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At thy felt presence all emotions cease,
And my hush'd spirit finds a sudden peace ;

Till every worldly thought within me dies,
And earth's gay pageants vanish from my eyes ;
Till all my sense is lost in infinite,
And one valt object fills my aching fight.

But soon, alas! this holy calm is broke;
My foul submits to wear her wonted yoke ;
With shackled pinions strives to foar in vain,
And mingles with the dross of earth again.
But he, our gracious Master, kind as just,
Knowing our frame, remembers man is dust.
His spirit, ever brooding o'er our mind,
Sees the first wish to better hopes inclin'd ;
Marks the young dawn of ev'ry virtuous aim,
And fans the smoking flax into a flame.
His cars are open to the softest cry,
His grace descends to meet the lifted eye ;
He reads the language of a silent tear,
And fighs are incense from a heart fincere.
Such are the vows, the facrifice I give';
Accept the vow, and bid the suppliant live ;
From each terrestrial bondage set me free i

wish that centres not in thee; Bid my fond hopes, my vain difquiets cease, And point my path to everlasting peace.

If the soft hand of winning pleasure leads By living waters, and through Aowery meads, When all is (miling, tranquil, and serene, And verbal beauty paints the fatt'ring scene, O! teach me to elude each latent snare, And whisper to my sliding heart-Beware! With caution let me hear the Syren's voice, And doubtful, with a trembling heart, rejoice. If friendless, in a vale of tears I (tray, Where briars wound, and thorns perplex my way, Stiil let my steady foul thy goodness see, And with itrong confidence lay hold on thee; With equal eye my various lot receive, Relign'a to die, or refoiute to live ; Prepar'd to kiss the sceptre or the rod, While God is seen in all, and all in God.

I read his awful name emblazon'd high With golden letters on th' illumin’d sky;

Nor less the mystic characters I fee,
Wrought in each flow'r, infcrib'd on ev'ry tree :
In every leaf that trembles to the breeze,
I hear the voice of God among ihe trees.
With thee in shady folitudes I walk,
With thee in busy crowded cities talk;
In every creature own thy forming pow'r;
In each event thy providence adore :
Thy hopes shall animate my drooping foul,
Thy precepts guide me, and thy fear control.
Thus shall I rest unmov'd by all alarms,
Secure within the temple of thine arms,
From anxious cares, from gloomy terrors free,
And feel myself omnipotent in thee.
Then when the last, the closing hour draws nigh,
And earth recedes before my swimming eye ;
When trembling on the doubtful edge of fate
1 stand, and stretch my view to either Atate ;
Teach me to quit this transitory scene,
With decent triumph, and a look serene ;
Teach me to fix my ardent hopes on high,
And, having liv'd to thee, in thee to die.


A monody on the death of lady Lyttleton.
At length, escap'd from ev'ry human eye,
From ev'ry duty, ev'ry care,
That in my mournful thoughts might claim a share,
Or force my tears their flowing stream to dry;
Beneath the gloom of this embow'ring shade,
This lone retreat for tender forrow made,
I now may give my burden'd heart relief,

And pour forth all my stores of grief ;
Of grief furpafling ev'ry other wo,
Far as the purest bliss, the happiest love

Can on th' ennobled mind bestow,

Exceeds the vulgar joys that move
Our gross delires, inelegant and low.
Ye tufted groves, ye gently falling rills,

Ye high o'ershadowing hills,
Ye lawns, gay-smiling with perpetual green,

Oft have you my Lucy sten!

But never shall you now behold her more:

Nor will she now with fund delight,
And talte refin'd, your rural charms explore.
Clof'd are those beauteous eyes in endless night,
Those beauteous eyes, where beaming us’d to shine
Reason's pure light, and virtue's spark divine.

In vain I look around,

O'er all the vell-known ground,
My Lucy's wonted footsteps to defcry ;

Where oft we us’d to walk;

Where, oft in tender talk,
We saw the summer sun go down the sky;

Nor by yon fountain's fide ;

Nor where its waters glide
Along the valley, can the now be found ;
In all the wide-ftretch'd prospect's ample bound,

No more my mournful eye

Can aught of her espy,
But the sad facred earth where her dear relics lie.
O shades of Hagley, where is now your boast?

Your bright inhabitant is lost.
You the preferr'd to all the gay resorts,
Where female vanity might with to shine,
The pomp of cities, and the pride of courts.
Her modest beauties fhunn'd the public eye:

To your fequester'd dales

And flower-embroider'd vales,
From an admiring world she chose to fly :
With nature there retir'd, and nature's God,

The filent paths of wisdom trod,
And banish'd every passion from her breast ;

But those, the gentleft and the best,
Whose holy flames, with energy divine,
The virtuous heart enliven and improve,
The conjugal and the maternal love.

Sweet babes! who, like the little playful fawas,
Were wont to trip along these verdant lawns,

By your delighted mother's fide,

Who now your infant steps shall guide ? Ah! where is now the hand, whose tender care To every virtue would have form'd your youth, And strew'd with flowers the thorny ways of truth?

Olofs beyond repair!

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O wretched father ! left alone, To weep their dire misfortune, and thy own ! How shall thy weaken'd mind, oppress’d with wo,

And drooping o'er thy Lucy's grave, Perform the duties that you doubly owe,

Now she, alas! is gone,
From folly and from vice their helpless age to fave?

O! how each beauty of her mind and face
Was brighten'd by some sweet peculiar grace!

How eloquent in every look,
Thro' her expressive eyes, her foul distinctly spoke !

How did her manners, by the world refin'd,
Leave all the taint of modish vice behind,
And make each charm of polish'd courts agree
With candid truth's fimplicity,
And uncorrupted innocence !
To great, to more than manly sense,
She join'd the softening influence

Of more than female tenderpefs.
How, in the thoughtless days of wealth and joy,
Which oft the care of others' good destroy,

Her kindly-melting heart,
To every want and every wo,
To guilt itself when in distress,

The balm of pity would impart,
And all relief that bounty could beltow !
E'en for the kid or lamb, that pour'd its life

Beneath the bloody knife,

Her gentle tears would fall :
Tears, from sweet virtue's source, benevolent to all.

Not only good and kind,
But strong and elevated was her mind :

A fpirit that, with noble pride,
Could look superior down

On fortune's smile or frown ;
That could, without regret or pain,
To virtue's lowest duty sacrifice
Or interelt or ambition's highest prize ;
That, injur'd or offended, never try'd
Its dignity by vengeance to maintain,
But by magnanimous disdain,
A wit that, temperately bright,

With inoffensive light,
All pleasing fhone ; nor ever pass'd

The decent bounds that wisdom's sober hand,
And sweet benevolence's mild command,
And bashful modesty before it cast.
A prudence undeceiving, undeceiv'd,
That nor too little, nor too much believ'd ;
That fcorn'd unjust fufpicion's coward fear,
And, without weakness, knew to be sincere.
Such Lucy was, when in her fairest days,
Amidst th' acclaim of universal praise.

In life's and glory's freshest bioom,
Death came


on, and funk her to the tomb.
So, where the filent streams of Liris glide,
In the soft boson of Campania's vale,
When now the wintry tempests all are fled,
And genial summer breathes her gentle gale,
The verdant orange lifts. its beauteous head ;
From every branch the balmy flow'rets rise,
On every bough the golden fruits are seen ;
With odours sweet it fills the smiling skies,
The wood-nymphs tend it, and the Idalian queen;
But in the midst of all its blooming pride,
A sudden blast from Apenninus blows,

Cold with perpetual snows ;
The tender-blighted plant shrinks up its leaves, and dies,
O best of women ! dearer far to me

Than when, in blooming life,
My lips first call'd thee wife ;
How can my foul endure the loss of thee?
How, in the world, to me a desert grown,

Abandon'd and alone,
Without my sweet companion, can I live?

Without thy lovely smile,
The dear reward of ev'ry virtuous toil,
What pleasures now can pall'd ambition give ?
E'en the delightful sense of well-earn'd praise,
Unshar'd by thee, no more my lifeless thoughts could raise.

For my distracted mind

What succour can I find ?
On whom for confolation shall I call ?

Support me, ev'ry friend ;

Your kind affistance lend,
To bear the weight of this oppressive wo.


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