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Oft have I prov'd the labours of thy love,
And the warm efforts of thy gentle heart,
Anxious to please.-Oh! when my friend and I
In some thick wood have wander'd heedless on
Hid from the vulgar eye, and sat us down
Upon the sloping cowslip-cover'd bank,
Where the pure limpid stream has slid along
In grateful errors through the under-wood,
Sweet murmuring; methought the shrill-tongued

thrush
Mended his song of love : the sooty blackbird
Mellow'd his pipe, and softened every note :
The eglantine smelld sweeter, and the rose
Assum'd a dye more deep; whilst every flower
Vied with his fellow-plant in luxury
Of dress.-Oh! then the longest summer's day
Seem'd too, too much in haste: still the full heart
Had not imparted half : 'twas happiness
Too exquisite to last. Of joys departed,
Not to return, how painful the remembrance !
Dull Grave—thou spoil'st the dance of youthful

blood, Strik'st out the dimple from the cheek of mirth,' And every smirking feature from the face : Branding our laughter with the name of madness. Where are the jesters now ? the men of health Complexionally pleasant? Where's the droll, Whose every look and gesture was a joke To clapping theatres and shouting crowds, And made ev'n thick-lip’d, musing Melancholy, To gather up her face into a smile Before she was aware ? Ah ! sullen now, And dumb as the green turf that covers them.

Where are the mighty thunderbolts of war?

The Roman Cæsars, and the Grecian chiefs,
The boast of story? Where the hot-brain'd youth,
Who the tiara at his pleasure tore
From kings of all the then discover'd globe ;
And cried, forsooth, because his arm was hamperick
And had not room enough to do its work ?
Alas ! how slim, dishonourably slim,
And cram'd into a space we blush to name !
Proud Royalty ! how alter'd in thy looks !
How blank thy features, and how wan thy hue !
Son of the morning! whither art thou gone !
Where hast thou hid thy many-spangled head,
And the majestic menace of thine eyes
Felt from afar ? Pliant and powerless now,
Like new-born infant wound up in his swathes,
Or victim tumbled flat upon its back,
That throbs beneath the sacrificer's knife.
Mute, must thou bear the strife of little tongues,
And coward insults of the base-born crowd;
That grudge a privilege thou never hadst,
But only hop'd for in the peaceful grave,
Of being unmolested and alone.
Arabia's gums and odoriferous drugs,
And honours by the herald duly paid
In mode and form, ev'n to a very scruple ;
Oh, cruel irony! these come too late ;
And only mock, whom they were meant to honour.
Surely there's not a dungeon-slave that's bury'd
In the highway, unshrouded and uncoffin'd,
But lies as soft, and sleeps as sound as he.
Sorry pre-eminence of high descent,
Above the vulgar born, to rot in state.

Butsee! the well-plum'd hearse comes nodding on, Stately and slow ; and properly attended

By the whole sable tribe, that painful watch
The sick man's door, and live upon the dead,
By letting out their persons by the hour,
To mimic sorrow when the heart's not sad.
How rich the trappings! now they're all unfurl'd,
And glittering in the sun; triumphant entries
Of conquerors, and coronation pomps,
In glory scarce exceed. Great gluts of people
Retard th’ unwieldy show; whilst from the case-

ments,
And houses' tops, ranks behind ranks, close wedgʻd,
Hang bellying o'er. But tell us, why this waste ?
Why this ado in earthing up a carcass
That's fall'n into disgrace, and in the nostril
Smells horrible ? —Ye undertakers, tell us,
Midst all the gorgeous figures you exhibit,
Why is the principal conceal'd, for

which
You make this mighty stir ?—'Tis wisely done :
What would offend the eye in a good picture,
The painter casts discreetly into shades.

Proud lineage! now how little thou appear'st
Below the envy of the private man!
Honour ! that meddlesome officious ill,
Pursues thee ev'n to death ; nor there stops shorts
Strange persecution! when the

grave

itself Is no protection from rude sufferance.

Absurd to think to overreach the Grave;
And from the wreck of names to rescue ours.
The best concerted schemes men lay for fame,
Die fast away; only themselves die faster.
The far-fam'd sculptor, and the laurell’d bard,
These bold insurancers of deathless fame,
Supply their little feeble aids in vain.
The tapering pyramid, th’Egyptian's pride,

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The Roman Cæsars, and the Grecian chiefs,
The boast of story? Where the hot-brain'd youth,
Who the tiara at his pleasure tore
From kings of all the then discover'd globe ;
And cried, forsooth, because his arm was hamper’dky
And had not room enough to do its work ?
Alas ! how slim, dishonourably slim,
And cram'd into a space we blush to name !
Proud Royalty! how alter'd in thy looks !
How blank thy features, and how wan thy hue!
Son of the morning! whither art thou gone!
Where hast thou hid thy many-spangled head,
And the majestic menace of thine eyes
Felt from afar ? Pliant and powerless now,
Like new-born infant wound up in his swathes,
Or victim tumbled flat upon its back,
That throbs beneath the sacrificer's knife.
Mute, must thou bear the strife of little tongues,
And coward insults of the base-born crowd;
That grudge a privilege thou never hadst,
But only hop'd for in the peaceful grave,
Of being unmolested and alone.
Arabia's

gums

and odoriferous drugs, And honours by the herald duly paid In mode and form, ev'n to a very scruple ; Oh, cruel irony ! these come too late ; And only mock, whom they were meant to honour, Surely there's not a dungeon-slave that's bury'd In the highway, unshrouded and uncoffin'd, But lies as soft, and sleeps as sound as he. Sorry pre-eminence of high descent,

ove the vulgar to rot in state.

Butsee! the well-plum'd hearse comes nodding on, Stately and slow ; and properly attended

By the whole sable tribe, that painful watch
The sick man's door, and live upon the dead,
By letting out their persons by the hour,
To mimic sorrow when the heart's not sad.
How rich the trappings! now they're all unfurl'd,
And glittering in the sun ; triumphant entries
Of conquerors, and coronation pomps,
In glory scarce exceed. Great gluts of people
Retard th’ unwieldy show; whilst from the case-

ments,
And houses' tops, ranks behind ranks, close wedgʻd,
Hang bellying o'er. But tell us, why this waste ?
Why this ado in earthing up a carcass
That's fall'n into disgrace, and in the nostril
Smells horrible ?-Ye undertakers, tell us,
Midst all the gorgeous figures you exhibit,
Why is the principal conceal’d, for which
You make this mighty stir ?'Tis wisely done:
What would offend the eye in a good picture,
The painter casts discreetly into shades.

Proud lineage! now how little thou appear’st Below the envy of the private man! Honour ! that meddlesome officious ill, Pursues thee ev'n to death ; nor there stops short Strange persecution ! when the grave

itself Is no protection from rude sufferance.

Absurd to think to overreach the Grave;
And from the wreck of names to rescue ours.
The best concerted schemes men lay for fame,
Die fast away; only themselves die faster.
The far-fam'd sculptor, and the laurelld bard,
These bold insurancers of deathless fame,
Supply their little feeble aids in vain.
The tapering pyramid, th' Egyptian's pride,

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