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Reach'd out the friendly cup; whose care benign
From the rude blast secured the pilgrim's side;
Who heard the widow's tender tale; and shook
The galling shackle from the prisoner's feet;
Who each endearing tie, each office knew
Of meek-ey'd heaven-descended Charity.-
O Charity, thou nymph divinely fair!
Sweeter than those whom ancient poets bound
In amity's indissoluble chain,

The Graces! How shall I essay to paint

Thy charms, celestial maid; and in rude verse
Blazon those deeds thyself did'st ne'er reveal?
For thee nor rankling envy can infect,
Nor rage transport, nor high o'erweening pride
Puff up with vain conceit: ne'er did'st thou smile
To see the sinner as a verdant tree

Spread his luxuriant branches o'er the stream:
While like some blasted trunk the righteous fall,
Prostrate, forlorn. When prophecies shall fail,

When tongues shall cease, when knowledge is no more,
And this Great Day is come; thou by the throne
Shalt sit triumphant. Thither, lovely maid,
Bear me, O bear me on thy soaring wing,
And through the adamantine gates of Heaven
Conduct my steps, safe from the fiery gulf
And dark abyss where Sin and Satan reign

But can the Muse, her numbers all too weak, Tell how that restless element of fire

Shall wage with seas and earth intestine war,
And deluge all creation? Whether (so
Some think) the comet, as through fields of air
Lawless he wanders, shall rush headlong on,
Thwarting th' ecliptic where th' unconscious earth
Rolls in her wonted course; whether the sun
With force centripetal into his orb
Attract her long reluctant; or the caves,
Those dread volcanos, where engendering lie
Sulphureous minerals, from their dark abyss
Pour streams of liquid fire; while from above,
As erst on Sodom, Heaven's avenging hand
Rains fierce combustion. Where are now the works
Of art, the toil of ages ?Where are now
Th' imperial cities, sepulchres and domes,
Trophies and pillars ?-Where is Egypt's boast,
Those lofty pyramids which high in air
Rear'd their aspiring heads, to distant times.

Of Memphian pride a lasting monument?—

Tell me where Athens rais'd her towers -Where

Thebes

Open'd her hundred portals?—Tell me where
Stood sea-girt Albion ?-Where imperial Rome
Propt by seven hills stood like a scepter'd queen,

And aw'd the tributary world to peace?

Shew me the rampart, which o'er many a hill,
Through many a valley, stretch'd its wide extent,
Rais'd by that mighty monarch, to repel
The roving Tartar, when with insult rude
'Gainst Pekin's towers he bent th' unerring bow.

But what is mimic Art? Ev'n Nature's works, Seas, meadows, pastures, the meand'ring streams, And everlasting hills, shall be no more.

No more shall Teneriffe, cloud-piercing height,
O'er-hang th' Atlantic surge: nor that famed cliff
Through which the Persian steer'd with many a sail,
Throw to the Lemnian isle its evening shade
O'er half the wide Egean. Where are now
The Alps that confined with unnumber'd realms,
And from the Black-sea to the Ocean-stream
Stretch'd their extended arms?-Where's Ararat,
That hill on which the faithful patriarch's ark,
Which seven long months had voyaged o'er its top,
First rested, when the earth with all her sons,
As now by streaming cataracts of fire,
Was whelm'd by mighty waters?

All at once

Are vanish'd and dissolv'd; no trace remains,
No mark of vain distinction: Heaven itself,
That azure vault with all those radiant orbs,

VOL. III.

Sinks in the universal ruin lost.

No more shall planets round their central Sun
Move in harmonious dance; no more the Moon
Hang out her silver lamp; and those fix'd Stars
Spangling the golden canopy of night,
Which oft the Tuscan with his optic glass

Call'd from their wondrous height, to read their names
And magnitude, some winged minister

Shall quench; and (surest sign that all on earth
Is lost) shall rend from Heaven thy mystic bow.

Such is that awful, that tremendous Day, Whose coming who shall tell? For as a thief Unheard, unseen, it steals with silent pace

Through Night's dark gloom. Perhaps as here I sit, And rudely carol these incondite lays,

Soon shall the hand be check’d, and dumb the mouth That lisps the faltering strain. O! may it ne'erIntrude unwelcome on an ill-spent hour;

But find me wrapt in meditations high,

Hymning my great Creator!

- Power supreme!

O everlasting King! To Thee I kneel,

To Thee I lift my voice. With fervent heat
Melt all ye elements! and thou, high Heaven,
Shrink like a shrivel'd scroll! But think, O Lord!

Think on the best, the noblest of thy works; Think on thine own bright image! Think on Him, Who died to save us from thy righteous wrath; And, midst the wreck of worlds, remember man!'

REFLECTIONS ON DEATH.

[YOUNG.]

WHERE the prime actors of the last year's scene;
Their port so proud, their buskin, and their plume ?
How many sleep, who kept the world awake
With lustre and with noise! Has Death proclaim'd
A truce, and hung his sated lance on high?
"Tis brandish'd still; nor shall the present year
Be more tenacious of her human leaf,
Or spread of feeble life a thinner fall.

But needless monuments to wake the thought:
Life's gayest scenes speak man's mortality;
Though in a style more florid, full as plain,
As mausoleums, pyramids, and tombs.
What are our noblest ornaments, but deaths
Turn'd flatterers of life, in paint, or marble,
The well stain'd canvass, or the featured stone?

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