He lives in those he left ;---to what?

Your, now, paternal care, Clear from its cloud your brighten'd eye, It will difcern him there;

In features, not of form alone,

But those, I truft, of mind,
Aufpicious to the public weal,
And to their fate refign'd.

Think on the tempefts be fuftain'd;
Revolve his battles won;
And let thole prophecy your joy
From fuch a father's fon:
Is confolation what you feek?

Fan, then, his martial fire:
And animate to flame the parks

Bequeath'd him by his fire:

As nothing great is born in hafte,
Wile nature's time allow;
His father's laurels may defcend,
And flourish on his brow.
Nor, Madam! be furpris'd to hear
That laurels may be due
Not more to heroes of the field,
(Proud boafters!) than to you:
Tender as is the female frame,

Like that brave man you mourn,
You are a foldier, and to fight
Superior battles born;

Beneath a banner nobler far

Than ever was unfurl'd

in fields of blood; a banner bright!
High wav'd o'er all the world.
cafts

it, like a ftreaming mateor,
An univerfal light;
Sheds day, fheds more, eternal day
On nations whelm'd in night.
Beneath that banner, what exploit

Can mount our glory higher,
Than to fuftain the dreadful blow,
When thofe we love expire?
Go forth a meral Amazon;

Arm'd with undauuted thought;
The battle won, though cofting dear,
You'll think it cheaply bought;
The paffive here, who fits down

Unactive, and can file
Beneath affliction's galling load,
Out-acts a Cæfar's toil:

The billows ftain'd by flaughter'd foes
Inferior praife afford;
Reafon's a bloodless conqueror,
More glorious than the fword,
Nor can the thunders of huzzas

From fhouting nations, caufe
Such fweet delight, as from your heart
Soft whispers of applaufe:
The dear deceas'd fo fam'd in arms,
With what delight he 'll view
His triumphs on the main outdone,

Thus conquer'd, twice, by you,

Share his delight; take heed to fhun
Of bofoms moft difeas'd

That odd diftemper, an abur'd

Reluctance to be pleas'd:

Some feem in love with forrow's charms,
And that foul fiend embrace:
This temper let me juftly brand,
And ftamp it with difgrace:
Sorrow! of horrid parentage!
Thou fecond-born of Lell!
Against heaven's endless mercies pour'd
How dar't thou to rebel?
From black and noxious vapours bred
And nuts'd by want of thought,
And to the door of frenzy's felf
By perfeverance brought,
Thy most inglarious, coward tears
From brutal eyes have ran;
Smiles, incommunicable files;
Are radiant marks of man;

They caft a fudden glory round

Th'illumin'd human face;
And light in fons of honeft joy

Some beams of Mofes face;
Is Refignation's leffon hard?
Examine, we shall find
That duty gives up little more
Than anguifh of the mind;
Refign; and all the load of life
That moment you remove,
Its heavy tax, ten thoufand cares
Devolve on one above;

Who bids us lay our burthen down
On his almighty hand,
Softens our duty to relief,

To bleffing a command.

For joy what caufe? how every fenfe
Is courted from above

The year around, with prefents rich,
The growth of endless love?

But moft o'erlook the bleffings pour'd,

Forget the wonders done,

And terminate, wrapp'd up in fenfe,

Their profpect at the fun;

From that, their final point of view,
From that their radiant goal,
On travel infinite of thought,
Sets out the nobler foul,

Broke loofe from time's tenacious ties,

And earth's involving gloom, To range at laft its vaft domain,

And talk with worlds to come: They let unmark'd, aud unemploy'd, Life's idle moments run; Aud, doing nothing for themselves, Imagine nothing done, Fatal mistake! their fate goes on

Their dread account proceeds, And their not-doing is fet down Amongst their darkest deeds;

Though man fits ftill, and takes his ease;
God is at work ou man;
No means, no moment unemploy'd,
To bless him, if he can.

But man confents not, boldly bent
To fashion his own fate;
Man a mere bungler in the trade,

Repents his crime too late ;

Hence loud laments: let me thy cause,
Indulgent Father! plead;

Of all the wretches we deplore,

Not one by thee was made. What is the whole creation fair?

Of love divine the child;

Love brought it forth; and from its birth,
Has o'er it fondly fmil'd :
Now, and through periods distant far,
Long ere the world began,
Heaven is, and has in travel been,
Its birth the good of man;
Man holds in conftant fervice bound
The bluftering winds and feas;
Nor funs difdain to travel hard
Their master, man, to please:

To final good the worst events
Through fecret channels run;
Finish for man their deftin'd course,
As 'twas for man begun.

One point (obferv'd, perhaps, by few)
Has often fmote, and fmites
My mind, as demonstration strong;
That heaven in man delights:
What's known to man of things unseen,
Of future worlds, or fates?

So much, nor more, than what to man's
Sublime affairs relates;

What's Revelation then? a lift,
An inventory just

Of that poor infect's goods, fo late
Call'd out of night and duft.
What various motives to rejoice!
To render joy fincere,

Has this no weight? our joy is felt
Beyond this narrow sphere;

Would we in heaven new heaven create

And double its delight?

A fmiling world, when heaven looks down,
How pleasing in its fight!

Angels ftoop forward from their thrones
To hear its joyful lays;

As incenfe fweet en oy, and join,
Its aromatic praife:

Have we no caufe to fear the stroke

Of heaven's avenging rod?
When we prefume to counteract
A fympathetic God?

If we refign, our patience makes
His rod an armless wand;
If not, it darts a ferpent's fting,
Like that in Mofes' hand;

Like that, it fwallows up whate'er
Earth's vain magicians bring,
Whose baffled arts would boast below
Of joys a rival fpring.

Coufurnmate love! the lift how large
Of bleffings from thy hand!
To banish forrow, and be bleft,
Is thy fupreme command.
Are fuch commands but ill obey'd?
Of blifs, fhall we complain?"
The man, who dares to be a wretch,
Deferves ftill greater pain,

Joy is our duty, glory, health;
The funfhine of the foul;
Our beft encomium on the Power
Who fweetly plans the whole :
Joy is our Eden still poffefs'd:
Be gone, ignoble grief!

'Tis joy makes gods, and men exalts,
Their nature, our relief;

Relief, for man to that must stoop,
And his due distance know;
Transport's the language of the skies,
Content the ftyle below.

Content is joy, and joy in pain
Is joy and virtue too;
Thus, whilft good prefent we poffe's
More precious we pursue:

Of joy the more we have in hand,
The more have we to come;
Joy, like our money, interest bears,
Which daily fwells the fum.

But how to smile; to ftem the tide
"Of nature in our veins ;

"Is it not hard to weep in joy?
"What then to smile in pains ?”
Victorious joy! which breaks the clouds,
And ftruggles through a ftorm;
Proclaims the mind as great, as good;
And bids it doubly charm:

If doubly charming in our sex,
A fex, by nature, bold;

What then in yours? 'tis diamond there,
Triumphant o'er our gold.

And should not this complaint reprefs?
And check the rifing figh?

Yet farther opiate to your pain
I labour to fupply.

Since fpirits greatly damp'd diftort
Ideas of delight,

Look through the medium of a friend,

Te fet your notions right:

As tears the fight, grief dims the foul;
Its object dark appears;
True friendship, like a rifing fun,
The foul's horizon clears.

A friend 's an optick to the mind
With forrow clouded o'er;
And gives it ftrength of fight to fea
Redress unseen before.

Reafon is fomewhat rough in man;

Extremely fmooth and fair,

When the, to grace her manly ftrength,
Affumes a female air:

A Friend you have, and I the fame,

Whole prudent, foft addrels
Will bring to life thofe healing thoughts
Which dy'd in your diftrefs;
That friend, the fpirit of my theme
Extracting for your cafe,

Will leave to me the dreg, in thoughts
Too commen; fuch as thele;

Let thofe lament, to whom full bowls

Of fparkling joys are given;
That triple bane inebriates life,

Imbitters death, and hazards heaven:
Woe to the foul at perfect eafe!

'Tis brewing perfect pains;
Lull'd reafen fleeps, the pulfe is king:
Defpotic body reigns:

Have you † ne'er pity'd joy's gay scenes,
And deem'd their glory dark?
Alas! poor Envy! fhe's ftone-blind,
And quite mistakes her mark :
Her mark lies hid in forrow's shades,

But forrow well fubdued;
And in proud fortune's frown defy'd
By meek, unborrow'd good.
By Refignation; all in that

A double friend may find,

A wing to heaven, and, while on earth,
The pillow of mankind:

On pillows void of down, for reft

Our reftlefs hopes we place;
When hopes of heaven lie warm at heart,
Our hearts repofe in peace:

The peace, which Refignation yields,
Who feel alone can guess;

'Tis difbeliev'd by murmuring minds,
They must conclude it lefs:

The lofs, or gain, of that alone
Have we to hope, or fear;
That fate controls, and can invert
The feasons of the year:

O! the dark days, the year around,

Of an impatient mind?

Through clouds, and ftorms, a fummer breaks,
To fhine on the refign'd:

While man by that of every grace,
And virtue, is poffets'd ;

Foul vice her pandemonium builds
In the rebellious breast;

By Refignation we defeat

The worst that can anney; And fuffer, with far more repose, Than worldlings can enjoy.

Mrs. Montague.

From fmall experience this I fpeak;
O! grant to thofe I love
Experience fuller far, ye powers

Who form our fates above!
My love where due, if not to thofe
Who, leaving grandeur, came
To fhine on age in mean recefs,
And light me to my theme!

A theme themselves! A theme, how rare!
The charms, which they display,
To triumph over captive heads,
Are fet in bright array:

With his own arms proud man's o'ercome,
His boafted laurels die:

Learning and genius, wiler grown,
To female boloms fly.
This revolution, fix'd by fate,
In fable was foretold;
The dark prediction puzzled wits,
Nor could the learn'd unfold:
But as thofe ladies works I read,
They darted fuch a ray,'
The latent fenfe burst out at once,
And hone in open day:

So burft, full ripe, diftended fruits,
When frongly ftrikes the fun;
And from the purple grape unprefs'd
Spontaneous nectars run.

Pallas, ('tis faid) when Jove grew dull,
Forlook his drowsy brain;
And fprightly leap'd into the throne
Of wildom's brighter reign;
Her helmet took; that is, fhot rays
Of formidable wit;

And launce,or, genius moft acute,
Which lines immortal writ;

And gorgon fhield,---or, power to fright
Man's folly, dreadful fhone,
And many a blockhead (eafy change!)
Turn'd, inftantly, to ftone.

Our authors male, as, then, did jove,

Now feratch a damag'd head,

And call for what once quarter'd there,
But find the goddess fled.

The fruit of knowledge, golden fruit
That once forbidden tree,

Hedg'd-in by furly man,

is now

To Britain's daughters free:

In Eve (we know) of fruit fo fair
The noble thirst began;

And they, like her, have caus'd a fall,
A fall of fame in man:

And fince of genius in our fex,
O Additon! with thee

The fun is fet; how I rejoice

This fifter lamp to fee!

It fheds, like Cynthia, filver beams
On man's nocturnal state;
His leffen'd light, and languid powers,
I fhow, whilft I relate.

*Mrs. Montague, Mrs. Carter.

BUT what in either fex, beyond All parts, our glory crowns! "In ruling feafons to be calm,

"And fmile, when fortune frowns,"

Heaven's choice is fafer than our own;
Of ages paft enquire,
What the moft formidable fate?

"To have our own defire."
If, in your wrath, the worst of foes

you wish extremely ill;
Expofe him to the thunder's ftroke,
Or that of his own will.

What numbers, rufhing down the fleep
Of inclination ftrong,

Have perifh'd in their ardent with!!

With ardent, ever wrong!
'Tis Refignation's full reverfe,
Moft wrong, as it implies
Error moft fatal in our choice,

Detachment from the fkies.

By clofing with the kies, we make
Omnipotence our own;
That done, how formidable ill's
Whole army is o'erthrown?
No longer impotent, and frail,

Ourlelves above we rife:

We fearce believe ourselves below!
We trefpals on the skies!

The Lord, the foul, and fource of all,
Whilft man en oys his eafe,

Is executing human will,

In earth, and air, and feas;
Beyond us, what can Angels boast?
Archangels what require?
Whate'er below, above, is done,

Is done as-----we defire.
What glory this for man fo mean,
Whole life is but a span?
This is meridian majefty!

This, the tublime of man!
Beyond the boaft of pagan fong
My facred fubject shines!
And for a foil the luftre takes
Of Rome's exalted lines.

"All, that the fun furveys, fubdued,
"But Cato's mighty mind."

How grand! moft true; yet far beneath
The foul of the Refign'd:

To more than kingdoms, more than worlds,
To paffion that gives law;
Its matchlels empire could have kept
Great Cato's pride in awe,

That fatal pride, whofe cruel point
Transfix'd his noble breast;
Far nobler! If his fate fuftain'd
Had left to Heaven the reft;

Then be the palm had borne away,

At diftance Cæfar thrown; Put him off cheaply with the world, And made the skies his own, What cannot Refignation do? It wonders can perform;

That powerful charm, "Thy will be done,"
Can lay the loudest storm.

Come, Refignation! then, from fields,
Where, mounted on the wing,

A wing of flame, blefs'd Martyr's fouls
Afcended to their King:

Who is it calls thee? one whofe need
Transcends the common fize;
Who ftands in front againft a fue
To which none equal rife:,

In front he ftands, the brink he treads
Of an eternal state;

How dreadful his appointed post!
How ftrongly arm'd by fate :

His threatening foe! what fhadows deep
O'erwhelm his gloomy brow!

His dart tremendous !---at fourscore
My fole afylum, thou !

Hafte, then, O Refignation! hafte,
'Tis thine to reconcile

My foe, and me; at thy approach,
My foe begins to fmile:

O! for that fummit of my wish,
Whilft here I draw my breath,
That promife of eternal life,

A glorious fmile in death :

What fight, Heaven's azure arch beneath,
Has moft of Heaven to boaft?
The man refign'd; at once ferene,
And giving up the ghoft.

At death's arrival they fhall fmile
Who, not in life o'er gay,
Serious, and frequent thought fend out
To meet him on his way;

My gay Coævals! (fuch there are)
If happiness is dear;
Approaching death's alarming day
Difcreetly let us fear:

The fear of death is truly wife,
Till wifdom can ride higher;
And, arm'd with pious fortitude,
Death dreaded once, defire:

Gland climacteric vanities
The vainelt will defe;

Shock', when beneath the fnow of age,
Man immaturely dies:

But am not I myself the man ?

No need abroad to roam
In quel of faults to be chaftis'd;

What caufe to blush at home?
In life's decline, when men relapse
Into the ports of youth,
The fecond child out-fools the first,
And tempts the lafh of truth.

The wife, as flowers, which spread at noon,
And all their charms expose,
When evening damps, and fhades descend,
Their evolutions clofe.

What though your Mufe has nobly foar'd,
Is that our true fublime?
Ours, hoary friend! is to prefer
Eternity to time:

Why clofe a life so justly fam'd
this?

With fuch bold trafh as
This for renown? yes, fuch as makes
Obfcurity a bliss:

Your trafh, with mine, at open war,
Ist obftinately bent,

Like wits below, to fow your tares
Of gloom and discontent;
With fo much funshine at command,
Why light with darkness mix?

Why dafh with pain our pleasure? why
Your Helicon with Styx?
Your works in our divided minds
Repugnant paffions raife,
Confound us with a double ftroke,
We fhudder whilst we praise;

A curious web, as finely wrought
As genius can infpire,
From a black bag of poifon fpun,
With horror we admire.
Mean as it is, if this is read
With a difdainful air,
I can't forgive fo great a foe
To my dear friend Voltaire :
Early I knew him, early prais'd,
And long to praise him late;
His genius greatly I admire,
Nor would deplore his fate;
Candide.

+ Second Part.

A fate how much to be deplor'd!
At which our nature ftarts;
Forbear to fall on your own fword,
To perish by your parts:

"But great your name"--To feed on air,
Were then immortals born?
Nothing is great, of which more great,

More glorious is the scorn.

Can fame your carcafe from the worm
Which gnaws us in the grave,
Or foul from that which never dies,
Applauding Europe fave?

But fame you lofe; good fenfe alone
Your idol, praife can claim;
When wild wit murders happiness,
It puts to death our fame!
Nor boaft your genius, talents bright,
Ev'n dunces will defpife,

If in your western beams is mils'd
A genius for the fkies;

Your tafte too fails; what moft excels
True tafte must relish most !
And what, to rival palms above,
Can proudeft laurels boaft?
Sound heads falvation's helmet feek,
Refplendent are its rays,

Let that fuffice; it needs no plume,
Of fublunary praise.

May this enable couch'd Voltaire,

To fee that---"All is right,"
His eye, by flash of wit ftruck blind,
Rettoring to its fight;

If fo, all's well: who much have err'd,
That much have been forgiven;

I fpeak with joy, with joy he'll hear,
"Voltaires are, now, in heaven."
Nay, fuch philanthropy divine,
So boundlefs in degree,

Its marvellous of love extends
(Stoop most profound!) to me:
Let others cruel ftars arraign,
Or dwell on their diftrefs;
But let my page, for mercies pour'd,
A grateful heart express:
Walking, the prefent God was feen,
Of old, in Eden fair;

The God as prefent, by plain fteps
Of providential care,

I behold paffing through my life;
His awful voice I hear;
And, conscious of my nakedness,
Would hide myfelt for fear :

But where the trees, or where the clouds,
Can cover from his fight?
Naked the center to that eye,

To which the fun is night.

As yonder glittering lamps on high
Through night illumin'd roll;

May thoughts of him, by whom they fhine,
Chafe darkness from my foul;

* Ephef. vi. 17. ↑ Which his romance ridicules