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A PARAPHRASE

Unhappy he who latest feels the blow,
Whose eyes have wept o'er every frierid laid

low,
Dragg'd ling'ring on from partial death to

death, Till, dying, all he can reign is breath.

ON THE
Latter Part of the Sixth Chapter of Saint Matthew,

WHEN mye breal labours with oppreslive

care,

And o'er my cheek descends the falling tear,
TO THE REV. MR. MURDOCH,

While all my warring passions are at ftrife,

0! let me listen to the words of Life! RECTOR OF STRADDISHALL IN SUFFOLK, 1738. And thus he rais'd from earth the dropping

Raptures deep-felt his doctrine did impart,

heart, THUS fafely low, my Friend! thou can't not

Think not, when all your scanty stores afford

Is spread at once upon the sparing board ; Here reigns a deep tranquillity o'er all;

Think not, when worn the homely robe appears, No noise, no care, no vanity, no ftrife; Men, woods, and fields, all breathe untroubled What farther shall this fceble life fuftain,

While on the roof the howling tempelt bears, life.

And what thall cloche these fiv'ring limbs Then keep each passion down, however dear i

again. Trust me, the tender are the most severe.

Say, does not life its nourifhment exceed? Guard, while 'tis thine, thy philofophic eale,

And the fair body its investing weed ? And ask no joy but that of virtuous peace; Behold! and look away your low despair That bids defiance to the storms of fate :

See the light tenants of the barren air ;
High blifs is only for a higher itate.

To them nor {tores nor granaries belong,
Nought but the woodland and the pleasing song:
Yet your kind heavenly Father bends his eye
On the least wing that flics along the sky.

To him they fing when Spring renews the plain,
EPITAPH ON MISS STANLEY

To him they cry in Winter's pinching reiga,

Nor is their music nor their plaint in vain : НЕ JERE, Stanley! rest, escap'd this mortal He hears che gay and the distressful call, ftrife,

And with unfparing bounty fills them all.

Observe the rising lily's snowy grace,
Above the joys, beyond the woes, of life.

Obferve the various vegetable race ;
Fierce pangs no more thy lively beauties stain,
And sternly try thee with a year of pain :

They neither toil, nor spin, but careless grow, No more sweet patience, feigning ofc' relief,

Yer see how warm they blush ! how bright they Lights thy fick eye, to cheat a parent's grief:

glow! With tender art, to save her anxious groan,

What regal vestments can with them compare ! No more thy bosom presses down its own:

What king fo thining ! or what queen to fair Now well-earn'd peace is thine, and bliss fin

If, ceaseless, thus the fowls of heaven he feeds,

If o'er the fields such lucid robes he spreads, Ours be the lenient, not unpleasing tear!

Will he not care for you, ye Faithless! fay, 0! born to bloom, then fink beneath the Is he unwile? or are ye less than they?

ftorm,
To show us Virtue in her fairest form ;
To show us artlets 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 !

O DE S.
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;
l'is the great birthright of mankind to die.

OD E.
Bluft be the bark that wafts us to the shore
Witre death-divided friends shall part no more !
'?o join thee chere, here with thy duit repore,

I. 1. 2] the hope thy hapless mother knows.

ELL me, thou Soul of her I love!

Ah! tell me, whither art thau lled,
To what delightful world above,
Appointed for the happy dead?

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Should then the weary eye of Grief,

ON ZOLUS'S HARP.*
Beside fome sympathetic stream,
In slumber find a short relief,

1. Oh! visit thou my foothing dream.

TTHEREAL Race, inhabitants of Air,

Who hymn your God amid the secret grove,
Ye unseen Beings! to my harp repair,

And raise majestic strains, or melt in love.
ODE.

II.
O

NIGHTINGALE! beft poet of the grove's
That plaintive train can ne'er belong to with what soft woe they thrill the lover's heart !

Those tender notes, how kindly they upbraid!
thee,

Sure from the hand of some unhappy maid,
Blest in the full poffefsion of thy love:
O lend that strain, sweet Nightingale ! to me.

Who dy'd' of love, thefe sweet complainings part.
'Tis mine, alas! to mourn my wretched fate :
I love a muid whe all my bosom charms,
Yet lose my days without this lovely mate;

But hark! that strain was of a graver tone,
Johuman Fortune keeps her from my arms. :
You, happy Bards! by Nature's finiple laws

On the deep strings his hand fome hermit throws; Lead your soft lives, fufiain'd by Nature's fare;

Or he the facred Bard, who sat alone
You dwell wherever coving Faney draws,

In the drear waste, and wept his people's woes.
And love and song is all your pleasing care.
But we, vain slaves e inferest and of pride,
Dare not be blelt, lest envious congues Moald
blane;

Such was the song which Zion's children fung,
And hence, in vain, I languish for my bride :

When by Euphrates' ftseain they made their plaint;
O mourn with me, Iweet Bira.! my hapleis dune. And to fuck sadly folema notes are ítrung

Angelic harps, to sooth a dying saint.

III.

IV.

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IlI. Still more majestic shalt thou țise, More dreadful from each foreign stroke, As the loud blast that tears the skies, Serves but to root thy native oak. • Rule,' °C.

IV. Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame : All their attempts to bend thee down, Will but arouse thy generous flame, But work their woe, and thy renown.

Rule,' &C.

But to the sympathetic groves, But to the lonely listening plain. Oh! when she blesses next your fhade, Oh! when her footfteps next are seen In flowery tracts along the mead, In fresher mazes o'er the green, Ye gentle Spirits of the vale ! To whom the tears of love are dear, From 'dying lilies waft a gale, And figh my forrows in her ear. O tell her what ffe cannot blame, Tho' fear my tongue must ever bind; 0! tell her that my virtuous flame Is as her spotless foul reñin'd. Not her own guardian angel eyes With chafter tenderness his care, Nor purer her own withes rise, Nor holier her own fighs in prayer. But if, at first, her virgin fear Should start at Love's suspected name, With that of Friendship footh her earTrue love and friendship are the same.

v. To thee belongs the rural reign; Thy cities shall with commerce shine : All thine shall be the fubject main, And every shore it circles thine.

Rule, &c.

VI.
The Muses, still with Freedom found,
Shall to thy happy coast repair:
Bleit lile! with matchless beauty crown'd,
And manly hearts to guard the fair.

• Rule, Britannia! role the waves;
5 Britons never will be flaves.'

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Oh come,

POR ever, Fortune! wilt thou prove

An unrelenting foe to love,
And when we meet a mutual heart,
Come in between, and bid us part?
Bid us sigh on from day to day,
And with, aud wish the soul away,
Till youth and genial years are flown,
And all the life of life is gone?
But busy, busy fill art thou,
To bind the loveless joyless vow,
The heart from pleasure to delude,
To join the gentle to the rude.
For once, O Fortune ! hear my prayer,
And I abfolve tły future care;
All other blessings I resign,
Make but the dear Amanda mine.

To feel the generous paffions rise,
Grow good by gazing, mild by fighs;
Each happy moment to improve,
And fill the perfect ear with love.

Come, thou delight of heaven and earth!
To whom all creatures owe their birth;

sweet smiling! tender, come!
And yet prevent our final doom :
For long the furious God of war
Has cruih'd us with his iron car,
Has rag'd along out ruind plains,
Has foil'd them with his cruel stains,
Has sunk our youth in endless sleep,
And made the widow'd virgin weep.
Now let him feel thy wonted charms;
Oh! take him to thy twining arms!
And, while thy bosom heaves on his,
While deep he prints the humid kiss,
Ah! then his stormy heart controul,
And ligh thytelf into his soul.

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H good,

Come and possess my happy breast,

HYMN ON SOLITUDE.
Not fury-like in flames and fire,
Or frantic folly's wildness drest;

AIL nuildly pleasing Solitude !
But come in Friendship’s angel-guise :
Yer dearer thou than friendflip art,

But from whose holy, piercing eye,
More tender {pirit in thy eyes,

The herd of fools and villains fly. More Tweet emotions at the heart.

Oh! how I love with thee to walk, O come with Goodness in thy train,

And listen to thy whisper'd talk, With Peace aud Pleasure, void of storm,

Which innocence and truth imparts, And wouldst thou me for ever gain,

And incits the moit obdurate hearts.
Put on Amanda's winning forin.

A thousand shapes you wear with ease,
And still in every pape you please.
Now wrapt in forie myiterious dream,
A lone philosopher you feem;

Now quick from hill to vale you fly,
A NUPTIAL SONG.

And now you fweep the vaulted iky;

A fhepherd next, you haunt the plain, Intended to have been inserted in the fourtis A&? of

And warble forth your oaten strain.
Sopbonisbe.

A lover now, with all the grace

Di that sweet passion in your face : NOME, gentle Venus ! and afuage

Ther, cain's to friendship, you afruine Ą warring world, a bleeding age;

The genele looking Harlord's bloom, For Nature lives beneath thy ray,

As, with her Mufidora, she The wintry tempefis hafte away,

(Her iviusidora fond of thet) A lucid calm invests the sea,

Amid the long-withdrawing vale, Thy native deep is full of chee;

Awakes the rivaid rightingale. The flowering earth, where'er you fly,

Thive is the balmy breath of Morn, Is all o'er spring, all sun the sky;

Just as the dew-benl rose is born ; A genial spirit warms the breeze ;

And while meridian fervours leat, Unseen among the blooming trees,

Thine is the woodiand dumb retreat; The feather'd lovers tune their throat,

But chief, when evening scenes decay, The defert growls a foften'd note;

And the faint landscape swims away, Glad o'er the meads, the cattle bound,

Thinc is the doubtful foft decline, Apd love and harmony go round.

And that ber hour of musing thines But chief into the human heart

Descending angels bless thy train, You ftrike the dear delicious dart;

The virtues of the fage and swain ; Tou teach us pleasing pangs to know,

Plain Innocence, in white array'd, To languish in luxurious wosi

Before thee lifts her fearless head:

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Religion's beams around thee fine,
And cheer thy glooms with light divine !
About thee sports fweet Liberty ;
And rapt Urania fings to thee.

Oh! let me pierce thy secret cell,
And in thy deep recelles dwell.

Perhaps from Norwood's oak-clad hill,
When Meditation has her fill,
I just may cast my careless eyes
Where London's spiry turrecs rise,
Think of its crimes, its cares, its pain,
Then hie!d me in the woods again.

END OF THE EIGHTH VOLUME.

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