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Song, beauty, youth, love, virtue, joy! this group
Of bright ideas, flow'rs of paradise,
As
yet

unforfeit! in one blaze we bind,
Kneel, and present it to the skies; as all
We guess of heav'n: and these were all her own.
And she was mine; and I was-was most blesto
Gay title of the deepest misery !
As bodies grow more pond'rous, robb’d of life;
Good loft weighs more in grief, than gain'd, in joy.
Like blossom'd trees, o'erturn’d by vernal Aorm,
Lovely in death the beauteous ruin lay;
And If in death still lovely, lovelier there ;
Far lovelier! pity swells the tide of love.
And will not the severe excuse a figh?
Scorn the proud man that is alham’d to weep;
Our tears indulg'd indeed deserve our fame.
Ye that e'er loft an anget! pity me.

Soon as the lustre languisht in her eye,
Daivning a dimmer day on human right;
And on her cheek, the residence of spring,
Paler and scatier'd fears around
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Regret beheld her drooping, than the bells
Of lilies, faireft lilies, not so fair.
Queen lilies! and ye painted populace !
Who dwell in fields, and lead ambrosial lives;
In morn and ev'ning dew your beauties bathe,
And drink the sun; which gives your cheeks to glow,
And out blush (mine excepted) ev'ry fair ;
You gladlier grew, ambitious of her hand,
Which often cropt your odours, incense meet
To thought fo pure! her flow'ry state of mind
In joy unfall'n. Ye lovely fugitives!
Coæval race with man! for man you smile;
Why not smile at him too! you share indeed
His sudden pass; but not his constant pain.

So man is made, nought ministers delight,
But what his glowing passions can engage;
And glowing passions, bent on aught below,
Must, foon or late, with anguish turn the scale;
And anguish, after rapture, how severe !
Rapture? bold man! who tempts the wrath divine,
By plucking fruit deny'd to mortal taste,
Whilst here, presuming on the rights of heav'n.
For transport dost thou call on ev'ry hour,
Lorenzo? at thy friend's expence be wise ;
Lean not on earth ; 'twill pierce thee to the heart;
A broken reed, at beft; but, oft, a spear;
On its Marp point peace bleeds, and hope expires.
Turn, hopeless thought! turn from her: thought repell’d,

Resenting

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Resenting rallies, and wakes ev'ry woe.
Snatch'd ere thy prime! and in thy bridal hour!
And when kind fortune, with thy lover, smil'd!
And when high-flavour'd thy fresh-op'ning joys!
And when blind man pronounc'd thy bliss complete!
And on a foreign shore; where frangers wept !
Strangers to thee; and, more surprising ftill,
Strangers to kindness, wept: their eyes let fall
Inhuman tears; strange tears ! that trickled down
From marble hearts ! obdurate tenderness!
A tenderness that call'd them more fevere;
In spite of nature's soft persuasion, steeld;
While nature melted, superstition rav’d;
That mourn'd the dead; and this deny'd a grave.

Their fighs incenft; fighs foreign to the will!
Their will the Tyger fuck'd, outrag'd the storm.
For oh! the curft ungodliness of zeal !
While finful flesh relented, fpirit nurst
In blind infallibility's embrace,
The fainted spirit petrify'd the breast;
Deny'd the charity of dust, to spread
O'er duft! a charity their dogs enjoy.
What could I do? what succour? what resource ?
With pious facrilege a grave I stole;
With impious piety that grave I wrong'd;
Short in my duty; coward in my grief!
More like her murderer, than friend, I crept,
With soft-suspended tep; and, muffled deep

In midnight darkness, whisper'd my laft figh.
I whisper'd what should echo thro' their realms :
Nor writ her name, whose tomb should pierce the skies. !
Presumptuous fear ! how durst I dread her foes,

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While nature's loudest dictates I obey'd ?
Pardon necessity, bleft shade! Of grief
And indignation rival bursts I pour'd;
Half-execration mingled with my pray’r ;
Kindled at man, while I his God ador'ds
Sore-grudg'd the savage land her facred duft ;
Stampt the curst foil ; and with humanity
(Deny'd Narcissa) wish'd them all a grave.

Glows my resentment into guilt? what guilt
Can equal violations of the dead?
The dead how facred! sacred is the dust
Of this heav'n-labour'd form, erect, divine!
This heav'n-affum'd majetic robe of earth,
He deign’d to wear, who hung the vast expanse
With azure bright, and cloath'd the fun in gold.
When every paflion sleeps that can offend;
When strikes us ev'ry motive that can melt;
When man can wreak his rancour uncontrould,
That strongest curb on insult and ill-will ;
Then, spleen to dust ? the dust of innocence ?
An angel's dust!--this Lucifer transcends ;
When he contended for the patriarch's bones,
'Twas not the strife of malice, but of pride;
The strife of pontiff pride, not pontiff gall,

Far

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Far less than this is shocking in a race
Most wretched, but from streams of mutual love ;
And uncreate, but for love divine;
And, but for love divine, this moment, loft,
By fate resorb’d, and sunk in endless night.
Man hard of heart to man! of horrid things
Most horrid! ’mid ftupendous, highly strange!
Yet oft his courtesies are smoother wrongs;
Pride brandishes the favours he confers,
And contumelious his humanity:
What then his vengeance ? hear it not, ye stars !
And thou, pale moon! turn paler at the sound;
Man is to man the forest, fireft, ill.
A previous blast foretels the rising storm;
O'erwhelming turrets threaten ere they fall;
Volcanos bellow ere they disembogue;
Earth trembles ere her yawning jaws devour;
And smoke betrays the wide-consuming fire:
Ruin from man is most conceal'd when near,
And sends the dreadful tidings in the blow.
Is this the light of fancy? would it were !
Heavin's Sov'reign faves all beings but himfelf,
That hideous fight, a naked human heart.

Fir'd is the muse? and let the muse be fir'd:
Who not infiam’d, when what he fpeaks, he feels,
And in the nerve most tender, in his friends?
Shame to mankind! Philander had his foes ;
He felt the truths I fing, and I in him.

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