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But he, nor I, feel more: paft ills, Narcisfa!
Are funk in thee, thou recent wound of heart !
Which bleeds with other cares, with other

pangs ;
Pangs num'rous, as the num'rous ills that swarm'd
O'er thy diftinguisht fate, and, cluft'ring there
Thick as the locuft on the land of Nile,
Made death more deadly, and more dark the grave.
Reflect (if not forgot my touching tale)
How was each circumstance with aspics arm’d?
An afpic, each ; and all, an hydra woe.
What strong Herculean virtue could suffice?
Or is it virtue to be conquer'd here?
This hoary cheek a train of tears bedews ;
And each tear mourns its own distinct distress;
And each distress, distinctly mourn'd, demands
Of grief ftill more, as heighten'd by the whole.
A grief like this proprietors excludes:
Not friends alone fuch obsequies deplore ;
They make mankind the mourner; carry fighs
Far as the fatal fame can wing her way ;
And turn the gayest thought of gayest age,
Down their right channel, thro' the vale of death.
The vale of death! that husht Cimmerian vale,
Where darkness, brooding o'er unfinisht fates,
With raven wing incumbent, waits the day
(Dread day!) that interdicts all future change!
That subterranean world, that land of ruin!
Fit walk, Lorenzo, for proud humaa thought!

There

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There let my thought expatiate; and explore
Balsamic truths, and healing sentiments,
Of all most wanted, and most welcome, here.
For
gay

Lorenzo's sake, and for thy own,
My soul! “ The fruits of dying friends survey;

Expose the vain of life; weigh life and death:
" Give death his eulogy; thy fear subdu’d;
“ And labour that first palm of noble minds,
A manly scorn of terror from the tomb,”

This harvest reap from thy Narcista's grave.
As poets feign'd, from Ajax' streaming blood
Arose, with grief inscrib'd, a mournful flow'r;
Let wisdom blossom from my mortal wound.
And first, of dying friends ; what fruit from these?
It brings us more than triple aid; an aid
To chase our thoughtlessness, fear, pride, and guilt.
Our dying friends come o'er us like a cloud,
To damp our brainless ardors; and abate
That glare of life, which often blinds the wise.
Our dying friends are pioneers, to smooth
Our rugged pass to death; to break those bars

and abhorrence, nature throws
Cross our

obstructed way; and, thus, to make
Welcome, as safe, our port from ev'ry storm.
Each friend by fate snatch'd from us, is a plume
Pluckt from the wing of human vanity,
Which makes us stoop from our aëreal heights,

And,

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Of terror,

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And, dampt with omen of our own decease,
On drooping pinions of ambition lower'd,
Just kim earth's furface, ere we break it up,
O'er putrid pride to scratch a littie duft,
And save the world a nuisance. Smitten friends
Are angels sent on errands full of love ;
For us they languish, and for us they die:
And shall they languilh, shall they die, in vain?
Ungrateful, shall we grieve their hov'ring thades,
Which wait the revolution in our hearts ?
Shall we disdain their filent, foft address;
Their pofthumous advice, and pious pray'r ?
Senseless, as herds that

their hallow'd graves. Tread under-foot their agonies and groans ; Frustrate their anguilh, and destroy their deaths ?

graze

量 "

H Y M N 3

HYMNS by Mr. ADDISON.

PROVIDENCE.

TH

HE Lord my pasture shall prepare,

And feed me with a shepherd's care ;
His presence shall my wants supply,
And guard me with a watchful eye;
My noon-day walks he shall attend,
And all my midnight hours defend.

When in the sultry glebe I faint,
Or on the thirsty mountain pant;
To fertile vales and dewy meads
My weary wand'ring steps he leads ;
Where peaceful rivers, soft and now,
Amid the verdant landskip flow.

Tho' in the paths of death I tread,
With gloomy horrors overspread,
My stedfast heart shall fear no ill,
For thou, O Lord, art with me still;
Thy friendly crook shall give me aid,
And guide me through the dreadful shade.

Tho' in a bare and rugged way,
Thro' devious lonely wilds I stray,
Thy bounty shall my pains beguile :
The barren wilderness shall smile,

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With

With sudden greens and herbage crown'd,
And streams shall murmur all around.

GRATITUDE.

WHT

W

THEN all thy mercies, O my God,

My rising foul surveys; Transported with the view, I'm loft

In wonder, love, and praise :

O how shall words with equal warmth

The gratitude declare,
That glows within my ravish'd heart !

But thou canst read it there.

Thy Providence my life sustain'd,

And all my wants redrest, When in the filent womb I lay,

And hung upon the breast.

To all my weak complaints and cries,

Thy mercy lent an ear,
Ere yet my feeble thoughts had learnt

To form themselves in pray’r.

Unnumber'd comforts to my soul

Thy tender care bestow'd, Before my infant heart conceiv'd

From whom those comforts flow'd,

When

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