With keenest relish taste pure mental joys: Since the fierce efforts of distemper's rage

Nor 'bates her vigour, nor her pow'rs destroys, Say, shall her lustre death itself impair,

When in high noon she rides, then sets in dark despair?

Though through the heart no purple tide should flow, No quiv'ring nerve should vibrate to the brain, The mental pow'rs no mean dependence know;

Thought may survive, and each fair passion reign? As when Lucina ends the pangful strife,

Lifts the young babe, and lights her lambent flame, Some powers new-waking hail the dawning life, Some unsuspended live, unchang'd, the same; So from our dust fresh faculties may bloom, Some posthumous survive, and triumph o'er the tomb.

This fibrous frame by nature's kindly law,
Which gives each joy to keen sensation here,
O'er purer scenes of bliss the veil may draw,
And cloud reflection's more exalted sphere.
When Death's cold hand with all dissolving power
Shall the close tie with friendly stroke unbind,
Alike our mortal as our natal hour

May to new being raise the waking mind:

On death's new genial day the soul may rise,

Born to some higher life, and hail some brighter

skies.

The moss-grown tree, that shrinks with rolling years.
The drooping flowers that die so soon away,
Let not thy heart alarm with boding fears,

Nor thy own ruin date from their decay:
The blushing rose, that breathes the balmy dew,
No pleasing transports of perception knows;
The reverend oak, that circling springs renew,
Thinks not, nor by long age experienc'd grows:
Thy fate and theirs confess no kindred tie:
Though their frail forms may fade, shall sense and
reason die ?

Nor let life's ills, that in dire circle rage,

Steal from thy heaving breast those labor'd sighs; These, the kind tutors of thy infant age, Train the young pupil for the future skies: Unschool'd in early prime, in riper years

Wretched and scorn'd still struts the bearded boy : The tingling rod bedew'd with briny tears

Shoots forth in graceful fruits of manly joy: The painful cares that vex the toilsome spring Shall plenteous crops of bliss in life's last harvest bring.

She ceas'd, and vanish'd into sightless wind-
O'er my torn breast alternate passions sway,
Now Doubt desponding damps the wav'ring mind,
Now Hope reviving sheds her cheerful ray.

Soon from the skies in heav'nly white array'd,

Faith to my sight reveal'd, fair Cherub! stood, With life replete the volume she display'd,

Seal'd with the ruddy stains of crimson blood; Each fear now starts away, as spectres fly When the sun's orient beam first gilds the purple sky.

Mean while the faithful herald of the day,

The village cock, crows loud with trumpet shrill, The warbling lark soars high, and, morning grey, Lifts her glad forehead o'er the cloud-wrapt hill: Nature's wild music fills the vocal vale;

The bleating flocks that bite the dewy ground, The lowing herds that graze the woodland dale, And cavern'd echo, swell the cheerful sound; Homeward I bend with clear unclouded mind, Mix with the busy world, and leave each care behind.

A two-legg'd brute which Nature made in spleen,]

Caliban in the Tempest.

ib. The flow'ry margin of a silent stream, O'er-arch'd by oaks with ivy mantled round,

And gilt by silver CYNTHIA's maiden beam.] Fairy-land from the Midsummer Night's Dream. Where three swart sisters of the weird band

5.

Were mutt'ring curses to the troublous wind.]

The witches in Macbeth.

6. Now a dire yell of spirits underground] Ghosts in Macbeth, Richard III. &c.