Save me alike from foolish pride,
Or impious discontent,

At ought thy wisdom has deny'd,
Or ought thy goodness lent.
Teach me to feel another's woe;
To hide the fault I fee;
That mercy I to others fhow,
That mercy fhow to me.
Mean tho' I am, not wholly fo,
Since quicken'd by thy breath,
Oh lead me wherefoe'er I go,

Thro' this day's life or death:
This day be bread and peace my lot;

All elfe beneath the fun

Thou know'it if beft bestow'd or not;
And let thy will be done.
To thee whofe temple is all fpace,
Whofe altar, earth, fea, skies,
One chorus let all being raise,

All nature's incense rife.

The dying CHRISTIAN to his SOUL.

ODE. By the fame,

VITAL spark of

I.

7ITAL fpark of heav'nly flame! Quit, oh quit this mortal frame : Trembling, hoping, ling'ring, flying, Oh the pain, the blifs of dying! Ceafe, fond nature, ceafe thy ftrife, And let me languish into life.

II.

Hark! they whifper; angels fay,
Sifter fpirit, come away,
What is this absorbs me quite,
Steals my fenfes, fhuts my fight,
Drowns my fpirits, draws my breath?
Tell me, my foul, can this be death?

The

III.

The world recedes; it disappears!
Heav'n opens on my eyes! my ears
With founds feraphic ring:
Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly!
O grave, where is thy victory?
O death, where is thy fting?

The LAST DAY.

By Mr. Young.

BOOK I.

Ipfe pater, media nimborum in nocte, corufca
Fulmina molitur dextrá; quo maxima motu
Terra tremit, fugere feræ, & mortalia corda,
Per gentes, humilis ftravit pavor.

HILE others fing the fortune of the great,

W Empire and arms, and all the pomp of ftate,

With Britain's hero † set their fouls on fire,
And grow immortal as his deeds inspire,

VIRG.

I draw a deeper scene; a scene that yields
A louder trumpet, and more dreadful fields ;
The world alarm'd, both earth and heav'n o'erthrown,
And gasping nature's laft tremendous groan;
Death's antient fceptre broke, the teeming tomb,
The righteous judge, and man's eternal doom.
"Twixt joy and pain I view the bold defign,
And ask my anxious heart if it be mine.
Whatever great or dreadful has been done,
Within the fight of conscious stars or fun,
Is far beneath my daring: I look down
On all the fplendors of the British crown.
This globe is for my verfe a narrow bound;
Attend me all ye glorious worlds around!
O! all ye angels, howfoe'er disjoin'd,
Of ev'ry various order, place, and kind,

The Duke of Marlborough.

Hear

Hear and affist a feeble mortal's lays !
'Tis your eternal King I ftrive to praise.
But chiefly thou, great ruler, Lord of all i
Before whole throne archangels proftrate fall;
If at thy nod, from difcord, and from night,
Sprang beauty, and yon sparkling worlds of light,
Exalt e'en me; all inward tumults quell;
The clouds and darkness of my mind dispell;
To my great fubject thou my breast inspire,
And raise my labouring foul with equal fire.

Man! bear thy brow aloft, view ev'ry grace
In God's great offspring, beauteous nature's face:
See fpring's gay bloom; fee golden autumn's store;
See how earth fimiles, and hear old ocean rore.
Leviathans but heave their cumb'rous mail,
It makes a tide, and wind-bound naveys fail.
Here forefts rife, the mountains awful pride;
Here rivers measure climes and worlds divide:
There valleys fraught with gold's refplendent feeds,
Hold kings and kingdoms fortunes in their beds:
There, to the skies afpiring, hills afcend,
And into diftant lands their fhades extend.
View cities, armies, fleets, of fleets the pride,
See Europe's law in Albion's channel ride.
View the whole earth's vast landskip unconfin'd,
Or view in Britain all her glories join'd.

Then let the firmament thy wonder raise;
'Twill raise thy wonder, but tranfcend thy praife.
How far from eaft to weft? the labouring eye
Can scarce the distant azure bounds difcry.
Wide theatre! where tempefts play at large,
And God's right-hand can all its wrath discharge.
Mark how these radiant lamps inflame the pole,
Call forth the feafons, and the year controul;
They shine thro' time with an unalter'd
See this grand period rife, and that decay:
So vaft, this world's a grain; yet myriads grace,
With golden pomp, the throng'd ethereal space;
So bright, with fuch a wealth of glory ftor'd,
'Twere fin in heathens not to have ador'd.

ray,

How great, how firm, how facred all appears! How worthy an immortal round of years!

Yet

Yet all muft drop, as autumn's ficklieft grain,
And earth and firmament be fought in vain :
The tract forgot where conftellations shone,
Or where the Stuarts fill'd an awful throne:
Time fhall be flain, all nature be destroy'd,
Nor leave an atom in the mighty void.

Sooner or later, in some future date,
(A dreadful fecret in the book of fate!)
This hour, for aught all human wisdom knows,
Or when ten thousand harvests more have rofe;
When scenes are chang'd on this revolving earth,
Old empires fall, and give new empires birth;
While other Bourbons rule in other lands,
And (if man's fin forbids not) other Annes ;
While the still bufy world is treading o'er
The paths they trod five thousand years before,
Thoughtless, as those who now life's mazes run,
Of earth diffolv'd, or an extinguish'd fun.

Ye fublunary worlds, awake, awake!
Ye rulers of the nations hear and shake!
Thick clouds of darkness shall arise one day,
In fudden night all earth's dominions lay;
Impetuous winds the scatter'd forests rend,
Eternal mountains, like their cedars, bend;
The valleys yawn, the troubled ocean roar,
And break the bondage of his wonted shore ;
A fanguine ftain the filver moon o'erspread,
Darkness the circle of the fun invade,
From inmoft heav'n inceffant thunders roll,
And the ftrong echo bound from pole to pole.
When, lo! a mighty trump, one half conceal'd
In clouds, one half to mortal eye reveal'd,
Shall pour a dreadful note: the piercing call
Shall rattle in the centre of the ball;
Th' extended circuit of creation shake,
The living die with fear, the dead awake.
Oh pow'rful blast! to which no equal found
Did e'er the frighted ear of nature wound,
Tho' rival clarions have been ftrain'd on high,
And kindled wars immortal thro' the sky,
Tho' God's whole engin'ry difcharg'd, and all
The rebel angels bellow'd in their fall.
L

Have

Have angels finn'd? and shall not man beware ?
How fhall a fon of earth decline the fnare?
Not folded arms, and slackness of the mind,
Can promife for the fafety of mankind;
None are supinely good: thro' care and pain,
And various arts, the steep afcent we gain.
This is the scene of combat, not of rekt,
Man's is laborious happiness at beft;
On this fide death his dangers never cease,
His joys are joys of conqueft, not of peace.
If then, obfeqiuous to the will of fate,
And bending to the terms of human ftate,'
When guilty joys invite us to their arms,
When beauty fimiles, or grandeur fpreads her charms,
The conscious foul would this great feene difplay,
Call down th' immortal hosts in dread array,
The trumpet found, the Christian banner fpread,
And raise from filent graves the trembling dead;
Such deep impreffion would the picture make,
No pow'r on earth her firm refolve could shake ;
Engag'd with angels fhe would greatly stand,
And look regardless down on fea and land;

Not profer'd worlds her ardour could restrain,

And death might shake his threatning launce in vain
Her certain conqueft would endear the fight,
And danger ferve but to fupply delight.

Inftructed thus to fhun the fatal fpring,
Whence flow the terrors of that day I fing;
More boldly we our labours may pursue,
And all the dreadful image fet to view.

The fparkling eye, the fleek and painted breaft,
The burnish'd fcale, curl'd train, and rifing crest,
All that is lovely in the noxious fnake,
Provokes our fear, and bids us fly the brake;
The fting once drawn, his guiltless beauties rife
In pleafing luftre, and detain our eyes ;
We view with joy, what once did horror move,
And strong averfion foftens into love.

Say then, my mufe, whom difmal fcenes delight,
Frequent at tombs, and in the realms of night;
Say, melancholy maid, if bold to dare

The last extremes of terror and defpair;

Oh