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III. “ Wretches! they hate their native kies; “ If an ethereal thought arise “ Or spark of virtue shine, • With cruel force they damp its plumes, “ Choke the young fire with sensual fumes, “ With bus'ness, luft, or wine.

IV.

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“Lo! how they throng with panting breath
" The broad descending road
“ That leads unerring down to death,
“ Nor miss the dark abode.”
Thus while I drop a tear or two
On the wild herd, a noble few
Dare to Gray upward and pursuc
Th' unbeaten way to God.

V.
I meet Myrtillo mounting high,
I know his candid soul afar;
Here Dorylus and Thyrfis fiy,
Each like a rising star;
Charin I saw and Fidea chere,
I saw then help each other's flight,
And bless them as they go;
They soar beyond my lab'ring sight,
And leave their loads of mortal care,
But not their love below.

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On heav'n, their home, they fix their eyes,
The temple of their God;
With morning incense up they rise
Sublime, and thro' the lower skies
Spread the perfumes abroad.

VI.
Across the road a seraph flew;
“ Mark,” said he, “that happy pair,

Marriage helps devotion there; “ When kindred minds their God pursue They break with double vigour thro'. " The dull incumbent air." Charm'd with the pleasure and surprise My soul adores, and sings “Bless'd be the Pow'r that springs their flight, “ That streaks their path with heav'nly light, That turns their love to sacrifice, “And joins their zeal forwings!"

To Mr. G. and S. Fleetwood.

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I.
Fleetwoods, young gen’rous pair !
Despise the joys that fools pursue;
Bubbles are light and brittle too,
Born of the water and the air.
Try'd by a standard bold and just,
Honour, and gold, and paint, and dnit,
How vile the last is, and as vain the first!

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Things that the crowd call great and brave
With me how low their value's brought!
Titles and names, and life and breath,
Slaves to the wind, and born for deach:
The soul's the only thing we have
Worth an important thought.

II.
The soul 't is of th' immortal kind,
Nor form’d of fire, or earth, or wind,

15 Outlives the mould'ring corpse, and leaves the globe In limbs of clay tho' the appears,

[behind. Array'd in rosy skin and deck'd with ears and eyes, 'The flesh is but the soul's disguise;

19 There's nothing in her frame kin to the dress the From all the laws of matter free,

[wears: From all we feel and all we see, She stands eternally distinct, and muft for ever be.

III. Rise then my thoughts on high, Soar beyond all that's made to die : Lo! on an awful throne Sits the Creator and the Judge of souls, Whirling the planets round the poles, [on. Winds off our threads of life, and brings our periods Swift the approach and solemn is the day 30 When this immortal mind, Stript of the body's coarse array, To endless pain or endless joy Must be at once consigu’d.

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IV.

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Think of the sands run down to waste;
We poffefs none of all the past;
None but the present is our own:
Grace is not plac'd within our pow'r,
'Tis but one short one shining hour,
Bright and declining as a setting fun :
See the white minutes wing'd with hafte;
The Now that flies may be the last :
Seize the salvation ere 'tis past,
Nor mourn the blessing gone :
A thought's delay is ruin here;
A closing eye, a gasping breath,
Shuts up the golden scene in death,
And drowns you in despair.

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To William Blackbourn, Elg.

Casimire, lib. ii. ode 2. imitated.

Quae tegit canas modo Bruma valles, &c. Mark how it snows! how fast the valley fills! And the sweet groves the hoary garment wear, Yet the warm sunbeams bounding from the hills Shall melt the veil away and the young green ap

pear. 2. But when old age has on your temples shed Her silver frost there's no returning sun;

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Swift flies our autumn, swift our summer 's fled, When youth, and love, and spring, and golden joys, are gone.

8 3. Then cold and winter and your aged snow Stick fast upon you : not the rich array, Not the green garland nor the rosy bough, Shall cancel or conceal the melancholy gray.

4. The chase of pleasures is not worth the pains While the bright sands of health run wafting down, . And honour calls you from the softer scenes To sell the gaudy hour for ages of renown. 16

s. 'Tis but one youth, and short, that mortals have, And one old age disolves our feeble frame; But there's a heav'nly art t' elude the grave, And with the hero race immortal kindred claim. 20

6. The man that has his country's facred tears Bedewing his cold hearse has liv'd his day: [heirs; Thus, Blackbourn! we fhould leave our names our Old Tims and waning moons sweep all the rest away.

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True monarcby, 1701.

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The rising year beheld th' imperious Gaul
Stretch his duminion, while a hundred towns
Crouch'd to the victor; but a steady soul
Stands firm on its own base, and reigns as wide
As absolute, and sways ten thousand Laves,
Lufts and wild fancies, with a sov'reign hand.

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