit into light.

A loud applause around the echoing coast
Of all the pleas'd Elysium flies.--
But, friend, what place had you, replies some
When merit was the way to rise? [ghost,

What deanery, or prebend, thine, declare?
Good Heavens! unable to reply,
How like a stupid idiot I should stare!
An answer, good my lord, supply.

ON A MISCHIEVOUS WOMAN.

FROM
peace, and social joy, Medusa flies,
And loves to hear the storm of anger rise;
Thus hags and witches hate the smiles of day,
Sport in loud thunder, and in tempests play.

THE COQUETTE. SILLIA, with uncontested sway,

Like Rome's fam'd tyrant reigns; Beholds adoring crowds obey,

And heroes proud to wear her chains: Yet stoops, like him, to every prize, Busy to murder beaux and flies. She aims at every trifling heart, Attends each flatterer's vows; And, like a picture drawn with art, A look on all that gaze bestows

O! may the power who lovers rules,
Grant rather scorn, than hope with fools.
Mistaken nymph! the crowds that gaze
Adore thee into shane;
Unguarded beauty is disgrace,

And coxcombs, when they praise, defame.
O! fly such brutes in human shapes,
Nor, like th' Egyptians, worship apes.

They wed-but, fancy grown less warming,
Next morn, he thinks the bride less charming:
He says, nay swears, "My wife grows old in
One single month;" then falls to scolding,
"What, madam, gadding every day!
Up to your room! there stitch, or pray!"

Such proves the marriage-state! but for all These truths, you'll wed, and scorn the moral.

THE WIDOW AND VIRGIN SISTERS,

BEING A LETTER TO THE WIDOW IN LONDON.

WHILE Delia shines at Hurlothrumbo,
And darts her sprightly eye at some beau;
Then, close behind her fan retiring,

Sees through the sticks whole crowds admiring:
You sip your melancholy co-ffy,

And at the name of man, cry, O phy!"
Or, when the noisy rapper thunders,
Say coldly" Sure the fellow blunders!"
Unseen! though peer on peer approaches:

66

James, I'm abroad!—but learn the coaches."
As some young pleader, when his purse is
Unfill'd through want of controversies,
Attends, until the chinks are fill'd all,
Th' assizes, Westminster, and Guildhall:
While graver lawyers keep their house, and
Collect the guineas by the thousand:
Or as some tradesmen, through show-glasses,
Expose their wares to each that passes;
Toys of no use! high-priz'd commodities
Bought to no end! estates in oddities!
Others, with like advantage, drive at
Their gain, from store-houses in private:
Thus Delia shines in places general,
Is never missing where the men are all;
Goes ev'n to church with godly airs,
To meet good company at prayers;
Where she devoutly plays her fan,
Looks up to Heaven, but thinks on man.
You sit at home; enjoy your cousin',
While hearts are offer'd by the dozen : ·
Oh! born above your sex to rise,
With youth, wealth, beauty, titles-wise!

O! lady bright, did ne'er you mark yet,
In country fair, or country market,
A beau, whose eloquence might charm ye,
Enlisting soldiers for the army?
He flatters every well-built youth,
And tells him every thing but-truth.
He cries, "Good friend, I'm glad I hap'd in
Your company, you 'll make a captain!"
He lists-but finds these gaudy shows
Soon chang'd to surly looks, and blows:
"Tis now,

March, rascal! what, d' ye grumble?"
Thwack goes the cane! "I'll make you humble."
Such weddings are: and I resemble 'em,
Almost in all points, to this emblem.

While courtship lasts, 'tis, "Dear," 'tis, "Madam!
The sweetest creature sure since Adam!
Had I the years of a Methusalem,

How in my charmer's praise I'd use all 'em!
Oh! take me to thy arms, my beauty!
doat, adore the very shoe-tye!"

7 Mrs. S-th.

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As when the King of Peace, and Lord of Love,
Sends down some brighter angel from above,
Pleas'd with the beauties of the heavenly guest,
Awhile we view him in full glory drest;
But he, impatient from his Heaven to stay,
Soon disappears, and wings his airy way;
So didst thou vanish, eager to appear,
And shine triumphant in thy native sphere.

Yet had'st thou all that Virtue can bestow,
All, the good practise, and the learned know;
Such holy rapture, as not warms, but fires,
While the soul seems retiring, or retires;
Such transports as those saints in vision share,
Who know not whether they are rapt through air,
Or bring down Heaven to meet them in a prayer.
Oh! early lost! yet stedfast to survey
Envy, Disease, and Death, without dismay;
Serene, the sting of pain thy thoughts beguile,
And make afflictions, objects of a sinile.
So the fam'd patriarch, on his couch of stone,
Enjoy'd bright visions from th' eternal throne.
Thus wean'd from Earth, where Pleasure scarce.

can please,

Thy woes but hasten'd thee to Heaven and peace: As angry winds, when loud the tempest roars, More swiftly speed the vessel to the shores.

Oh! may these lays a lasting lustre shed O'er thy dark urn, like lamps that grace the dead ↓ Strong were thy thoughts, yet Reason bore the sway; Humble, yet learn'd; though innocent, yet gay: So pure of heart, that thou might'st safely show Thy inmost bosom to thy basest foe: Careless of wealth, thy bliss a calm retreat, Far from the insults of the scornful great; Thence looking with disdain on proudest things Thou deemed'st mean the pageantry of kings; Who build their pride on trappings of a throne A painted ribband, or a glitt ring stone, Uselessly bright! 'Twas thine the soul to raise To nobler objects, such as angel's praise! To live, to mortals' empty faine, a foe; And pity human joy, and human woe! To view ev'n splendid Vice with generous hate; In life unblemish'd, and in death sedate! Then Conscience, shining with a lenient ray, Dawn'd o'er thy soul, and promis'd endless day. So from the setting orb of Phoebus fly, Beams of calm light, and glitter to the sky

The gout.

Where now, oh! where shall I true friendship find
Among the treacherous race of base mankind?
Whom, whom consult in all th' uncertain ways
Of various life, sincere to blame, or praise!
O! friend! O! falling in thy strength of years,
Warm from the melting soul receive these tears!
O! Woods! O! Wilds! O! every bowery Shade!
So often vocal by his music made,

Now other sounds-far other sounds return,
And o'er his hearse with all your Echoes mourn !—
Yet dare we grieve that soon the paths he trod
To Heaven, and left vain man for saints and God?
Thus in the theatre the scenes unfold

A thousand wonders, glorious to behold;
And here, or there, as the machine extends,
A hero rises, or a god descends :

But soon the momentary pleasure flies,
Swift vanishes the god, or hero dies

Where were ye, Muses, by what fountain side,
What river sporting, when your favourite dy'd?"
He knew by verse to chain the headlong floods,
Silence loud winds, or charm attentive woods;
Nor deign'd but to high themes' to tune the string,
To such as Heaven might hear, and angels sing;
Unlike those bards, who, uninform'd to play,
Grate on their jarring pipes a flashy lay:
Each line display'd united strength and ease,
Form'd, like his manners, to instruct and please.
So herbs of balmy excellence produce
A blooming flower and salutary juice:
And while each plant a smiling grace reveals,
Usefully gay! at once it charms, and heals.

Transcend ev'n after death, ye great, in show; Lend pomp to ashes, and be vain in woe; Hire substitutes to mourn with formal cries, And bribe unwilling drops from venal eyes; While here sincerity of grief appears, Silence that speaks, and Eloquence in tears! While, tir'd of life, we but consent to live To show the world how really we grieve! As some fond sire, whose only son lies dead, All lost to comfort makes the dust his bed, Hangs o'er his urn, with frantic grief deplores, And bathes his clay-cold cheek with copious showers; Such heart-felt pangs on thy sad bier attend; Companion! brother! all in one-my friend! Unless the soul a wound eternal bears, Sighs are but air; but common water, tears: The proud, relentless, weep in state, and show Not sorrow, but magnificence of woe.

Thus in the fountain, from the sculptor's hands, With imitated life, an image stands; From rocky entrails, through his stony eyes, The mimic tears in streams incessant rise: Unconscious! while aloft the waters flow, The gazers' wonder, and a public show.

Ye hallow'd Domes, his frequent visits tell; Thou Court, where God himself delights to dwell; Thou mystic Table, and thou holy Feast, How often have ye seen the sacred guest! How oft his soul with heavenly manna fed! His faith enliven'd, while his sin lay dead! While listening angels heard such raptures rise, As, when they hymn th' Almighty, charm the skies! But where, now where, without the body's aid, New to the Heavens, subsists thy gentle shade? Glides it beyond our gross imperfect sky, Pleas'd, high o'er stars, from world to world, to fly!

?Mr. Fenton intended to write upon moral subjects.

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And fearless marks the comet's dreadful blaze,
While monarchs quake, and trembling nations gaze?
Or holds deep converse with the mighty dead,
Champions of Virtue, who for Virtue bled?
Or joins in concert with angelic choirs,
Where hymning seraphs sound their golden lyres,
Where raptur'd sain's unfading crowns inwreath,
Triumphant o'er the World, o'er Sin, and Death?
O! may the thought his friend's devotion raise !
O! may he imitate, as well as praise!
Awake, my heavy soul! and upward fly,
Speak to the saint, and meet him in the sky,
And ask the certain way to rise as high.

TO THOMAS MARRIOT, ES2.

I PREIX your name to the following poem, as a monument of the long and sincere friendship 1 have borne you: I am sensible you are too good a judge of poetry to approve it; however, it will be a testimony of my respect: You conferred obligations upon me very early in life, almost as soon as I was capable of receiving them: May these verses on Death long survive my own! and remain a memorial of our friendship, and my gratitude, when I am no more.

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OH! for Elijah's car, to wing my way
O'er the dark guiph of Death to endless day!
A thousand ways, alas! frail mortals lead
To her dire den, and dreadful all to tread !
See! in the horrours of yon house of woes,
Troops of all maladies the fiend enclose!
High on a trophy rais'd of human bones,
Swords, spears, and arrows, and sepulchral stones,
In horrid state she reigns! attendant ills
Besiege her throne, and when she frowns, she kills!
Thro' the thick gloom the torch red-gleaming burns
O'er shrouds, and sable palls, and mouldering urns;
While flowing stoles, black plumes, and scutcheons
An idle pomp around the silent dead: [spread
Unaw'd by power, in common heap she flings
The scrips of beggars, and the crowns of kings:
Here gales of sighs, instead of breezes, blow,
And streams of tears for ever murmuring flow:
The mournful yew with solemn horrour waves
His baleful branches, saddening even the graves:
Around all birds obscene loud-screeming fly,
Clang their black wings, and shriek along the sky:
The ground perverse, tho' bare and barren, breeds
All poisons, foes to life, and noxious weeds;
But, blasted frequent by th' unwholesome sky,
Dead fall the birds, the very poisons die.

Full in the entrance of the dreadful doors,
Old-age, half vanish'd to a ghost, deplores :
Propp'd on his crutch, he drags with many a groan
The load of life, yet dreads to lay it down.

There, downward driving an unnumber'd band, Intemperance and Disease walk hand in hand: These, Torment, whirling with remorseless sway A scourge of iron, lashes on the way.

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