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Its favours here are trials, not rewards ;

A call to duty, not discharge from care,
And should alarm us full as inuch as woes,
Awake us to their cause and consequence,
O'er our scann'd conduct give a jealous eye,
And make us tremble, weigh'd with our desert; 335
Awe Nature's tumult, and chastise her joys,
Lest while we clasp we kill them; nay, invert
To worse than simple misery their clarms.
Revolted joys, like foes in civil war,
Like bosom friendships to resentment sour'd, 340
With rage envenom'd rise against our peace.
Beware what earth calls happiness; beware
All joys but joys that never can expire.
Who builds on less than an immortal base,
Fond as he seems, condemns his joys to death. 345

Mine died with thee, Philander; thy last sigh
Dissolved the charm; the disenchanted earth
Lost all her lustre. Where her glittering towers?
Her golden mountains where ? all darken'd down
To naked waste; a dreary vale of tears.

350 The great magician's dead! Thou poor, pale piece Of outcast earth, in darkness : what a change From yesterday! Thy darling hope so near, (Long-labour'd prize !) O how ambition Aush'd Thy glowing cheek! ambition truly great, 355 Of virtuous praise. Death's subtle seed within, (Sly, treacherous miner!) working in the dark, Smiled at thy well concerted scheme, and beckon'd The worm to riot on that rose so red, Unfaded ere it fell, one moment's prey !

360 Man's foresight is conditionally wise ; Lorenzo ! wisdom into folly turns Oft, the first instant; its idea fair. To labouring thought is born. How dim our eye! The present moment terminates our sight; 365 Clouds, thick as those on Doomsday, drown the next; We penetrate, we prophesy in vain,

Time is dealt out by particles, and each
Are mingled with the streaming sands of lifo.
By Fate's inviolable oath is sworn

370 Deep silence,—where Eternity begins.

By Nature's law, what may be may be now; There's no prerogative in human hours. In human hearts what bolder thought can rise Than man's presumption on to-morrow's dawn? 375 Where is to-morrow? In another world. För numbers this is certain; the reverse Is sure to none ; and yet on this perhups, This peradventure, infamous for lies, As on a rock of adamant, we build

360 Our mountain hopes, spin out eternal schemes, As we the Fatal Sisters could outspin, And, big with life's futurities, expire.

Not e'en Philander had bespoke his shroud ; Nor had he cause ; a warning was denied. 385 How many fall as sudden, not as safe ! As sudden, though for years admonish'd home; Of human ills the last extreme beware; Beware, Lorenzo! a slow, sudden death : How dreadful that deliberate surprise !

390 Be wise to-day ; 'tis madness to defer : Next day the fatal precedent will plead ; Thus on, till wisdom is push'd out of life. Procrastination is the thief of time; Year after year it stcals, till all are ded,

305 And to the mercies of a nioment leaves The vast concerns of an eternal scene. If not so frequent, would vot this be strange ? That 'tis so frequent, this is stranger stil.

Of man's miraculous mistakes this bears 400 The palm, “That all men are about to live, For ever on the brink of being born: All pay themselves the compliment to think They one day shall not drivel, and their prido On this reversion takes up ready praise ;


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At least their own; their future selves applauds.
\How excellent that life they ne'er will lead!
Time lodged in their own hands is Folly's veils ;
That lodged in Fate's to wisdom they consign;
The thing they can't but purpose they postpone. 410
'Tis not in folly not to scorn a fuol,
And scarce in human wisdom to do more.
All promise is poor dilatory man,
And that through every stage. (When young, indeed,
In full content we sometimes nobly rest,

Unanxious for ourselves, and only wish,
As duteous sons, our fathers were more wise.
At thirty man suspects himself a fool;
Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan ;
At fifty chides his infamous delay,

Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve ;
In all the magnanimity of thought
Resolves, and re-resolves; then dies the same

And why? because he thinks himself immortal.
All men think all men mortal but themselves; 425
Themselves, when some alarming shock of Fato
Strikes through their wounded hearts the sudden dread.
But their hearts wounded, like the wounded air,
Soon close; where pass'd the shaft no trace is found.
As from the wing no scar the sky retains,

The parted wave no furrov; from the kcel,
So dies in human hearts the thought of death :
E’en with the tender tear which Nature sheds
O'er those we love, we drop it in their giave.
Can I forget Philander ? that were strange !

O my full heart !-But should I give it vent,
The longest night, though longer far, would fail,
And the lark listen to my midnight song.
The sprightly lark's shrill matin wakes the morn ;
Griof's sharpest thorn hard pressing on my breast,
I strive, with wakeful melody, to cheer

The sullen gloom, sweet Philomel ! like thee,
And call the stars to listen : every star

Is deaf to mine, enamour'd of thy lay.
Yet be not vain; there are who thine excel, 445
And charm through distant ages. Wrapp'd in shade,
Prisoner of darkness ! to the silent hours
How often 1 repeat their rage divine,
To lull my griefs, and steal my heart from woe!
I roll their raptures, but not catch their fire. 450
Dark, though not blind like thee, Mæonides !
Or, Milton! thee; ah, could I reach your strain
Or his* who made Mæonides our own.
Man, too, he sung: immortal man I sing:
Oft bursts my song beyond the bounds of life :

What, now, but immortality can please ?
O had he press d his theme, pursued the track
Which opens out of darkness into day!
O had he mounted on his wing of fire,
Soar'd where I sink, and sung immortal man, 460
How had it bless'd mankind, and rescued me!

* Pope.




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RIGHT HON. THE EARL OF WILMINGTON. When the cock crew, he wept,'--smote by that eye Which looks on me, on all; that Power who bids This midnight sentinel, with clarion shrill, Emblem of that which shall awake the dead, Rouse souls from slumber, into thoughts of Heaven. 5 Shall I too weep? where then is fortitude ? And fortiti de abandon'd, where is man? I know the terms on which he sees the light: He that is born is listed: life is war; Eternal war with woe: who bears it best

10 Deserves it least.-On other the:nos lill dwell. Lorenzo ! let me turn my thoughts on tiiee; And thine on themes may profit ; profit there Where most thy need. Themes, too, the genuino

growth Of dear Philander's dust. He thus, though dead, 15 May still befriend.—What themes ? Time's wondrous

price, Death, friendship, and Philander's final scene.

So could I touch these themes as might obtain Thine ear, nor leave thy heart quite disengaged, The good deed would delight ine; half impress 20 On my dark cloud an Iris, and from grief Call glory.-Dost trou mourn Philander's fate? I know thou say'st it : says thy life the same ? ( He mourns the dead who lives as they desire. |

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