POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS.

VERSES

OCCASIONED BY THE DEATH OF MR. AIKMAN,

A particular Friend of the Author's.

AS those we love decay, we die in part,
String after string is sever'd from the heart,
Till loosen'd life, at last, but breathing clay,
Without one pang is glad to fall away.
Unhappy he who latest feels the blow,

Whose eyes have wept o'er every friend laid low,
Dragg'd ling'ring on from partial death to death,
Till, dying, all he can resign is breath.

TO THE REV. MR. MURDOCH,

RECTOR OF STRADDISHALL, IN SUFFOLK, 1738.
THUS safely low, my friend! thou canst not fall:
Here reigns a deep tranquillity o'er all;
No noise, no care, no vanity, no strife;

Men, woods, and fields, all breathe untroubled life.
Then keep each passion down, however dear;
Trust me, the tender are the most severe.
Guard, while 'tis thine, thy philosophic ease,
And ask no joy but that of virtuous peace;
That bids defiance to the storms of fate;
High bliss is only for a higher state.

EPITAPH ON MISS STANLEY.

HERE, Stanley! rest, escap'd this mortal strife, Above the joys, beyond the woes, of life. Fierce pangs no more thy lively beauties stain, And sternly try thee with a year of pain; No more sweet patience, feigning oft relief, Lights thy sick eye, to cheat a parent's grief; With tender art, to save her anxious groan, No more thy bosom presses down its own; Now well-earn'd peace is thine, and bliss sincere ; Ours be the lenient, not unpleasing tear!

O! born to bloom, then sink beneath the storm, To show us Virtue in her fairest form; To show us artless Reason's moral reign, What boastful Science arrogates in vain ; Th' obedient passions knowing each their part, Calm light the head, and harmony the heart! Yes, we must follow soon, will glad obey, When a few suns have roll'd their cares away, Tir'd with vain life, will close the willing eye; Tis the great birthright of mankind to die." Blest be the bark that wafts us to the shore Where death-divided friends shall part no more! To join thee here, here with thy dust repose, Is all the hope thy hapless mother knows.

202 POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS.

A PARAPHRASE

ON THE

Latter part of the Sixth Chapter of Saint Matthew.

WHEN my breast labours with oppressive care,
And o'er my cheek descends the falling tear,
While all my warring passions are at strife,
O! let me listen to the words of Life!
Raptures deep-felt his doctrine did impart,
And thus he rais'd from earth the drooping heart.
Think not, when all your scanty stores afford
Is spread at once upon the sparing board;
Think not, when worn the homely robe appears,
While on the roof the howling tempest bears,
What farther shall this feeble life sustain,
And what shall clothe these shiv'ring limbs again.
Say, does not life its nourishment exceed?
And the fair body its investing weed?

Behold, and look away your low despair....
See the light tenants of the barren air;
To them nor stores nor granaries belong,
Naught but the woodland and the pleasing song;
Yet your kind heavenly Father bends his eye
On the least wing that flits along the sky.
To him they sing when spring renews the plain,
To him they cry in winter's pinching reign,
Nor is their music nor their plaint in vain :
He hears the gay and the distressful call,
And with unsparing bounty fills them all.
Observe the rising lily's snowy grace,
Observe the various vegetable race;
They neither toil nor spin, but careless grow,
Yet see how warm they blush! how bright they glow!

What regal vestments can with them compare! What king so shining! or what queen so fair!

If, ceaseless, thus the fowls of heaven he feeds, If o'er the fields such lucid robes he spreads, Will he not care for you, ye faithless! say, Is he unwise? or, are ye less than they?

ODES.

ODE.

I.

TELL me, thou soul of her I love! Ah! tell me whither art thou fled? To what delightful world above, Appointed for the happy dead?

II.

Or dost thou, free, at pleasure roam, And sometimes share thy lover's woe, Where, void of thee, his cheerless home Can now, alas! no comfort know?

III.

Qh, if thou hover'st round my walk,
While under every well-known tree.
I to thy fancied shadow talk,
And every tear is full of thee;

IV.

Should then the weary eye of Grief,
Beside some sympathetic stream,
In slumber find a short relief,
Oh! visit thou my soothing dream.