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Glad heaven receives it, and seraphic lyres
With fongs of triumph thy arrival hail.
How vain this tribute then! this lowly lay!
Yet nought is vain which gratitude inspires
The Muse, besides, her duty thus approves
To virtue, to her country, to mankind,
To ruling Nature, that, in glorious charge,
As to her priestess, gives it her, to hymn
Whatever good and excellent she forms.

Ρ Ο Ε Μ S

ON

SEVERAL OCCASIONS.

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V ER SES

OCCASIONED BY THE

DEATH of Mr. AIK MAN,

A PARTICULAR FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR's.

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S those we love decay, we die in part,

String after string is fever'd from the heart;
Till loosen'd life, at last, but breathing clay,
Without one pang is glad to fall away.
Unhappy he, who latest feels the blow,
Whose eyes have wept o'er every friend laid low,
Dragg'd lingering on from partial death to death,
Till, dying, all he can resign is breath.

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TELL

TELL

me,

thou foul of her I love, Ah! tell me, whither art thou fled; To what delightful world above,

Appointed for the happy dead?

II.
Or dost thou, free, at pleasure, roam,

And sometimes share thy lover's woe;
Where, void of thee, his chearless home

Can now, alas! no comfort know?

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III.
Oh! if thou hover'st round my walk,

While, under ev'ry well-known tree,
I to thy fancy'd shadow talk, 1 orci

And every tear is full of thee;

IV,

1

Should then the weary eye of grief,

Befide fome sympathetic stream, In slumber find a short relief,

Oh visit thou my foothing dream!

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