A melancholy truth! for know,
Could our proud hearts refign,
The distance greatly would decrease
'Twixt human and divine.

But though full noble is my theme,
Full urgent is my call

To foften forrow, and forbid
The bursting tear to fall;

The task I tread; dare I to leave
Of humble profe the shore,
And put to fea? a dangerous fea?
What throngs have funk before!

How proud the poet's billow fwells!
The God! the God! his boast:

A boaft how vain! What wrecks abound!
Dead bards french every coaft.
What then am I? Shall I prefume,
On fuch a moulten wing,
Above the general wreck to rife,
And in my winter, fing;

When nightingales, when sweetest bards
Confine their charming fong

To fummer's animating heats,

Content to warble young?

Yet, write I muft; a * Lady fues ;.
How fhameful her request!
My brain in labour for dull rhyme!

Her's teeming with the best!

But

But you a ftranger will excufe,
Nor fcorn his feeble strain;

To you a stranger, but, through fate,.
No stranger to your pain.

The ghoft of grief deceas'd afcends,
-His old wound bleeds anew ;
His forrows are recall'd to life
By thofe he fees in you;

Too well he knows the twifting ftrings.

Of ardent hearts combin'd

When rent, afunder, how they bleed,
How hard to be refign'd:

Thofe tears you pour, his eyes have shed ;;

The pang you feel, he felt;

Thus nature, loud as virtue, bids

His heart at yours to melt.

But what can heart, or head, fuggeft?

What fad experience, say?

Through truths auftere, to peace we work

Our rugged, gloomy way :

What are we? Whence? For what? and Whither? Who know not, needs muft mourn;

But Thought, bright daughter of the fkies!

Can tears to triumph turn.

Thought is our armour, 'tis the mind's

Impenetrable fhield,

When, fent by fate, we meet our foes,,

In fore affliction's field;

I

It plucks the frightful mafk from ills,
Forbids pale fear to hide,

Beneath that dark disguise, a friend,
Which turns affection's tide.

Affection frail! train'd up by sense,
From reafon's channel ftrays:
And whilft it blindly points at peace,
Our peace to pain betrays.

Thought winds its fond, erroneous stream

From daily-dying flowers,

To nourish rich immortal blooms,

In amaranthine bowers;

Whence throngs, in extasy, look down
On what once fhock'd their fight;

And thank the terrors of the past

For ages of delight.

All withers here; who moft poffefs

Are lofers by their gain,

Stung by full proof, that, bad at best,

Life's idle All is vain :

Vain, in its course, life's murmuring stream;
Did not its course offend,

But murmur ceafe; life, then, would feem
Still vainer, from its end.

How wretched! who, through cruel fate,

Have nothing to lament!

With the poor alms this world affords
Deplorably content!

Had

Had not the Greek his world mistook,

His with had been most wife;

To be content with but one world,
Like him, we should defpife.

Of earth's revenue would you ftate
A full account, and fair?

We hope; and hope; and hope; then caft
The total up-

Defpair.

Since vain all here, all future, vast,

Embrace the lot affign'd;

Heaven wounds to heal; its frowns are friends;

Its ftrokes fevere, moft kind.

But in laps'd nature, rooted deep,
Blind error domineers;

And on fools errands, in the dark,
Sends out our hopes and fears;

Bids us for ever pains deplore,
Our pleasures overprize;

These oft perfuade us to be weak;

Thofe urge us to be wife.

From virtue's rugged path to right

By pleasure are we brought

To flowery fields of wrong, and there

Pain chides us for our fault:

Yet

Yet whilft it chides, it speaks of peace,

If folly is withstood;

And fays, time pays an easy price,
For our eternal good.

In earth's dark cot, and in an hour,

And in delufion great,

What an economist is man

To spend his whole estate,

And beggar an eternity!

For which, as he was born,
More worlds than one against it weigh'd,

As feathers he fhould fcorn.

Say not, your lofs in triumph leads
Religion's feeble ftrife;

Joys future amply reimburse
Joys bankrupts of this life.

But not deferr'd your joy so long,
It bears an early date;
Affliction's ready pay in hand,

Befriends our present state;

What are the tears, which trickle down

Her melancholy face,

Like liquid pearl? Like pearls of price,

They purchase lasting peace.

Grief foftens hearts, and curbs the will,
Impetuous paffion tames,

And keeps infatiate, keen defire

From launching in extremes.

Through