CONTENTS. Page ENCOMIUMS ON YOUNG. UPON DR. YOUNG'S POEM ON ‹ THE LAST DAY. Now let the atheist tremble; thou alone Canst bid his conscious heart the Godhead own. Whom shalt thou not reform? O thou hast seen How God descends to judge the souls of men. Thou heardst the sentence how the guilty mourn, Driven out from God, and never to return. Yet more, behold ten thousand thunders fall, And sudden vengeance wrap the flaming ball. When Nature sunk, when every bolt was hurl'd, Thou saw'st the boundless ruins of the world. When guilty Sodom felt the burning rain, And sulphur fell on the devoted plain, The Patriarch thus, the fiery tempest past, With pious horror view'd the desert waste; The restless smoke still wav'd its curls around, For ever rising from the glowing ground. But tell me, oh! what heavenly pleasure, tell, To think so greatly, and describe so well! How wast thou pleas'd the wondrous theme to try And find the thought of man could rise so high Beyond this world the labour to pursue, And open all eternity to view? But thou art best delighted to rehearse Heaven's holy dictates in exalted verse. O thou hast power the harden'd heart to warm, To grieve, to raise, to terrify, to charm; To fix the soul on God; to teach the mind To know the dignity of human kind; By stricter rules well-govern'd life to scan, And practise o'er the angel in the man. Magd. Col. T. WARTON, Sen. TO A LADY, WITH " THE LAST DAY.' HERE sacred truths, in lofty numbers told, To boundless orbs, and bids her fearless soar Thus did the Muses sing in early times, Ere skill'd to flatter vice, and varnish crimes; Their lyres were tun'd to virtuous songs alone, They soothe the wanton pleasures of the great; So the rich soil of India's blooming shores, And all the glories of your sparkling race, Pemb. Col. Oxon. T. TRISTRAM. |