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Yet ev'n these bones from insult to protect,

Some frail memorial still erected nigh, With uncouth rhymes and shapelets sculpture

deck'd, Implores the passing tribute of a figh. Their name, their years, spelt by th’unletter'd muse,

The place of fame and elegy supply: And many a holy text around the firews,

That teach the rustic moralilt to die. Ilark! how the sacred calm, that breathes around,

Bids every fierce tumultuous passion ceale; In still small accents whispering from the ground,

A grateful earnest of eternal peace. For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey,

This pleasing anxious being e'er refign'd, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,

Nor cast one longing lingering look behind ? On some fond breast the parting foul relies,

Some pious drops the closing eye requires; Ev’n from the tomb the voice of nature cries,

Ev’n in our aihes live their wonted fires. For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead,

Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; If chance, by lonely contemplation led,

Some kindred fpirit shall inquire thy fate; Ilaply some hoary-headed fwain may say, Oft have we seen him, at the peep

of dawn, “ Brushing with hafty fieps the dews away,

“ To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. “ Him have we seen the greenwood fide along,

“ While o'er the heath we hied, our labour done, Oft as the wood-lark pip'd her farewell tong,

“ With wishful eyes pursue the setting fun, • There, at the foot of yonder nodding beech,

“ That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, " His listless length at noon-tide would he liretch,

" And pore upon the brook that bubbles by.

“ Hard by yon wood, now siniling as in scorn,

Muttering his wayward fancies, he would rove, “ Now drooping, woful wan, like one forlorn,

“ Orcraz’d with care, or cross’d in hopeless love. “ One morn I miss'd him on the custom’d hill,

“ Along the heath and near his favorite tree; “ Another came; nor yet beside the rill,

“ Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he; “ The next, with dirges due in sad array, “ Slow through the church-way path we saw him

borne. Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay

“Grav’d on the fione beneath yon aged thorn. “ There scatter'd oft, the earliest of the year,

“By hands unseen, are show'rs of violets found; “ The red-breast loves to build and warble there,

“ And little footsteps lightly print the ground.”

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THE EPITAPH.

HERE rests his head, upon the lap of earth,

A youth to fortune and to fame unknown, Fair science frown'd not on his humble birth,

And melancholy mark'd him for her own. Large was his bounty, and his foul sincere,

Heaven did a recompence as largely send : He gave to misery all he had a tear; He gain’d from heaven ('twas all lie with’d)-a

friend. No farther seek his merits to disclose,

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (There they alike in trembling hope repose),

The bofom of his father and his God.

THE COURSE OF NATURE.
YOU do look, my fon, in a mov’d fort,

As if you were dilmay'd : be cheerful, fir :
Our revels now are ended: these our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
Are melted into air, into thin air :
And, like the baseless fabrick of this vifion,
The cloud-capt towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The folemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, Thall diffolve ;
And, like this infubftantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind: We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.

THE DESPAIRING LOVER. WHERE now are all my flatt'ring dreams of joy?

MONIMIA, give my soul her wonted rest; Since first thy beauty fix'd my roving eye,

Heart-gnawing cares corrode my pensive breast. Let happy lovers fly where pleasures call,

With fettive fongs beguile the fleeting hour; Lead beauty through the mazes of the ball,

Or press her wanton in 'love's roseate bower. For me, no more I'll range th' empurpled mead,

Where shepherds pipe, and virgins dance around; • Nor wander through the woodbine's fragrant thade,

To hear the mulic of the grove refound. I'll seek some lonely church, or dreary hall,

Where fancy paints the glimm’ring taper blue; Where damps hang mould'ring on the ivy'd wall,

And theeted gholts drink up the midnight dew: There leagu'd with hopeless anguish and despair,

Awhile in filence o'er my fate repine: Then with a long farewell to love and care,

To kindred duti my weary limbs confign.

Wilt thou, MONIMIA, sed a gracious tear

On the cold grave where all my sorrows rest? Strew vernal flow'rs, applaud my love fincere,

And bid the turf lie ealy on my breaft?

SOLITUDE. O

SOLITUDE, romantic maid!

Whether by nodding towers you tread,
Or haunt the desert's trackless gloom,
Or hover o'er the yawning tomb,
Or climb the Andes' clifted fide,
Or by the Nile's coy source abide,
Or starting from your half-year's Deep
From Hecla view the thawing deep,
Or, at the purple dawn of day,
Tadmor's marble wastes survey;

You, reclufe, again I woo,

And again your steps pursue.
Plum'd concert himself surveying,
Folly with her shadow playing,
Purse-proud, elbowing INSOLENCE,
Bloated empiric, putt'd PRETENCE,
Noise that through a trumpet speaks,
LAUGHTER in loud peals that breaks,
INTRUSION with a fopling's face,
(Ignorant of time and place)
*Sparks of fire diffention blowing,
Ductile, court-bred PLATTERY, bowing,
RESTRAINT's stiff neck, GRIMACE's leer,
Squint-ey'd CENSURE's artful sneer,
AMBITION's buskins, steep'd in blood,
Fly thy presence, soLITUDE.
Sage REFLECTION bent with years,
Conscious VIRTUE void of fears,
Muffled SILENCE, wood-nymph My,
MEDITATION's piercing eye,

Halcyon PEACE on mols reclin’d,
RETROSPECT that fcans the mind,
Rapt earth-gazing RESVERY,
Bluhing artless MODESTY,
HEALTH that inuifs the morning air,
Full-ey'd Truth with bofom bare,
INSPIRATION, nature's child,
Seek the folitary wild.
When all nature's buth'd alleep,
Nor love nor guilt their vigils keep,
Soft you leave your cavern'd den,
And wander o'er the works of men;
But when Phosphor brings the dawn
By her dappled coursers drawn,
Again you to the wild retreat
And the early huntsman meet,
Where as you penfive pace along,
You catch the distant ihepherd's song,
Or brush from herbs the pearly dew,
Or the riling primrose view.
Devotion lends her heaven-plum'd wings,

You mount, and nature with you sings.
But when the mid-day fervors glow,
To upland airy thades you go,
Where never fun-burnt woodman came,
Nor foruman chac’d the timid

game;
And there beneath an oak reclin’d,
With drowsy waterfalls behind,
You fink to reli.
'Till the tuneful bird of night,
From the neighb'ring poplar's height,
Wake you with her folemn ftrain,
And teach pleas'd echo to complain.
With

you roses brighter bloom,
Sweeter every f'weet perfume,
Purer every fountain flows,
Stronger every wilding grows.
Let those toil for gold who please,
Or for fame renounce their case.

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