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“ 'Twas from Philosophy man learned to tame
The soil by plenty to intemperance fed. “ Lo! from the echoing axe, and thundering flame, " Poison and plague and yelling rage are fled. “ The waters, bursting from their slimy bed, “ Bring health and melody to every vale: " And, from the breezy main and mountain's head
“ Ceres and Flora, to the sunny dale, "To fan their glowing charms, invite the fluttering gale.
" What dire necessities on every hand
Awhile, and turn aside Death's levelld dart, “ Sooth the sharp pang, allay the fever's fire, “ And brace the nerves once more, and cheer the
heart, “ And yet a few soft nights and balmy days impart.
“ Nor less to regulate man's mortal frame “ Science exerts her all-composing sway. * Flutters thy breast with fear, or pants for fame, “ Or pines to Indolence and Spleen a prey, “ Or Avarice, a fiend more fierce than they? “ Flee to the shades of Academus' grove; " Where cares molest not! discord melts away
“ In harmony, and the pure passions prove “ How sweet the words of truth breath'd from the
lips of love. “ What cannot Art and Industry perform, " When Science plans! the progress of their toil! “ They smile at penury, disease, and storm; “ And oceans from their mighty mounds recoil. " When tyrants scourge, or demagogues embroil “ A land, or when the rabble's headlong rage “ Order transforms to anarchy and spoil,
Deep-vers'd in man the philosophic Sage Prepares with lenient hand their phrenzy to assuage.
« ? Tis he alone, whose comprehensive mind, " From situation, temper, soil, and clime
Explor'd, a nation's various powers can bind “And various orders, in one Form sublime “ Of polity, that, midst the wrecks of time, “Secure shall lift its head on high, nor fear “ Th' assault of foreign or domestic crime, “ While public faith, and public love sincere, "And Industry and Law maintain their sway severe."
Enraptur'd by the Hermit's strain, the Youth
Sublime from cause to cause exults to rise,
Nor love of novelty alone inspires,
And Emulation's noble rage alarm,
But she, who set on fire his infant heart,
While boundless hopes and boundless views inflame, Enamour'd consecrates to never-dying fame.
Of late, with cumbersome, tho' pompous show,
Tempers his rage: he owns her charm divine, And clears the ambiguous phrase, and lops the un
Fain would I sing (much yet unsung remains)
Gracefully terrible, sublimely strong,
And how his lyre, tho' rude her first essays,
I haste, where gleams funereal glare around,
Adieu, ye lays, that Fancy's flowers adorn,
Friend, teacher, pattern, darling of mankind !_* He sleeps in dust.-Ah, how should I pursue My theme !—To heart-consuming grief resign'd,
Here on his recent grave I fix my view, And pour my bitter tears.-Ye flowery lays, adieu !
Art thou, my G*******, for ever filed!
My hopes to cherish, and allay my fears. 'Tis meet that I should mourn: flow forth afresh my
• This excellent person died suddenly, on the 10th of February, 1773. The conclusion of the poem was written a few days after.
THE G R A V E.
The house appointed for all living.
WI HILST some affect the sun, and some the shade,
Some flee the city, some the hermitage, Their aims as various as the roads they take In journeying thro' life; the task be mine To paint the gloomy horrors of the tomb; The appointed place of rendezvous, where all These travellers meet. Thy succours I implore, Eternal King! whose potent arm sustains The keys of hell and death. The Grave, dread thing! Men shiver when thou'rt nam'd: Nature appalld Shakes off her wonted firmness. Ah ! how dark Thy long-extended realms and rueful wastes; Where nought but silence reigns, and night, dark night, Dark as was Chaos ere the infant Sun Was rolld together, or had tried its beams Athwart the gloom profound! The sickly taper, By glimm'ring thro' thy low-brow'd misty vaults, Furrd round with mouldy damps, and ropy slime, Lets fall a supernumerary horror, And only serves to make thy night more irksome. Well do I know thee by thy trusty yew, Cheerless, unsocial plant! that loves to dwell 'Midst sculls and coffins, epitaphs and worms; Where light-heel'd ghosts, and visionary shades, Beneath the wan cold moon (as fame reports) Embodied thick, perform their mystic rounds. No other merriment, dull tree! is thine.
See yonder hallow'd fane! the pious work Of names once fam'd, now dubious or forgot, And buried 'midst the wreck of things which were: