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His youthful face grew more serenely sweet,
His robe turned white, and flowed upon his feet
Fair rounds of radiant points invest his hair,
Celestial odors breathe through purpled air,
And wings, whose colors glittered on the day,
Wide at his back their gradual plumes display;
The form ethereal bursts upon his sight,
And moves in all the majesty of light.
Though loud at first the pilgrim's passion grew,
Sudden he gazed, and wist not what to do;
Surprise, in secret chains, his words suspends,
And in a calm his settling temper ends.
But silence here the beauteous angel broke,
The voice of music ravished as he spoke :-

;

"Thy prayer, thy praise, thy life to vice unknown, In sweet memorial rise before the throne; These charms success in our bright region find, And force an angel down to calm thy mind. For this commissioned, I forsook the sky; Nay, cease to kneel, thy fellow-servant I. Then know the truth of government divine, And let these scruples be no longer thine. The Maker justly claims that world he made; In this the right of Providence is laid; Its sacred majesty, through all, depends On using second means to work his ends. 'Tis thus, withdrawn in state from human eye, The power exerts his attributes on high; Your action uses, not controls your will,

And bids the doubting sons of men be still.

What strange events can strike with more surprise,
Than those which lately struck thy wondering eyes!
Yet, taught by these, confess the Almighty just,
And, where you can't unriddle, learn to trust.
The great vain man, who fared on costly food,
Whose life was too luxurious to be good,
Who made his ivory stands with goblets shine,
And forced his guests to morning draughts of wine,

Has, with the cup, the graceless custom lost,
And still he welcomes, but with less of cost.
The mean, suspicious wretch, whose bolted door
Ne'er moved in pity to the wandering poor,
With him I left the cup, to teach his mind
That Heaven can bless, if mortals will be kind;
Conscious of wanting worth, he views the bowl,
And feels compassion touch his grateful soul.
Thus artists melt the sullen ore of lead,
With heaping coals of fire upon its head;
In the kind warmth the metal learns to glow,
And, loose from dross, the silver runs below.
Long had our pious friend in virtue trod,

But now the child half weaned his heart from God;
Child of his age, for him he lived in pain,
And measured back his steps to earth again.
To what excesses had his dotage run!
But God, to save the father, took the son.
To all but thee, in fits he seemed to go,
And 't was my ministry to deal the blow;
The poor, fond parent, humbled in the dust,
Now owns, in tears, the punishment was just.
But how had all his fortunes felt a wrack,
Had that false servant sped in safety back!
This night his treasured heaps he meant to steal,
And what a fund of charity would fail !
Thus Heaven instructs their minds; this trial o'er,
Depart in peace, resign, and sin no more."

On sounding pinions, here the youth withdrew,
The sage stood wondering, as the seraph flew;
Thus looked Elisha, when, to mount on high,
His master took the chariot of the sky;
The fiery pomp ascending left the view;
The prophet gazed, and wished to follow too.
The bending hermit here a prayer begun,
"Lord, as in heaven, on earth, thy will be done,"
Then gladly turning, sought his ancient place,
And passed a life of piety and peace.

EDWARD YOUNG.

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1681-1765.

At the age of about thirty, Young entered upon public life as a courtier and a poet, in both of which characters he continued until he was past eighty. After the age of fifty, he entered the church, and became one of the king's chaplains; and afterwards obtained a living in Hertfordshire, where he closed his days. He, like Dryden and Addison, married a titled lady; but his union proved happier than theirs. The death of this lady, together with that of her two children by a previous marriage, to all of whom Young was warmly attached, occasioned the composition of the Night Thoughts, which was written after the age of sixty. "A life of so much action and worldly anxiety has rarely been united to so much literary industry and genius. In his youth, Young was gay and dissipated, and all his life he was an indefatigable courtier. In his poetry he is a severe moralist, and ascetic divine. That he felt the emotions he described must be true; but they did not permanently influence his conduct."

[From "Night Thoughts."]

TRUE GREATNESS NOT CONFERRED BY STATION.
WHAT is station high?

'Tis a proud mendicant; it boasts and begs;
It begs an alms of homage from the throng,
And oft the throng denies its charity.
Monarchs and ministers are awful names!
Whoever wear them challenge our devoir.
Religion, public order, both exact
External homage, and a supple knee,

To beings pompously set up to serve

The meanest slave; all more is Merit's due,
Her sacred and inviolable right;

Nor ever paid the monarch, but the man.
Our hearts ne'er bow but to superior worth;
Nor ever fail of their allegiance there.
Fools, indeed, drop the man in their account,
And vote the mantle into majesty.
Let the small savage boast his silver fur,
His royal robe, unborrowed and unbought,
His own, descending fairly from his sires;
Shall man be proud to wear his livery,
And souls in ermine scorn a soul without?
Can place or lessen us or aggrandize?

Pigmies are pigmies still, though perched on Alps, And pyramids are pyramids in vales.

Each man makes his own stature, builds himself; Virtue alone outbuilds the pyramids ;

Her monuments shall last when Egypt's fall.

Of these sure truths dost thou demand the cause ?

The cause is lodged in immortality.

Hear, and assent. Thy bosom burns for power;
What station charms thee? I'll install thee there;
'T is thine. And art thou greater than before?
Then thou before wast something less than man.
Has thy new post betrayed thee into pride?
That treacherous pride betrays thy dignity;
That pride defames humanity, and calls

The being mean, which staffs or strings can raise ;
That pride, like hooded hawks, in darkness soars,
From blindness bold, and towering to the skies.
'Tis born of ignorance, which knows not man,-
An angel's second, nor his second long.
A Nero, quitting his imperial throne,
And courting glory from the tinkling string,
But faintly shadows an immortal soul,
With empire's self, to pride or rapture fired.
If noble motives minister no cure,
Even vanity forbids thee to be vain.

High worth is elevated place; 't is more,
It makes the post stand candidate to thee;
Makes more than monarchs, makes an honest man.
Though no exchequer it commands, 't is wealth;
And, though it wears no ribbon, 't is renown;
Renown that would not quit thee, though disgraced,

Nor leave thee pendent on a master's smile.

Other ambition Nature interdicts;

Nature proclaims it most absurd in man,

By pointing at his origin and end;

Milk and a swathe, at first, his whole demand;
His whole domain, at last, a turf or stone;
To whom, between, a world may seem too small.

WILLIAM LILLO. 1693-1739.

Lillo was a London jeweller. But having a fondness for literature, he devoted his leisure hours to the composition of three dramas George Barnwell, Fatal Curiosity, and Arden of Feversham-founded upon sorrows incident to real life, in the lower and middling ranks of society. The first two of these have had a considerable reputation.

FATAL CURIOSITY.

[Young Wilmot, unknown, enters the house of his parents, and delivers them a casket, requesting to retire an hour, for rest.]

[Agnes, the mother, alone, with the casket in her hand.]

Agnes. Who should this stranger be? And then, this casket

He says it is of value; and yet trusts it,

As if a trifle, to a stranger's hand.

His confidence amazes me. Perhaps,

It is not what he says. I'm strongly tempted

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Why should my curiosity excite me

To search and pry into the affairs of others,
Who have, to employ my thoughts, so many cares
And sorrows of my own?-With how much ease
The spring gives way!-Surprising! most prodigious!
My eyes are dazzled, and my ravished heart

Leaps at the glorious sight! How bright 's the lustre,
How immense the worth, of those fair jewels!

Ay, such a treasure would expel forever
Base poverty, and all its abject train;

The mean devices we 're reduced to use
To keep out famine, and preserve our lives,
From day to day; the cold neglect of friends;
The galling scorn, or more provoking pity,
Of an insulting world. Possessed of these,
Plenty, content and power, might take their turn,
And lofty pride bare its aspiring head

At our approach, and once more bend before us.
A pleasing dream! 'Tis past; and now I wake,
More wretched by the happiness I've lost;

For sure it was a happiness to think,
Though but a moment, such a treasure mine.

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