He lives in thofe he left ;-to what? Your, now, paternal care, Clear from its cloud your brighten'd eye, It will difcern him there; In features, not of form alone, Think on the tempefts he sustain'd; Is confolation what you seek? -As nothing great is born in hafte, Nor, Madam! be furpriz'd to hear Tender as is the female frame, Like that brave man you mourn, You are a foldier, and to fight Superior battles born; I Bencath Beneath a banner nobler far Than ever was unfurl'd In fields of blood; a banner bright! Sheds day, sheds more, eternal day Beneath that banner, what exploit The paffive hero, who fits down Out-acts a Cæfar's toil: The billows ftain'd by flaughter'd foes Inferior praise afford; Reafon 's a bloodless conqueror, More glorious than the sword. Nor can the thunder of huzzas From shouting nations, cause Such sweet delight, as from your heart The dear deceas'd fo fam'd in arms, Share his delight; take heed to shun That odd distemper, an abfurd Some feem in love with forrow's charms, And that foul fiend embrace : This temper let me juftly brand, And ftamp it with disgrace : Sorrow! of horrid parentage! Thou fecond-born of hell! Against heaven's endless mercies pour'd From black and noxious vapours bred, Thy moft inglorious, coward tears They caft a fudden glory round Th' illumin'd human face; And light in fons of honeft joy Some beams of Mofes' face: Is refignation's leffon hard? Examine, we shall find That duty gives up little more Than anguish of the mind; Refign; and all the load of life Who bids us lay our burthen down On his almighty hand, Softens our duty to relief, To bleffing a command. For joy what caufe? how every fenfe 1 Is courted from above But most o'erlook the bleffings pour'd, And terminate, wrapp'd up in sense, From that, their final point of view,'. From that their radiant goal, On travel infinite of thought, Sets out the nobler foul, Broke loofe from time's tenacious ties, And earth's involving gloom, To range at large its vaft domain, They let unmark'd, and unemploy'd, And, doing nothing for themfelves, Fatal mistake! their fate goes on, Though man fits still, and takes his ease, No means, no moment unemploy'd, But man confents not, boldly bent Hence loud laments: let me thy cause, Indulgent Father! plead; Of all the wretches we deplore, Not one by thee was made. What is thy whole creation fair? Love brought it forth; and from its birth, Now, and through periods' diftant far, Long ere the world began, Heaven is, and has in travel been, Its birth the good of man; Man |