Book VIII. the faid, if it was their fate to meet hereafter, he would thank him again and again; he told him, he was within a few hours of giving his enemies the flip for ever.-I hope not, anfwered Eugenius, with tears trickling down his cheeks, and with the tendereft tone that ever man fpoke,

I hope not, Yorick, faid he.--Yorick replied, with a lock up, and gentle fqueeze of Eugenius's hand-and that was all, but it cut Eugenius to the heart.-Come, come, Yorick, quoth Eugenius, wiping his eyes, and fummoning up the man within him,-my dear lad, be comforted, let not all thy fpirits and fortitude forfake thee at this crisis, when thou most wanteft them ;--who knows what refources are in ftore, and what the power of God may yet do for thee?--Yorick laid his hand upon his heart, and gently fhook his head;-For my part, continued Eugenius, crying bitterly as he uttered the words,I declare I know not, Yorick, how to part with thee, and would gladly flater my hopes, added Eugenius, cheering up his voice, that there is till enough left of thee to make a bishop,→ and that I may live to fee it.-I beseech thee, Eugenius, quoth Yorick, taking off his night-cap as well as he could with his left hand his right being fill grafped close in that of Eugeniu, I beseech thee to take a view of my head.-I-fee nothing that ails it, replied Eugenius. Then, alas! my friend, faid Yorick, let me tell you, that it is fo bruifed and misshapened with the blows which have been fo unhandfemely given me in the dark, that I might fay with Sancho Pancha, that should I recover, and "mitres thereupon be fuffered to rain down from Heaven as thick as hail, not one of them would fit it." Yorick's laft breath was hanging upon his trembling lips ready to depart as he uttered this;- yet ftill ́it was uttered with fome. thing of a Cervantic tone; -and as he spoke it, Eugenius could perceive a ftream of lambent fire lighted up for a moment in his eyes;-faint picture of thofe flashes of his fpirit,

fpirit, which (as Shakspeare faid of his anceftor) were wont to fet the table in a roar!*

EUGENIUS was convinced from this, that the heart of his friend was broken; he fqueezed his hand, and then walked foftly out of the room, weeping as he waike!. Yorick followed Eugenius with his eyes to the door-he then clofed them, and never opened them more.

HE lies buried in a corner of his churchyard, under a · plain marble flab, which his friend Eugenius, by leave of his executors, laid upon his grave, with no more than these three words of infcription; ferving both for his epitaph. and elegy:

A'as! poor YORICK!

Ten times a day has Yorick's ghoft the confolation to hear his monumental infcription read over with fuch a variety of plaintive tones, as denote a general pity and efteem for him: a foot-way croffing the churchyard clofe by his grave,-not a paffenger goes by without ftopping to casft å look on it,—and fighing, as he walks on, Alas! poor YORICK!

CHAP. III.

THE BEGGAR'S PETITION.

PITY the forrows of a poor old man,

STERNE.

Whofe trembling limbs have borne him to your door,
Whofe days are dwindled to the shorteft fpan,
O give relief! and Heav'n will blefs your ftore.

'These tatter'd clothes my poverty bespeak,
Thefe hoary locks proclaim my lengthen'd years; .
And many a furrow in my grief-worn cheek.

Has been the channel to a flood of tears.

Yon house, erected on the rifing ground,
With tempting afpect drew me from my road;
For Plenty there a refidence has found,
And Grandeur a magnificent abode.
Hard is the fate of the infirm and poor!
Here, as I crav'd a morfel of their bread,
A pamper'd menial drove me from their dock,,
To feek a thelter in an humbler shed,

O! take me to your hofpitable dome ;
Keen blows the wind, and piercing is the cold!
Short is my paffage to the friendly tomb,
For I am poor and miferably old.

Should I reveal the fources of my grief,
If foft humanity e'er touch'd your breast,
Your hands would not withhold the kind relief,
And tears of pity would not be reprefs'd.

Heav'n fends misfortunes; why should we repine?
'Tis Heav'n has brought me to the state you fee;
And your condition may be foon like mine,
The child of Sorrow, and of Mifery.

Alittle farm was my paternal lct,

Then like the lark I fprightly hail'd the morn;
But ah! oppreffion forc'd me from my cot,
My cattle died, and blighted was my corn.

My daughter, once the comfort of my age,
Lur'd by a villain from her native home,
Is calt abandon'd on the world's wide stage,
And doom'd in feanty poverty to roam.

My tender wife, fweet foother of my
care!
Struck with fad anguish at the stern decree,
Fell, ling'ring fell, a victim to despair,
And left the world to wretchedne fs and me.

Pity the forrows of a poor old man,

Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door,
Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span,
O! give relief! and Heav'n will bless your ftore.

CHAP. IV.

ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF AN UNFORTU.

NATE LADY.

WHAT beck'ning ghost, along the moonlight shade
Invites my fteps, and points to yonder glade?
"Tis fhe!—but why that bleeding bofom gor'd,
Why dimly gleams the vifionary fword?.
O, ever beauteous! ever friendly! tell,
Is it in Heav'n a crime to love too well?'
To bear too tender, or too firm a heart,
To act a Lover's or a Roman's part?
Is there no bright reverfion in the sky,
For those who greatly think or bravely die?
Why bade ye elfe, ye pow'rs! her foul afpire
Above the vulgar flight of low defire?
Ambition first fprung from your bleit abodes;
The glorious fault of Angels and of Gods:
Thence to their images on earth it flows,
And in the breasts of kings and heroes glows.
Moft fouls, 'tis true, but peep out once an age,
Dull fullen pris'ners in the body's cage:
Dim lights of life, that burn a length of years
Ufelefs, unfeen, as lamps in fepulchres;
Like Eastern kings a lazy ftate they keep,
And, close confin'd to their own palace, fleep.
From thefe perhaps (ere Nature bade her die)
Fate fnatch'd her early to the pitying fky.
As into air the purer fpirits flow,

And fep'rate from their kindred dregs below;

So flew the foul to its congenial place,

Nor left one virtue to redeem her race.

But thou, falfe guardian of a charge too good,
Thou, mean deferter of thy brother's blood!
See on thefe ruby lips the trembling breath,
Thefe cheeks, now fading, at the blaft of death:
Cold is that breaft which warm'd the world before,
And thofe love-darting eyes muft roll no more.
Thus, if Eternal Juftice rules the ball,

Thus fhall your wives, and thus your children fall:
On all the line a fudden vengeance waits,
And frequent hearfes fhall befiege your gates..
There paffengers shall ftand, and pointing fay,
(While the long fun'rals blacken all the way,)
Lo! these were they, whofe fouls the Furies fteel'd,
And curs'd with hearts unknowing how to yield.
Thus unlamented pafs the proud away,

The gaze of fools, and pageant of a day!
So perifh all, whose breast ne'er learn'd to glow
For others' good, or melt at others' woe.

What can atone (O, ever-injur'd shade!)
Thy fate unpitied, and thy rites unpaid?
No friend's complaint, no kind domeftic tear
Pleas'd thy pale ghoft, or grac'd thy mournful bier,
By foreign hands thy dying eyes were clos'd,
By foreign hands thy decent limbs compos'd,'
By foreign hands thy humble grave adorn'd,
By ftrangers honour'd, and by ftrangers mourn'd!
What though no friends in fable weeds appear,
Grieve for an hour, perhaps, then mourn a year,
And bear about the mockery of wo

To midnight dances, and the public show:
What though no weeping Loves thy afhes grace,
Nor polish'd marble emulate thy face;

What