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A pamper'd menial drove me from the door
Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span, Oh give relief, and Heav’n will bless your store.
CHA P. I V.
Elegy on the Death of an infortunate
Why bade ye else , ye pow'rs! her soul aspire
From these perhaps (ere Nature bade her die) Pate snatch'd her early to the pitying sky. As into air the purer spirits flow, And sep’rate from their kindred dregs below; So flew the soul to its congenial place, Nor Left one virtue to redeem her race.
But thou, false guardian of a charge too good, Thou, mean deserter of thy brother's blood? See on these ruby lips the trembling breath, These cheeks, now fading at the blast of death; Cold is that breast which warm'd the world bea
And those love-darting eyes must roll no more.
What can atone (oh, ever injurd shade!) Thy fate unpity'd and thy rites unpaid ? No friend's complaint, no kind domestic tear Pleas'd thy pale ghost ,or grac'd thy mournful bier: By foreign hands thy dying eyes were closa, By foreign hands thy decent limbs compos'u; By foreign hands thy humble grave adorn'd, By strangers honour'd, and by strangers mourn'd. What thono friends in sable weeds appear, Grieve for an hour , perhaps , then mourn a year y And bear about the mockery of wue To midnight dances, and the public show; What th no weeping Loves thy ashes grace , Nor polish'd marble emulate thy face; What thono sacred earth allow thee room, Nor hallow'd dirge be mutter'd o'er thy tomb; Yet shall thy grave with rising flow'rs be drest, And the green turf lie lightly on thy breast : There shall the morn her earliest tears bestow; There the first roses of the year shall blow; While angels with their silver wings o'ershade The ground now sacred by thy relics made. So peaceful rests,
without a stone, a name, What once had beauty, titles, wealth and fame. How lov'd, how honour'd once,
avails thee not g To whom refated, or by whon begot; A heap of dust alone remains of thee,
'Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be !
Poets themselves must fall, like those they sung, Deaf the prais'd ear, and mute the tuneful tongue. Ev'n he, whose soul now melts in mournful lays, Shall shortly want the gen'rous tear he pays; Then from his closing eyes thy form shall part, And the last pang
shall tear thee from his heart. Life's idle business at one gasp be o'er, The Muse forgot, and thou belov'd no more!
Morning Hymn. These are thy glorious works, Parent of Good Almighty! Thine, this universal frame Thus wond'rous fair! thyself how wond'rous then!! Unspeakable! who sitt'st above these heavn's, To us invisible, or dimly seen In these thy lowliest works; yet these declare Thy goodness beyond thought , and pow'r divine. Speak ye who best can tell, ye sons of light, Angels; for ye behold him, and with songs And chóral symphonies, day without night, Circle his throne rejoicing; ye in heav'i , On earth join
ye creatures to extol Him first, him last, hin midst, and without end. Fairest of stars, last in the train of night, If better thou belong not to the dawn, Sure pledge of day, that crowu'd the smiling morn With'thy bright circlet , praise him in thy sphere, While day arises
that sweet hour of prime. Thou sun of this great world both eye and soul, Acknowledge him thy greater; sound his praise In thy eternal course, both'when thou climb'st, And when high noon hast gain'd, and when thou
fail'st. Moon, that now meets the orient sun, now fly'st With the fix'd stars, fix'd in their orb that flies And
ye five other wand'ring fires, that move
In mystic dance not without song, resound
that warble as ye flow,
thou that, with strpassing glory crown'd