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G R A V E,

A POEM,

By Robert Blair.

TO WHICH ARE ADDED

AN ELEGY

IN A COUNTRYCHURCH-YARD,

By Gray.
DEATH,

A POEM,

By Bishop Porteus.
EVENING REFLECTIONS

Written in Westminster Abbey.
AND

A SOLILOQUY

IN A COUNTRY CHU.RCH-YARD,

By the Rev. Mr. Moore,

OF CORNWALL.

.When self-esteem, or others' adulation,
Would cunningly persuade us we were something
Above the common level of our kind 5
The Grave gainsays the smooth complexion'd flatt'ry
And with blunt truth acquaints us what we are.

ViJc Blah't Grave.

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HILST some afFect the sun, and some the shade,

Some flee the city, some the hermitage;

Their aims as various as the roads they take

In journeying through life; the task be mine

To paint the gloomy horrors of the tomb:

Th' appointed place of rendezvous, where all

These travelers meet. Thy succours I implore, '.*~'~

Eternal King! whose potent arm sustains

The keys of hell and death. The Grave, dread thing?

Men shiver when thou'rt nam'd: Nature appal'd

Shakes off her wonted firmness. Ah! how dark

Thy long-extended realms, and rueful wastes:

Where nought but silence reigns, arid night, dark night,

Dark as was Chaos ere the infant sun

Was rbll'd together, or had tried its beams'

Athwart the gloom profound.! the sickly taper

By glimm'ring through thy low-brow'd misty vaults,

Furr'd round with mouldy damps, and ropy slime,

Lets fall a supernumerary horror,

And only serves to make the night more irksome.

Well do I know thee by thy trusty yew,

Cheerless, unsocial plant! that loves to dwell
'Midst sculls and coffins, epitaphs and worms;
Where light heel'd ghosts, and visionary shades,
Beneath the wan cold moon (as fame reports)
Embodied thick perform their mystic rounds.
No other merriment, dull tree! is. thine.

See yonder hallow'd fane! the pious work
Of names once fam'd, now dubious or forgot;
And, buried 'midst the wreck of things that were,
There lie interr'd the more illustrious dead.

The wind is up; hark! how it howls! methinks,
Till now, I never heard a sound so dreary;
Doors creak, and windows clap, and night's foul bird
Rook'd in the spire screams loud: the gloomy ailes
Black plaister'd, and hung round with shreds of scutch-
And tatter'd coats of arms, send back the sound [eons
->r>sden with heavier airs, from the low vaults,
The mansions of the de'ad. Rous'd from their slumber^
In grim array the grizly spectres rise,
Grin horrible, and obstinately sullen .
Pass and repass, hush'd as the foot of night.
Again! the screech-owl shrieks: ungracious sound!
J'H hear no more; it makes one's blood run chill.

Quite round the pile, a row of reverend elms, — i Coaeval near with all that ragged shew, Long lash'd by the rude winds: some rift half down Their branchless trunks: others so thin a-top That scarce two crows could lodge in the same tree. Strange things, the neighbours say, have happen'd here; 'Wild shrieks have issued from the hollow tombsj Dead men have come again and walk'd about; And the great bell has toll'd, unrung, untouched.

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