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BY THE REV. MR. MOORE.
I view these gloomy mansions of the dead;
Mark yonder ashes, in confusion spread !
O say, ye spirits, in a future state,
has eloquence, its le&tures teach,
Now airy shapes and hideous spectres dance
Let proud ambition learn this lesson hence,
Will fame, who oft denies her children bread,
Whose tomb is this? It says 'tis Mira's tomb,
In yonder tomb the old Avaro lies;
og din 20
There low in dust the vain Hortenfio lies,
regionalnoget is all Around me, as I turn my wand'ring, eyes, such Unnumber'd graves in awful prospect rise, Whose ftones fay only when their owners dy'd, If young, or aged, and to whom ally’d; trinama On others, pompous epitaphs
are spread, nis 30 W In memory of the virtues of the dead; metu wa Vain waffe of praise ! fince, flatt ring or fincere, The judgment-day alone will make appear.
SAD 10 House Desa
How silent is this little spot of ground! How melancholy looks each object round ! Here man, diffolv'd in shatter'd ruin lies So fast asleep-as if no more to rise ; 'Tis strange to think, how these dead bones can live, Leap into form, and with new heat revive ! Or how this trodden earth to life shall wake, Know its own place, its former figure take; But whence these doubts? when the last trumpet sounds Thro’ heav'n's expanse, to earth's remoteft bounds, The dead shall quit these tenements of clay, And view again the long-extinguishod day: Cheer'd with this pleasing hope, I safely trust Th’ Almighty's pow'r to raise me from the duft.; On his unfailing promises rely, And all the horrors of the grave defy; Death! where's thy sting? Grave ! where's thy victory?
THE BLIND BEGGAR.
BY PETER PINDAR, ESQ.
, thou to WE. coline balmuhy wounded heart shall find;
my And, lo! thy guiding Dog my cares implore;
O hafte, and shelter from th' unfeeling wind! Alas! shall Mıs’r y seek my cot with sighs,
And humbly fue for piteous alms my ear; Yet disappointed go with lifted eyes,
And on my threlhold leave th' upbraiding tear ? Thou bowest for the pity I bestow :
Bend not to me, because I mourn distress; I am thy debtor-much to thee I owe;
For learn—the greatest blessing is to bless. Thy hoary locks, and wan and pallid cheek,
And quiv’ring lip to fancy seem to say,
“ A more than common BEGGAR we bespeak;
“ A form that once has known a happier day." Thy sightless orbs and venerable beard,
And, press’d by weight of years, thy palsy'd head, Though silent, speak with tongues that must be heard,
Nay, must command, if Virtue be not dead. Thy shatter'd, yet thine awe-inspiring form
Shall give the village-lads the foften’d foul, To aid the victims of Life's frequent storm,
And smooth the surges that around them roll; Teach them that Poverty may Merit shroud;
And teach that VIRTUE may from Mis’ry spring ; Flame like the lightning from the frowning cloud,
That spreads on NATURE's smile its raven wing. O let me own the heart which pants to bless;
That nobly scorns to hide the useless store;
And triumphs in a sorrow for the poor !
Ah, what an envy'd bliss doth Heav'n bestow!
And lead DesPONDENCE from the tomb of Woe! Lo! not the little birds shall chirp in vain,
And, hov'ring round me, vainly court my care ; While I possess
the life-preserving grain, Welcome, ye chirping tribe, to peck your share. How can I hear your songs at SPRING's return,
And hear while Summer spreads her golden store ; Yet, when the gloom of WINTER bids ye mourn,
Heed not the plaintive voice that charm'd before !. Since FORTUNE, to my cottage not unkind,
Strews with some flow’rs the road of life for me,
Shall I not soften the rude flint for thee?
And warring elements, to warmth and peace ;