ON A SIMILAR OCCASION, FOR THE YEAR 1789. ....Placidaque ibi demum morte quievit. VIRG. There calm at length he breath'd his soul away. "O MOST delightful hour by man Experienc'd here below, The hour that terminates his span, His folly, and his wo! Worlds should not bribe me back to tread Again life's dreary waste, To see again my day o'erspread With all the gloomy past. My home henceforth is in the skies, All Heav'n unfolded to my eyes, So spake Aspasio, firm possess'd Then breath'd his soul into its rest, The bosom of his God. He was a man among the few Sincere on virtue's side; And all his strength from Scripture drew. To hourly use applied. That rule he priz'd, by that he fear'd, He hated, hop'd, and lov'd ;. Nor ever frown'd, or sad appear'd But when his heart had rov'd. For he was frail as thou or I, But when he felt it heav'd a sigh, Such liv'd Aspasio; and at last His joys be mine, each Reader cries, They shall be yours, my verse replies, ON A SIMILAR OCCASION, FOR THE YEAR 1790. Ne commonentem recta sperne. Buchanan Despise not my good counsel. HE who sits from day to day, Hardly knows that he has sung. Where the watchman in his round So your verseman I and clerk, And the foes unerring aim. Duly at my time I come, Publishing to all aloud Soon the grave must be your home, But the monitory strain, Oft repeated in your ears, Seems to sound too much in vain, Wins no notice, wakes no fears. Can a truth, by all confess'd Of such magnitude and weight, Pleasure's call attention wins, Death and Judgment, Heaven and Hell- No more move us than the bell, When some stranger is interr'd. O then, ere the turf or tomb Cover us from every eye, Spirit of instruction come, Make us learn, that we must die. ON A SIMILAR OCCASION, FOR THE YEAR 1792. Felix, qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas, Happy the mortal, who has trac'd effects To their first cause, cast fear beneath his feet, THANKLESS for favours from on high But he, not wise enough to scan Would gladly stretch life's little span To ages in a world of pain,` To ages, where he goes Gall'd by affliction's heavy chain, And hopeless of repose. Strange fondness of the human heart, Enamour'd of its harm! Strange worid, that costs it so much smart, And still has pow'r to charm. Virg Whence has the world her magick pow'r? Why deem we death a foe? Recoil from weary life's best hour, And covet longer wo? The cause is Conscience-Conscience oft Her tale of guilt renews; Then, anxious to be longer spar'd, "Tis Judgment shakes him, there's the fear Pay!-follow Christ, and all is paid. VOL. II. 19 |