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Lets go its eager grasp, and drops the world,
Shall'man alone, whose fate; whose final fate,
Eternity, the various fentence past, Alligns the sever'd throng distinct abodes, Sulphureous, or ambrosial: ----what ensues? The deed predominant ! the deed of deeds! Which makes a hell of hell, a heav'n of hear'a. The goddess, with determin'd aspect, turns Her adainantine key's enormous size Through destiny's inextricable wards, Deep driving ev'ry bolt, on both their fates. Then from the crystal battlements of heav'n, Down, down the hurls it through the dark profound. Ten thousand thousand fathoms! there to rust, And ne'er unlock her resolution more. The deep resounds, and hell, through all her glooms, Returns, in groans, the melancholy roar!
O how unlike the chorus of the skies! O how unlike those shouts of joy that shake The whole ethereal! How the concave rings! Nor strange! when deities their voice exalt; And louder far than when creation rose, To see creation's godlike aim, and end, So well accomplish'd! so divinely clos'di To see the mighty dramatist's last act, As meet, in glory rising o'er the rest. No fancy'd god, a God, indeed, descends To solve all knots; to strike the moral home; To throw full day on darkest scenes of time; To clear, commend, exalt, and crown the whole. Hence, in one peal of loud, eternal praise, The charm'd spectators thunder their applause; And the vast void beyond, applause resounds.
A FATHER'S ADVICE
TO HIS SON.
Deep in a grove by cypress fhaded,
Where mid-day fun had feldom Thong, Qr noise the folemn scene invaded,
Save some amicted muse's moan,
A swain, tow'rds full-ag'd manhood wending,
Sat sorrowing at the close of day, At whose fond side a boy attending,
Lisp'd half bis father's cares away.
The father's eyes no object wrested,
But on the smiling prattler hung, Till what his throbing heart suggested,
These accents trembled from his congue.
“ My youth's first hope, my manhood's treasure,
« My dearest innocent, attend, “ Nor fear rebuke, or four displeasure,
“ A father's loveliest name is Friend.
• Some truths from long experience flowing,
“ Worth more than royal grants, receive; 6 For truths are wealth of Heav'n's bestowing,
“ Which kings have seldom power to give.
" Since, from an ancient race descended,
“ You boast an unattainted blood,
66 In love for every fellow creature,
“ Superior rise above the crowd ; “ What most ennobles human nature “ Was ne'er the portion of the proud.
" Be thine the generous heart that borrows.
“ From other's joys a friendly glow, “ And for each hapless neighbour's sorrows,.
“ Throbs with a sympathetic woc.
“ This is the temper molt endearing,
“ Though wide, proud pomp, her banner spreadsy “ An heavenlier power good-nature bearing,
« Each heart in willing thraldam leads.
“ Taite not from fame's uncertain fountain
" The peace-deftroying streams that Aow,, * Nor from ambition's dangerous mountain:
“ Look down upon the world below..
“ The princely pine on hills exalted,
" Whose lofty branches cleave the sky, “ By winds, long brav’d, at laft afsaulted,
“ Is headlong whirld in duft to lie;
“ While the mild rose, more fafely growing,
“ Low in its unaspiring vale, “ Amid retirement's shelter blowing,
“ Exchanges fweets with every gale.
" Wish not for beauty's darling features,
“ Moulded by nature's partial pow'r, “ For Fairest forms 'mong human creatures,
" Shine but the pageants of an hour.
" I saw the pride of all the meadow,
" At noon, a gay narcissus blow " Upon a river's bank, whose shadow
« Bloom'd in the silver waves below;
" By noontide's heat its youth was wasted,
“ The waters, as they pass’d, complain'd; " At eve, its glories all were blasted,
“ And not one former tint remain'd.
* Nor let vain wit's deceitful glory
• Lead you from wisdom's path astray; ** What genius lives renown'd in story,
“ To happiness who found the way?
* In yonder mead behold thať vapour,
“ Whose vivid beams illusive play, " Far off it seems a friendly taper,
" To guide the traveller on his way ;
* But should some hapless wretch pursuing,
“ Tread where the creach'rous meteors glow, * He'd find, too late, his rashness rueing,
“ That fatal quick-sands lurk below.
• In life such bubbles nought admiring
“ Gilt with false light, and fill'd with air, ** Do you from pageant crowds retiring,
6+ To Peace in Virtue's cot repair.