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That charms the eye, that captivates the mind!
Why, roam abroad? Since still, to Fancy's eyes,,
O Death, why arm with cruelty thy power,
Is Virtue then no more the care of Heaven?-
We, not Eliza, felt the fatal dart.
'Scaped the dark dungeon does the slave complain, Nor bless the hand that broke the galling chain
O happy stroke, that bursts the bonds of clay, Darts through the rending gloom the blaze of day, And wings the soul with boundless flight to soar, Where dangers threat, and fears alarm no more.
DEATH OF LADY COVENTRY.-Mason.
THE midnight clock has toll'd, and hark! the bell Of death beats slow! heard ye the note profound? It pauses now; and now, with rising knell, Flings to the hollow gale its sullen sound.
Yes, Coventry is dead: attend the strain,
Daughters of Albion! ye that, light as air, So oft have tript in her fantastic train,
With hearts as gay, and faces half as fair.
For she was fair beyond your brightest bloom,
(This Envy owns, since now her bloom is fled;) Fair as the forms that, wove in fancy's loom,
Float in light vision round the poet's head.
Whene'er with soft serenity she smil❜d,
Or caught the orient blush of quick surprise; How sweetly mutable, how brightly wild, The liquid lustre darted from her ! eyes
Each look, each motion wak'd a new-born grace, That o'er her form its transient glory cast; Some lovelier wonder soon usurpt the place, Chas'd by a charm still lovelier than the last.
That bell again! it tells us what she is ;
On what she was, no more the strain prolong; Luxuriant Fancy, pause- -an hour like this Demands the tribute of a serious song.
Maria claims it from that sable bier,
Where cold and wan the slumb'rer rests her head;
In still small whispers to Reflection's ear
O catch the awful notes, and lift them loud;
Proclaim the theme, by sage, by fool, rever'd; Hear it, ye young, ye vain, ye great, ye proud: 'Tis Nature speaks, and Nature will be heard..
Yes, ye shall hear, and tremble as ye hear, While high with health your hearts exulting leap;
Even in the midst of pleasure's mad career, "The mental monitor shall wake and weep.
For say, than Coventry's propitious star,
What brighter planet on your birth arose, Or gave of fortune's gifts an ampler share,
In life to lavish, or by death to lose?
Early to lose, while borne on busy wing
Ye sip the nectar of each varying bloom; Nor fear, while basking in the beams of spring, The wintry storm that sweeps you to the tomb.
Think of her fate! revere the heavenly hand
Long at her couch Death took his patient stand,
To give reflection time, with lenient art,
Each fond delusion from her soul t'expel;
And wean her from a world she lov'd so well.
Say, are ye sure His mercy shall extend
To you so long a span? Alas! ye sigh: Make, then, while yet ye may, your God your friend,
And learn with equal ease to sleep or die.
Nor think the Muse, whose sober voice ye Kear,
No she would warm you with seraphic fire,
Not sink and slumber in your cells of clay.
Know ye were form'd to range yon azure field,
Is this the bigot's rant? Away, ye vain,
Your hopes, your fears, in doubt, in dulness: steep;
Go, sooth your souls in sickness, grief, or pain, With the sad solace of eternal sleep!
Yet will I praise you, triflers as ye are,
More than those preachers of your favʼrite creed,, Who proudly swell the brazen throat of war;
Who form the phalanx, bid the battle bleed':
Nor wish for more: who conquer but to die.
Hear, Folly, hear; and triumph in the tale : Like you, they reason; not, like you, enjoy The breeze of bliss, that fills your silken sail. On Pleasure's glitt'ring stream you gaily steer Your little course to cold Oblivion's shore: They dare the storm, and, through th' inclement
Stem the rough surge, and brave the torrent's
Is it for glory? That just fate denies.
Long must the warrior moulder in his shroud, Ere from her trump the heaven-breath'd accents
That lift the hero from the fighting crowd.
Is it his grasp of empire to extend;
To curb hostilities, or baffle views ? Ambition, cease; the idle contest end;
'Tis but a kingdom thou canst win or lose..