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She spoke, she dy’d, her corse was borne,
The bridegroom blithe to meet,
She in her winding-sheet.
How were these nuptials kept ?
And all the village wept.
At once his bofom fwell :
He shook, he groan'd, he fell.
The varying crimson fled,
She saw her husband dead.
Convey'd by trembling fwains,
For ever he remains.
And plighted maid are seen ;
They deck the sacred green;
This hallow'd spot forbear ;
And fear to meet him there.
TO SIR GODFREY KNELLER AT HIS
O Whitton's shades, and Hounslow's airy plain,
Thou, Kneller, tak'st thy summer flights in vain,
How canst thou hope to fly the world, in vain
Let the faint copier, on old Tiber's shore,
Vain care of parts ; if, impotent of soul,
A mind that grasps the whole is rarely found,
Such be thy life, O since the glorious rage That fir'd thy youth, flames unsubdued by age; Though wealth, nor fame, now touch thy fated inind, Still tinge the canvas, bounteous to mankind; Since after thee may rise an impious line, Coarse manglers of the human face divine, Paint on, till Fate diffolve thy mortal part, And live and die the monarch of thy art.
ON THE DEATH OF THE EARL OF
F Marlborough's captains and Eugenio's friends, , Low lies each hand, whence Blenheim's glory sprung, The chiefs who conquer’d, and the bards who sung, From his cold corse though every friend be fled, Lo! Envy waits, that lover of the dead : Thus did the feign o'er Nassau's hearse to mourn; Thus wept insidious, Churchill, o'er thy urn; To blast the living, gave the dead their due, And wreaths, herself had tainted, trim'd anew. Thou, yet unnam'd to fill his empty place, And lead to war thy country's growing race, Take every.
wilh a British heart can franie, Add palm to palm, and rise from fame to fame.
An hour must coine, when thou shalt hear with rage Thyself traduc'd, and curse a thankless age: Nor yet for this decline the generous strife,
These ills, brave man, șhall quit thee with thy life; Alive though stain’d by every abject llave, Secure of fame and justice in the grave. Ah! no -when once the mortal yields to Fate, The blast of Fanie's sweet trumpet sounds too late, Too late to stay the spirit on its flight, Or footh the new inhabitant of light; Who hears regardless, while fond man, distress d, Hangs on the absent, and laments the blest.
Farewell then Fame,ill fought through fields and blood, Farewell unfaithful promiser of good : Thou music, warbling to the deafen’d ear! Thou incense wasted on the funeral bier ! Through life pursued in vain, by death obtain’d, When ask'd deny'd us, and when given disdain d.
AN ODE INSCRIBED TO THE EARL OF
SUNDERLAND AT WINDSOR.
His red-cross knights and barons bold,