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Proud names who once the reins of empire held; ,
In arms who triumph’d, or in art excell’d;
Chiefs, grac'd with scars; and prodigal of blood;
Stern patriots, who for sacred freedom stood;
Just men, by whom impartial laws were giv'n:
And saints who taught and led the way to heav'n.
Ne'er to these chambers where the mighty rest,
Since their foundation, came a nobler guest;
Nor e'er was to the bowers of bliss convey'd
A• fairer spirit, or more welcome shade.

In what new region, to the just assign’d,
What new employments please th'unbody'd mind?
A winged virtue thro' th' athereal sky,
From world to world unweary'd does he fly,
Or curious trace the long laborious maze
Of Heaven's decrees, where wond'ring angels gaze?
Does he delight to hear bold seraphs tell
How Michael battled, and the Dragon fell?
Or mix'd with milder cherubim to glow
In hymns of love, not ill assay'd below?
Or dost thou warn poor mortals left behind;
A task well suited to thy gentle mind?
O, if sometimes thy spotless form descend,
To me thy aid, thou guardian genius, lend!
When age misguides me, or when fear alarms,
When pain distresses, or when pleasure charms,

In silent whisp'rings purer thoughts impart,
And turn from ill a frail and feeble heart;
Lead through the paths thy virtue trod before,
Till bliss shall join, nor death can part us more.
That awful form (which, so the heav'ns decree,
Must still be lov'd, and still deplor'd ly me)
In nightly visions seldom fails to rise,
Or, rous'd hy fancy, meets my waking eyes.
If bus'ness calls, or crowded courts invite,
Th’unblemish'd statesman seems to strike my sight;
If pensive to the rural shades I rove,
His shape o'ertakes me in the lonely grove:
'Twas there of just and good he reason'd strong,
Cleard some great truths, or rais’d some serious

There patient show'd us the wise course to steer,
A candid censor, and a friend sincere;
There taught us how to live; and (O! too high
The price for knowledge) taught us how to die.

Thou hill,whose brow the antique structure grace, Rear’d by bold chiefs of Warwick's noble race, Why, once so lov’d, whene'er thy bow'r appears, O'er my dim eye-balls glance the sudden tears! How sweet were once thy prospects fresh and fair, Thy sloping walks and unpolluted air!

How sweet the glooms beneath thy aged trees,
Thy noon-tide shadow, and thy ev’ning breeze!
His image thy forsaken bow'rs restore;
Thy walks and airy prospects are no more;
No more the summer in thy gloom's allay'd,
Thy ev'ning breezes, and thy noon-day shade.

From other ills, however fortune frown'd, Some refuge in the Muse's art I found; Reluctant now I touch the trembling string, Bereft of him who taught me how to sing; And these sad accents, murmur'd o'er his urn, Betray that absence they attempt to mourn. O! must I then (now fresh my bosom bleeds, And Craggs in death to Addison succeeds) The verse, begun to one lost friend, prolong, And weep a second in th' unfinish'd song! These words divine, which, on his death-bed laid, To thee, O Craggs, th' expiring sage convey'd, Great, hut ill-omen'd monument of fame, Nor he surviv'd to give, nor thou to claim. Swift after him thy social spirit flies, And close to his, how soon thy coffin lies. Blest pair, whose union future bards shall tell In future tongues; each other's boast! farewel. Farewel! whom join'd in fame, in friendship try'd, No chance could sever, nor the grave




Returning home from his Duty in a very gloomy Night.


COME, heav'nly pensive contemplation, come,
Possess my soul, and solemn thoughts inspire!
The sacred hours, that with too swift a wing
Incessant hurry by, nor quite elaps'd,
Demand a serious close; then be my soul
Sedate and solemn, as this gloom of night
That thickens round me. Free from care, compos'd
Be all my soul, as this dread solitude,
Thro' which with gloomy joy I make my way.
Above these clouds, above the spacious sky,
In whose vast arch these cloudy oceans roll,
Dispensing fatness to the world below,
There dwells the Majesty, whose single hand.
Props universal nature, and who' deals
His liberal blessings to this little globe,
The residence of worms; where Adam's sons,
Thoughtless of him who taught their souls to think,
Ramble in vain pursuits. The hosts of heav'n,
Cherubs and seraphs, potentates and thrones,''
Array'd in glorious tight, hover or wing ....


Before his throne, and wait his sov'reign nod: With active zeal, with sacred rapture fir'd, To his extensive empire's utmost bound They bear his orders, and his charge perform. Yet He, e'en He (ye ministers of flame, Admire the condescension and the grace!) Employs a niortal form’d of meanest clay, Debas'd by sin, whose best desert is hell, Employs him to proclaim a Saviour's name, And offer pardon to a rebel world. This day my tongue, the glory of my frame, Enjoy'd the honour of his advocate: Immortal souls, of more transcendent worth Than Ophir, or Peru's exhaustless mines, Are trusted to my care. Important trust! What if some wretched soul, (tremendous thought!) Once favour'd with the gospel's joyful sound, Now lost, for ever lost through my neglect, In dire infernal glooms, with flaming tongue, Be heaping execrations on my head, Whilst here secure I dream my life away! What if some ghost, cut off from life and hope, With fierce despairing eyes upturn'd to heaven, That wildly stare, and witness horrors huge, Be roaring horrid, "LORD, avenge my blood “ On that un pitying wretch, who saw me run • With full career, the dire enchanting road,

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