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Starts timid Nature at the gloomy pass ?
may itself procure what it presumes. Life is much flatter'd, Death is much traduced; Compare the rivals and the kinder crown. 445
Strange competition !'-True, Lorenzo! strange ! So little life can cast into the scale.
Life makes the soul dependent on the dust, Death gives her wings to mount above the spheres. Through chinks, styled organs, dim life, peeps at light; Death bursts the involving cloud, and all is day 451 All eye, all ear, the disembodied power. Death has feigr'd evils Nature shall not feel ; Life, ills substantial wisdom cannot shun. Is not the mighty mind, that sun of Heaven! 455 By tyrant Life dethroned, imprison'd, pain'd? By Death enlarged, ennobled, deified ? Death but entonıbs the body, Life the soul.
• Is Death then guiltless: How he marks his way With dreadful waste of what deserves to shine! 460 Art, Genius, Fortune, elevated power! With various lustres these light up the world, Which Death puts out, and darkens human race.' I grant, Lorenzo! this indictment just : The sage, peer, potentate, king, conqueror ! 465 Death humbles these ; more barbarous Life, the man Life is the triumph of our mouldering clay ; Death of the spirit infinite ! divine ! Death has no dread but what frail Life imparts, Nor Life true joy but what kind Death improves. 470 No bliss has Life to boast, till Death can give Far greater. Life's a debtor to the grave; Dark lattice ! letting in eternal day.
Lorenzo! blush at fondness for life Which sends celestial souls on errands vile, 475 To cater for the sense, and serve at boards
Where every ranger of the wilds, perhaps
Then welcome, Death! thy dreaded harbingers, Age and disease ; Disease, though long my guest, That plucks my nerves, those tender strings of life :
hich pluck'd a little more, will toll the bell 490 That calls my few friends to my funeral ; Where feeble nature drops, perhaps, a lear, While Reason and Religion, better taught, Congratulate the dead, and crown his toinb With wreath triumphant. Death is victory! 495 It binds in chains the raging ills of life : Lust and Ambition, Wrath and Avarice, Dragg'd at his chariot-whcel, applaud his power. That ills corrosive, cares importunate, Are not immortal too, O Death! is thine. 500 Our day of dissc!ution ?--name it right, 'Tis our great pay-day ; 'tis our harvest rich And ripe. What though the sickle, sometimes keen, Just scars us as we reap the golden grain ? More than thy balm, 0 Gilead! heals the wound. 505 Birth's feeble cry, and Death's deep dismal groan, Are slender tributes low-tax'd Nature pays For mighty gain : the gain of each a life! But, O! the last the former so transcends, 509 Life dies, compared ; Life lives beyond the grave.
And feel I, Death! no joy from thought of thee? Death! the great counsellor, who man inspires With every nob'er thought and fairer deed' Death! ihe deliverer, who rescues man!
Death' the rewarder, who the rescued crowns. 515
535 When shai! I vie ? - when shall I livo for ever ?
The Christian Triumph.
PUR ONLY CURE FOR THE FEAR OF DEATH, AND PROPER
SENTIMENTS OF HEART ON THAT INESTIMABLE
TO THE HON. MR. YORKE. A much indebted Muse, O Yorke ! intrudes. Amid the smiles of fortune and of youth, Thino ear is patient of a serious song.
How deep implanted in the breast of man The dread of death! I sing its sovereign cure.
But were Death frightful, what has age to fear?
20 | scarce can meet a monument, but holds
My younger; every date cries_Come away.'
But grant to life (and just it is to grant
With me that time is come; my world is dead;
Shall I dare say peculiar is my fate ?