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Come, and disperse th' involving shadows drea; Let chasten'd mirth the social hours employ, O catch the swift-wing'd moment while 'tis nearOn swiftest wing the moment flies of joy.

Even while the careless disencumber'd soul Sinks all dissolving into pleasure's dream, Even then to time's tremendous verge we roll, With headlong haste, along life's surgy stream.

Can Gayety the vanish'd years restore,

Or on the withering limbs fresh beauty shed, Or soothe the sad inevitable hour,

Or cheer the dark, dark mansions of the dead?

Still sounds the solemn knell in Fancy's ear,
That call'd Eliza to the silent tomb;

To her how jocund roll'd the sprightly year!
How shone the nymph in beauty's brightest

bloom!

Ah! Beauty's bloom avails not in the grave, Youth's lofty mien, nor age's awful grace; Moulder alike unknown the prince and slave, Whelm'd in th' enormous wreck of human race.

The thought-fix'd portraiture, the breathing bust,
The arch with proud memorials array'd,
The long-liv'd pyramid shall sink in dust
To dumb oblivion's ever-desert shade.

Fancy from joy still wanders far astray:
Ah, Melancholy! how I feel thy power!
Long have I labour'd to elude thy sway,
But 'tis enough, for I resist no more.

The traveller thus, that o'er the midnight-waste Through many a lonesome path is doom'd to

roam,

Wilder'd and weary sits him down at last;

For long the night, and distant far his home.

ELEGY.

TIR'D with the busy crowds, that all the day Impatient throng where Folly's altars flame, My languid powers dissolve with quick decay, 'Till genial Sleep repair the sinking frame.

Hail, kind reviver! that canst lull the cares, And every weary sense compose to rest, Lighten th' oppressive load which anguish bears, And warm with hope the cold desponding breast.

Touch'd by thy rod, from Power's majestic brow Drops the gay plume; he pines a lowly clown; And, on the cold earth stretch'd, the son of Woe Quaffs Pleasure's draught, and wears a fancied

crown.

When rous'd by thee, on boundless pinions borne
Fancy to fairy scenes exults to rove,
Now scales the cliff gay-gleaming on the morn,
Now sad and silent treads the deepening grove;

Or skims the main, and listens to the storms,

Marks the long waves roll far remote away, Or mingling with ten thousand glittering forms, Floats on the gale, and basks in purest day.

Haply, ere long, pierc'd by the howling blast, Through dark and pathless deserts I shall roam, Plunge down th' unfathom'd deep, or shrink aghast Where bursts the shrieking spectre from the tomb.

Perhaps loose Luxury's enchanting smile

Shall lure my steps to some romantic dale, Where Mirth's light freaks th' unheeded hours beguile,

And airs of rapture warble in the gale.

Instructive emblem of this mortal state!
Where scenes as various every hour arise
In swift succession, which the hand of Fate
Presents, then snatches from our wondering eyes.

Be taught, vain man, how fleeting all thy joys, Thy boasted grandeur, and thy glittering store; Death comes, and all thy fancied bliss destroys, Quick as a dream it fades, and is no more.

And, sons of Sorrow! though the threatening storm Of angry Fortune overhang awhile,

Let not her frowns your inward peace deform; Soon happier days in happier climes shall smile.

Through Earth's throng'd visions while we toss forlorn,

"Tis tumult all, and rage, and restless strife; But these shall vanish like the dreams of morn, When Death awakes us to immortal life.

ELEGY.

EXULTS the fluttering heart, O Mortal-born, If Fame pronounce thee beautiful and wise, If pompous blazonry thy name adorn?.

Approach, with trembling awe, where **** lies.

And pause; and know thy boasted honours vain; Vain all the gifts that fortune can bestow; Late shone around Her all the gorgeous train, But shine not round the mouldering dust below.

Gaz'd at from far by Envy's lifted eye,

What then avails to deck th' exalted scene, If there the blasting storms of anguish fly, If Frailty there displays her withering mien?

But Virtue (sacred plant!) no soil disdainsThe plant that Frailty's fiercest frown defies; Retir'd it blooms amid the lowly plains,

Or decks the mountain's brow that mates the

skies;

And there conspicuous forms the Pilgrim's bower, When Sorrow darts direct the feverish ray ; And forms his shelter from the tempest's power In stern Oppression's desolating day.

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