Young Churchill fell, as life began to bloom:
And Bradford's trembling age expects the tomb.
Wisdom and eloquence in vain would plead
One moment's refpite for the learned head:
Judges of writings and of men have died;
Mecanas, Sackville, Socrates, and Hyde:

And in their various turns the fons must tread
Thofe gloomy journeys, which their fires have led.

The ancient fage, who did fo long maintain,
That bodies die, but fouls return again,
With all the births and deaths he had in ftore,
Went out Pythagoras, and came no more.
And modern Afl, whose capricious thought,
Is yet with ftores of wilder notions fraught,
Too foon convinced, fhall yield that fleeting breath,
Which played fo idly with the darts of death.

Some from the ftranded veffel force their way;
Fearful of fate, they meet it in the sea:
Some who escape the fury of the wave,
Sicken on earth, and fink into the grave:
In journeys or at home, in war or peace,
By hardships many, many fall by cafe.
Each changing feafon does its poifon bring;
Rheums chill the winter, agues blaft the fpring:
Wet, dry, cold, hot, at the appointed hour,
All act fubfervient to the Almighty's power:
And when obedient nature knows his will,
A fly, a grapeflone, or a hair can kill.

For reftlefs Proferpine for ever treads
In paths unfeen, o'er our devoted heads;
And on the fpacious land, and liquid main,
Spreads flow disease, or darts afflictive pain:
Variety of deaths confirm her endless reign.

On fad Piava's banks the goddess flood,
Shewed her dire warrant to the rising flood;

When what I long muft love, and long must mourn,
With fatal fpeed was urging his return;

In his dear country, to difpenfe his care,
And arm himself by reft for future war;
To chide his anxious friend's officious fears,
And promife to their joys his elder years.

Oh, deftined head! and oh, fevere decree!
Nor native country thou, nor friend' fhalt fee;
Nor war haft thou to wage, nor years to come,
Impending death is thine, and inftant doom.

Hark! the imperious goddess is obeyed:
Winds murmur; fnows defcend; and waters fpread:
Oh, kinfman! friend.-Oh, vain are all the cries
Of human voice! ftrong deftiny replies,

Weep you on earth; for he fhall weep below:
Thence none return; and thither all must go.

Whoe'er thou art, whom choice or business leads
To this fad river, or the neighbouring meads;
If thou mayeft happen, on the dreary shores,
To find the object which this verse deplores,
Cleanse the pale corpfe, with a religious hand,
From the polluting weed, and common fand;
Lay the dead hero graceful in the grave;
(The only honour he can now receive.)
And fragrant mould upon his body throw;
And plant the warrior-lawrel o'er his brow;
Light lie the earth, and flourish green the bough.

So may just heaven secure thy future life
From foreign dangers, and domeftic ftrife:
And when the infernal Judge's difmal power,
From the dark urn fhall throw thy destined hour;

When

When yielding to the fentence, breathless thou,
And pale fhalt lie, as what thou buriest now;
May fome kind friend the pitious object see,

And equal rites perform, to That which once was Thee.

DEATH and ETERNITY.

Y thoughts, that often mount the skies,

MY

Go, fearch the world beneath,

Where nature all in ruin lies,

And owns her fovereign, Death.

The tyrant how he triumphs here!
His trophies fpread around!
And heaps of duft and bones appear,
Through all the hollow ground.

These skulls, what ghaftly figures now!
How loathfome to the eyes!
These are the heads we lately knew,
So beauteous, and fo wife.

But where the fouls, those deathless things,
That left this dying clay?

My thoughts, now ftretch out all your wings,
And trace Eternity.

O that unfathomable fea!

Thofe deeps without a fhore!

Where living waters gently play,
Or fiery billows roar!

Thus muft we leave the banks of life,

And try this doubtful fea;

Vain are our groans, and dying frife
To gain a moment's stay.

There

There we shall swim in heavenly bliss,
Or fink in flaming waves;

While the pale carcase thoughtless lies,
Among the filent
graves.

Some hearty friend fhall drop his tear
On our dry bones, and fay,
"These once were ftrong, as mine appear,

And mine must be as they.

Thus fhall our mouldering members teach
What now our fenfes learn:
For duft and ashes loudeft preach
Man's infinite concern."

A

An ODE, from the Second Book of HORACE.

H! no, 'tis all in vain, believe me 'tis,

This pious Artifice;

Not all these prayers and alms can buy
One moment towr'd eternity.

Eternity! that boundless race,

Which Time himself can never run:

(Swift as he flies with an unweariéd pace)
Which, when ten thoufand, thoufand years are done,
Is fill the fame, and ftill to be begun.

Fixed are thofe limits, which prescribe

A fhort extent to the most lafting breath; And though thou cou'dst for sacrifice lay down Millions of other lives to fave thy own,

'Twere fruitlefs all; not all would bribe One fupernumerary gafp from death.

In vain's thy inexhausted store

Of wealth, in vain thy power,

The

The rich, the great, the innocent and juff,
Muft all be huddled to the grave,
With the most vile and ignominious flave,
And undiftinguifhed lie in duft.

In vain the fearful flies alarms;

In vain he is fecure from wounds of arms,
In vain avoid the faithlefs feas,

And is confinéd to home and eafe,
Bounding his knowledge to extend his days,
In vain are all thofe arts we try,
All our evasions, and regret to die :
From the contagion of mortality,

No clime is pure, no air is free:
And no retreat

Is fo obfcure, as to be hid from Fate.

Thou muft, alas! thou muft, my friend:
(The very hour thou now doft spend
In fludying to avoid, brings on thine end :)
Thou muft forego the deareft joys of life;
Leave the warm bofom of thy tender wife,
And all the much-loved offspring of her womb,
To moulder in the cold embraces of a tomb.
All must be left, and all be loft;

Thy houfe, whofe ftately ftructure so much coft,
Shall not afford

Room for the finking carcafe of its Lord.

Of all thy pleasant gardens, grots and bowers,
Thy coftly fruits, thy far-fetched plants and flowers,
Nought fhalt thou fave;

Unless a sprig of rofemary thou have,

To wither with thee in thy grave: The reft fhall live and flourish to upbraid

Their tranfitory Master dead.

END of VOL. X.

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