'Tis now the raven's bleak abode;
'Tis now th' apartment of the toad;
And there the fox fecurely feeds;
And there the pois'nous adder breeds,
Conceal'd in ruins, mofs, and weeds,
While, ever and anon, there falls
Huge heaps of hoary moulder'd walls.
Yet time has feen, that lifts the low,
And level lays the lofty brow,
Has feen this broken pile çompleat,
Big with the vanity of state;
But tranfient is the fmile of fate!
A little rule, a little fway,
A fun-beam in a winter's day,
Is all the proud and mighty have
Between the cradle and the grave.
And fee the rivers how they run,
Through woods and meads, in fhade and fun,
Sometimes fwift, fometimes flow,
Wave fucceeding wave, they go
A various journey to the deep,
Like human life to endless sleep!
Thus is nature's vesture wrought,
To instruct our wand'ring thought;
Thus fhe dreffes
To difperfe our cares away.
When will the landskip tire the view!
The fountain's fall, the river's flow,
The woody vallies, warm and low;
The windy fummit, wild and high,
Roughly rufhing on the fky!
The pleafant feat, the ruin'd tow'r,
The naked rock, the fhady bow'r ;
The town and village, dome and farm,
Each give each a double charm,
As pearls upon an Ethiop's arm.
See on the mountain's southern side,
Where the profpect opens wide,
Where the ev'ning gilds the tide;
How close and small the hedges lie!
What ftreaks of meadows cross the eye!
A step methinks may pass the stream,
So little diftant dangers seem;
So we mistake the future's face,
Ey'd through Hope's deluding glass;
As yon fummits foft and fair,
Clad in colors of the air,
Which to those who journey near,
Barren, and brown, and rough appear:
Grafs and flowers Quiet treads,
On the meads and mountain-heads,
Still we tread the fame coarse way,
The prefent's still a cloudy day.
O may I with myself agree, And never covet what I fee:
Content me with an humble fhade,
My paffion tam'd, my wishes laid;
For while our wifhes wildly roll,
We banish Quiet from the foul:
'Tis thus the bufy beat the air;
And mifers gather wealth and care.
Now, ev'n now, my joys run high,
As on the mountain-turf I lie;
While the wanton zephyr fings,
And in the vale perfumes his wings;
While the waters murmur deep;
While the fhepherd charms his fheep;
While the birds unbounded fly,
And with mufic fill the fky,
Now, ev'n now, my joys run high.
Be full, ye courts, be great who will; Search for peace with all your fkill: Open wide the lofty door,
Seck her on the marble floor,
In vain you search, she is not there;
In vain ye fearch the domes of care!
Along with Peace close ally'd,
Ever by each other's fide,
And often, by the murm'ring rill,
Hears the thrush, while all is ftill,
Within the groves of Grongar Hill.
AND feel I, Death! no joy from thought of thee?
Death, the great counsellor, who man inspires
With ev'ry nobler thought, and fairer deed!
Death, the deliverer, who refcues man!
Death, the rewarder, who refcu'd crowns!
Death, that abfolves my birth; a curfe without it!
Rich Death, that realizes all my cares,
Toils, virtues, hopes; without it a chimera!
Death, of all pain the period, not of joy!
Death is the crown of life!
Were Death deny'd, poor man would live in vain;
Were Death deny'd, to live would not be life;
Were Death deny'd, ev'n fools would wifh to die.
Death wounds to cure: we fall; we rife; we reign;
Spring from our fetters; faften in the fkies:
Where blooming Eden withers in our fight:
Death gives us more than was in Eden loft:
This king of terrors is the prince of peace!
The houfe appointed for all living. JOB.
WHILST fome affect the fun, and fome the shade,
Some flee the city, fome the hermitage:
Their aims as various as the roads they take
In journeying through life; the task be mine
To paint the gloomy horrors of the tomb ;
Th' appointed place of rendezvous, where all
Thefe trav'llers meet. Thy fuccours I implore,
Eternal king! whose potent arm sustains
The keys of hell and death. The Grave, dread thing!
Men fhiver when thou'rt nam'd: Nature appal'd
Shakes off her wonted firmness. Ah! how dark
Thy long-extended realms, and rueful wastes:
Where nought but filence reigns, and night, dark
night,
Dark as was Chaos, ere the infant fun
Was roll'd together, or had try'd its beams
Athwart the gloom profound! The fickly taper
By glimm'ring thro' thy low-brow'd mifty vaults,
(Furr'd round with mouldy damps, and ropy flime,)
Lets fill a fupernumerary horror,
And only ferves to make thy night more irkfome.
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