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Beneath his haughty reign ; and all his slaves
Where savage nature in one common lies,
But where th' appointed limits of a law
mind To endless shapes of woe.
Here misers mourn
But that last act fall in one moment close Ot doubt and darkness ; pain shall crack the strings Of life decay'd; no less the soul convuls’d, Trembles in anxious cares, and shuddering stands, Afraid to leap into the opening gulf Of future fate, till all the banks of clay Fall from beneath his feet: in vain he grasps The shatter'd reeds that cheat his easy wish. Reason is now no more ; that narrow lamp (Which with its fickly fires would shoot its beams To distances unknown, and stretch its rays Afkance my paths, in deepest darkness veil'd) Is sunk into his socket ; inly there It burns a dismal light; th' expiring flame Is choak’d in fumes, and parts in various doubt.
Then the gay glories of the living world , Shall cast their empty varnish, and retire Out of his feeble view; and rising shade Sit hov'ring o'er all nature's various face, Music shall cease, and instruments of joy Shall fail that sullen hour; nor can che mind Attend their sounds, when fancies swin in death, Confus'd and crush'd with cares : for long thal feem The dreary road, and melancholy dark, That leads he knows not where. Here empty space Gapes horrible, and threatens to absorh All being: yonder footy demons glare, And dolorous fpectres grin; the fhapelefs rout
Of wild imagination dance and play
He ended. Peals of thunder rend the heavens,
CHIRON to ACHILLES.
Α Ρ Ο Ε Μ.
By SIR HILDEBRAND JACOB, Bart.
Res eft fevera voluptas.
When he beheld him rip’ning into man.
Accomplih'd youth; well worthy of my pains, “ You now are free, and guide yourself the reins : “ Yet hear, Achilles, hear, before we part, “ A few short precepts from a faithful heart.
" What though the gods a Nestor's age deny !
Let management a longer life fapply, « And learn, at least, to live, before you die. « A little tract, well till'd, more profit yields " Than realms of wild, uncultivated fields. “ 'Tis not from length of years our pleasures flow, “ Nor to the gods alone our bliss we owe. “Our happiness and pain depend on us; “ Man's his own good, or evil genius, " Great ills by art we lighten, or remove, ** And art our meanest pleasures may improve: “ Much to ourselves is due, though much to Jove.
“ Think not, young prince, your elevated state, “ Birth, honours, or the empty name of
great, “Can fix your joys: they're ill fecur'd, unless “ You know yourself to form your happiness, “ Which in the shepherd's humble hut is found, “ While palaces with discord still resound. “ Fortune to industry is ever kind, “ And, though by the blind vulgar painted blind, “ Is still more equal than the crowd suppose, “ Who judge of happiness by outward shows; “ She smiles on all conditions, each may be “ A man of pleasure in his own degree.
" Yet few with art their happiness pursue,
Though all mankind have happiness in view, " And every sense seems made by nature's kill "For giving pleasure and avoiding ill.