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--Placidaque: ibi demum morte quievit. Virg. There calm at length he breathed his soul away.

“O most delightful hour by man

Experienced here below;
« The hour that terminates his span,

“ His folly and his woe.

“ Worlds should not bribe me back to tread

Again life's dreary waste; “ To see again my day o'erspread

“ With all the gloomy past.

My home, henceforth, is in the skies,
“ Earth, seas, and sun adieu :
All heaven unfolded to my eyes,
“ I have no sight for you."

Thus spake Aspasio, firm possest

Of faith's supporting rod,
Then breathed his soul into its rest,

The bosom of his God.

He was a man among the few

Sincere on virtue's side ; And all his strength from scripture drew,

To hourly use applied.

That rule he prized, by that he feared,

He hated, hoped, and loved, Nor ever frowned or sad appeared,

But wlien his heart had roved.

For he was frail as thou or I,

And evil felt within,
But when he felt it, heaved a sigh,

And loathed the thought of sin.

Such lived Aspasio, and at last

Called up from earth to heaven, The of death triumphant passed

By gales of blessing driven.

His joys be mine, each reader cries,

When my last hour arrives ;
They shall be yours, my verse replies,

Such only be you lives.


The bandit whom the laws pursue,

The soldier, and the gipsy crew
Arabs, and Tartars, ever doom'd to roam-

Whate'er their place of shelter be,

A tent, a cave, or hollow tree,
Thither they hie with joy, and call it homes

There if a doxy, or a wife,

Receive the wretch escap'd from strife;
If there his tatter'd brood around him cling-

His features catch a brightning smile,

He rests him from his sordid toil,
And in his narrow confines reigns a king.

While thus the poor and wretched find

Th’ asylum for a wounded mind Distemper’d men there are, estrang’d from home,

Cold to an angel's kind embrace,

Cheerless amid a blooming race,
And dead to comfort in a princely dome.

Men in the lap of fortune nurst,

With all her froward humours curst, And teaz'd by wishes ever on the wing;

Who, wand'ring still through folly's maze,

In search of bliss consume their days, Nor taste her genuine draught at nature's spring.

Ye such the men who lead the gay,

The pride and patterns of the day. Whose high-prized friendship fools and strangers

boastBlush, thou ! to court their barren fame;

Let home, sweet home, thy presence claim, And those enjoy thy smiles who love thee most!



Farewell, ye gilded follies, pleasing troubles;
Farewell, ye honour'd rags, ye glorious bubbies;
Fame's but a hollow echo, gold pure clay;
Honour the darling but of one short day;
Beauty, the eye's idol, but a damask skin;
State but a golden prison to live in,
And torture free-born minds: embroider'd trains
Merely but pageants for proud swelling veins !
And blood ally'd to greatness, is alone
Inherited, not purchas'd, nor our own.

Fame, honour, beauty, state, train, blood and

birth, Are but the fading blossoms of the earth.

I would be great, but that the sun doth still
Level his rays against the rising hill:
I would be high but see the proudest oak
Most subject to the rending thunder-stroke:
I would be rich, but see men too unkind,
Dig in the bowels of the richest mind:
I would be wise, but that I often see,
The fox suspected, whilst the ass goes free:
I would be fair, but see the fair and proud
Like the bright sun, oft setting in a cloud:
I would be poor, but know the bumble grass
Still trampled on by each unworthy ass:
Rich hated : wise suspected: scorn'd if poor :
Great fear'd: fair tempted: high still envy'd


I have wish'd all; but now I wish for neither; Great, high, rich, wise nor fair; poor I'll be


Would the world now adopt me for her heir, Would beauty's queen entitle me “ the fair,” Fame speak me fortune's minion, could I vie Angels with India; with a speaking eye Command hare heads, bow'd knees, strike justice

dumb, As well as blind and lame, or give a tongue

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