Ev'n from the tomb, the voice of nature cries, | Lav'd by oblivion's listless stream, and fenc'd Ev'n in our ashes live their wonted fires.

First Envy, eldest born of hell, imbrued Her hands in blood, and taught the Sons of Men To make a Death which Nature never made, And God abhorr'd; with violence rude to break The thread of life ere half its length was run, And rob a wretched brother of his being. With joy Ambition saw, and soon improv'd [Heav'n The execrable deed. 'Twas not enough Th' offender's sinking soul. Hope sent from By subtle fraud to snatch a single life, Uprais'd his drooping head, and show'd afar A happier scene of things; the Promis'd Seed Trampling upon the Serpent's humbled crest; Death of his sting disarm'd ; and the dark grave, Made pervious to the realms of endless day, No more the limit but the gate of life.

Gay as the morn; bright glows the vernal sky,| Th' astonish'd Earth, and from his looks throws Hope swells his sails, and passion steers his Unutterable horror and dismay.

course,

Safe glides his little bark along the shore
Where virtue takes her stand; but if too far
He launches forth beyond discretion's mark,
Sudden the tempest scowls, the surges roar,
Blot his fair day, and plunge him in the deep.
O sad but sure mischance! O happier far
To lie like gallant Howe 'midst Indian wilds
A breathless corse, cut off by savage hands
In earliest prime, a generous sacrifice

To freedom's holy cause; than so to fall,
Torn immature from life's meridian joys,
A prey to Vice, Intemp'rance, and Disease.

Yet die ev'n thus, thus rather perish still,
Ye sons of Pleasure, by th' Almighty strick'n,
Than ever dare (though oft, alas! ye dare)
To lift against yourselves the murd'rous steel,
To wrest from God's own hand the sword of
Justice,

And be your own avengers! Hold, rash Man,
Though with anticipating speed thou'st rang'd
Through every region of delight, nor left
One joy to gild the evening of thy days;
Though life seem one uncomfortable void,
Guilt at thy heels, before thy face despair;
Yet gay this scene, and light this load of woe,
Compar'd with thy hereafter. Think, O think;
And, ere thou plunge into the vast abyss,
Pause on the verge awhile: look down and see
Thy future mansion. Why that start of hor-
ror?

[round

All Nature lends her aid, each Element
Arms in his cause. Ope fly the doors of

Heav'n;

The fountains of the deep their barriers break,
Above, below, the rival torrents pour,
And drown Creation; or in floods of fire
Descends a livid cataract and consumes
An impious race. Sometimes, when all seems
peace,
[brace

Wakes the grim whirlwind, and with rude em-
Sweeps nations to their grave, or in the deep
Whelms the proud wooden world; full many
a youth

Floats on his wat'ry bier, or lies unwept
On some sad desert shore! At dead of night,
In sullen silence stalks forth Pestilence :
Contagion close behind taints all her steps
With pois'nous dew; no smiting hand is seen,
No sound is heard, but soon her secret path
Is mark'd with desolation; heaps on heaps
Promiscuous drop. No friend, no refuge,

near;

All, all, is false and treacherous around;
All that they touch, or taste, or breathe, is
Death.

[fail

But ah! what means that ruinous roar? why These tott'ring feet? Earth to its centre feels The Godhead's pow'r, and trembling at his touch

Through all its pillars, and in ev'ry pore, [steel? Hurls to the ground, with one convulsive heave,

From thy slack hand why drops th' uplifted Did'st thou not think such vengeance must Precipitating domes, and towns, and tow'rs, await [about him The work of ages. Crush'd beneath the weight The wretch, that with his crimes all fresh Of general devastation, millions find Rushes irreverent, unprepar'd, uncall'd, Into his Maker's presence, throwing back With insolent disdain his choicest gift? Live then, while Heav'n in pity lends thee life,

come,

And think it all too short to wash away,
By penitential tears and deep contrition,
The scarlet of thy crimes. So shalt thou find
Rest to thy soul; so unappall'd shalt meet
Death when he comes, not wantonly invite
His ling'ring stroke. Be it thy sole concern
With innocence to live; with patience wait
Th' appointed hour; too soon that hour will
[God,
Tho' Nature run her course. But Nature's
If need require, by thousand various ways,
Without thy aid can shorten that short span,
And quench the lamp of life. Owhen he comes,
Rous'd by the cry of wickedness extreme,
To heav'n ascending from some guilty land,
Now ripe for vengeance; when he comes ar-
In all the terrors of Almighty wrath, [ray'd
Forth from his bosom plucks his ling'ring arm,
And on the miscreants pours destruction down;
Who can abide his coming? Who can bear
His whole displeasure? In no common form
Death then appears, but starting into size
Enormous, measures with gigantic stride

One common grave; not ev'n a widow left
To wail her sons; the house that should protect
Entombs his master; and the faithless plain,
If there he flies for help, with sudden yawn
Starts from beneath him. Shield me, gracious
Heav'n,

O snatch me from destruction! If this Globe,
This solid Globe, which thine own hand hath

made

So firm and sure, if this my steps betray;
If my own mother Earth, from whence I
Rise up with rage unnatural to devour [sprung,
Her wretched offspring, whither shall I fly ?
Where look for succour? Where, but up to
thee,

Almighty Father? Save, O save, thy suppliant
From horrors such as these! At thy good time
Let death approach; I reck not-let him but

come

In genuine form, not with thy vengeance arm'd,
Too much for man to bear. O rather lend
Thy kindly aid to mitigate his stroke;
And at that hour when all aghast I stand
(A trembling candidate for thy compassion)
On this world's brink, and look into the next;
When my soul, starting from the dark un-
known,

Casts back a wishful look, and fondly clings

To her frail prop, unwilling to be wrench'd
From this fair scene, from all her custom'd joys,
And all the lovely relatives of life;
Then shed thy comforts o'er me, then put on
The gentlest of thy looks. Let no dark crimes,
In all their hideous forms then starting up,
Plant themselves round my couch in grim ar-
ray,
[torture,
And stab my bleeding heart with two-edg'd
Sense of past guilt, and dread of future woe.
Far be the ghastly crew! and in their stead
Let cheerful Memory from her purest cells
Lead forth a goodly train of Virtues fair,
Cherish'd in earliest youth, now paying back
With tenfold usury the pious care,
And pouring o'er my wounds the heav'nly balm
Of conscious innocence. But chiefly, Thou,
Whom soft-eyed Pity once led down from
Heav'n

To bleed for man, to teach him how to live,
And oh! still harder lesson! how to die;
Disdain not Thou to smooth the restless bed
Of Sickness and of Pain. Forgive the tear
That feeble Nature drops, calm all her fears,
Wake all her hopes, and animate her faith,
Till my rapt soul, anticipating Heav'n,
Bursts from the thraldom of incumb'ring clay,
And on the wing of ecstasy upborne,
Springs into Liberty, and Light, and Life.

§ 17. The Grave. BLAIR.

"The house appointed for all living." Job. WHILST some affect the sun, and some the shade,

Some flee the city, some 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
These travellers meet. Thy succours I im-
plore,

Eternal King, whose potent arm sustains
The keys of hell and death. The Grave, dread
thing!
[pall'd
Men shiver when thou'rt nam'd: Nature ap-
Shakes off her wonted firmness. Ah! how
dark

Thy long extended realms, and rueful wastes;
Where nought but silence reigns, and night,
dark night,

See yonder hallow'd fane! the pious work Of names once fam'd, now dubious or forgot, And buried 'midst the wreck of things which

were:

There lie interr'd the more illustrious dead.
The wind is up: hark! how it howls! Me-
thinks

Till now, I never heard a sound so dreary:
Doors creak, and windows clap, and night's
foul bird
[aisles
Rook'd in the spire screams loud; the gloomy
Black plaster'd, and hung round with shreds
of 'scutcheons,

And tatter'd coats of arms, send back the sound
Laden with heavier airs, from the low vaults,
The mansions of the dead. Rous'd from their
slumbers,

In grim array the grisly spectres rise,
Grin horrible, and obstinately sullen
Pass and repass, hush'd as the foot of night.
Again! the screech-owl shrieks: ungracious
sound!
[chill!

I'll hear no more; it makes one's blood run
Quite round the pile, a row of rev'rend elins,
Coeval near with that, all ragged show, [down
Long-lash'd by the rude winds: some rift half
Their branchless trunks; others so thin a-tep,
That scarce two crows could lodge in the same
[pen'd here:

tree.

Strange things, the neighbours say, have hap-
Wild shrieks have issu'd from the hollow

tombs ;

Dead men have come again, and walk'd about;
And the great bell has toll'd, unrung, un-
touch'd.

Such tales their cheer, at wake or gossiping,
When it draws near to witching time of night.

Oft in the lone church-yard at night I've seen, By glimpse of moon-shine, cheq'ring through the trees,

The school-boy, with his satchel in his hand,
Whistling aloud to keep his courage up,
And lightly tripping o'er the long flat stones,
(With nettles skirted, and with moss o'er-
grown,)

That tell in homely phrase who lie below;
Sudden he starts! and hears, or thinks he hears,
The sound of something purring at his heels;
Full fast he flies, and dares not look behind him,
Till out of breath he overtakes his fellows;
Who gather round, and wonder at the tale
Of horrid apparition, tall and ghastly,
That walks at dead of night, or takes his stand
O'er some new-open'd grave; and, strange to
Evanishes at crowing of the cock! [tell!
The new-made widow, too, I've sometimes
spied,

Dark as was Chaos ere the infant sun
Was roll'd together, or had tried its beams
Athwart the gloom profound! The sickly ta-
per,
[vaults,
By glimm'ring thro' thy low-brow'd misty
Furr'd round with mouldy damps, and ropy
Lets fall a supernumerary horror, [slime,
And only serves to make thy night more irk- Sad sight! slow moving o'er the prostrate dead:
Well do I know thee by thy trusty yew, [some. Listless, she crawls along in doleful black,
Cheerless, unsocial plant! that loves to dwell While bursts of sorrow gush from either eye,
'Midst sculls and coffins, epitaphs and worms; Fast-falling down her now untasted cheek.
Where light-heel'd ghosts and visionary shades, Prone on the lonely grave of the dear man
Beneath the wan cold moon (as fame reports) She drops, whilst busy meddling Memory,
Embodied thick, perform their mystic rounds. In barbarous succession, musters up
No other merriment, dull tree! is thine. The past endearments of their softer hours,

Tenacious of its theme. Still, still she thinks That throbs beneath the sacrificer's knife:
She sees him, and, indulging the fond thought,
Clings yet more closely to the senseless turf,
Nor heeds the passenger who looks that way.
Invidious Grave! how dost thou rend in
sunder

Whom love has knit, and sympathy made one!
A tie more stubborn far than nature's band.
Friendship! mysterious cement of the soul!
Sweet'ner of life, and solder of society!
I owe thee much. Thou hast deserv'd from me,
Far, far beyond what I can ever pay.
Oft have I prov'd the labours of thy love,
And the warm efforts of the gentle heart
Anxious to please. O! when my friend and
In some thick wood have wander'd heedless on,
Hid from the vulgar eye, and set us down
Upon the sloping cowslip-covered bank,
Where the pure limpid stream has slid along
In grateful errors through the underwood,
Sweet murm'ring; methought, the shrill-
tongued thrush

I

Mended his song of love; the sooty blackbird
Mellow'd his pipe, and soften'd ev'ry note;
The eglantine smell'd sweeter, and the rose
Assum'd a dye more deep; whilst ev'ry flow'r
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 ev'ry smirking feature from the face;
Branding our laughter with the name of mad-

ness.

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 hoped for in the peaceful grave,
Of being unmolested and alone.
Araby's gums, and odoriferous drugs,
And honors by the heralds duly paid
In mode and form, ev'n to a very scruple;
O cruel irony! these come too late;
And only mock whom they were meant to ho-
[ried
Surely, there's not a dungeon-slave that's bu-
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!
But see! the well-plum'd hearse comes nod-
ding on,

nor.

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 un-
furl'd

And glitt'ring in the sun! Triumphant entries
Of conquerors, and coronation pomps,
In glory scarce exceed. Great gluts of people
Retard the unwieldy show; whilst from the
casements,
[wedg'd

And houses' tops, ranks behind ranks close
Hang bellying o'er. But tell us, why this waste?
Why this ado in earthing up a carcass
That's fallen 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!

Pursues thee e'en to death, nor there stops
Strange persecution! when the grave itself
Is no protection from rude sufferance.

Where are the jesters now? the man of health
Complexionally pleasant? where the droll?
Whose ev'ry look and gesture was a joke
To clapping theatres and shouting crowds,
And made ev'n thick-lipp'd musing Melan- Honor, that meddlesome officious ill, [short.
To gather up her face into a smile [choly
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
Who the tiara at his pleasure tore [youth,
From kings of all the then discover'd globe,
And cried, forsooth, because his arm was ham-
per'd,

And had not room enough to do its work?
Alas! how slim, dishonourably slim !
And cramm'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 bound up in his swathes,
Or victim tumbled flat upon his back,

Absurd! to think to over-reach 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 laurel bard,
Those bold insurers of eternal fame,
Supply their little feeble aids in vain,
The tap'ring pyramid, th' Egyptian's pride,
And wonder of the world! whose spiky top
Has wounded the thick cloud, and long outliv'd
The angry shaking of the winter's storm;
Yet spent at last by th' injuries of heav'n,
Shatter'd with age, and furrow'd o'er with
years,

The mystic cone with hieroglyphics crusted,
Gives way. O lamentable sight! at once
The labor of whole ages lumbers down;
A hideous and mis-shapen length of ruins.