Yet has the wondrous virtue to educe
From emptinefs itself a real ufe;

And, while fhe takes, as at a father's hand,
What health and fober appetite demand,
From fading good derives, with chemic art,
That lafting happiness, a thankful heart.
Hope, with uplifted foot fet free from earth,
Pants for the place of her ethereal birth,

On fteady wings fails through th' immenfe abyss,

Plucks amaranthine joys from bow'rs of bliss,

And crowns the foul, while yet a mourner here,
With wreaths like thofe triumphant fpirits wear.
Hope, as an anchor firm and fure, holds faft
The Christian veffel, and defies the blast.
Hope! nothing elfe can nourish and fecure
His new-born virtues, and preserve him pure.
Hope! let the wretch, once confcious of the joy,
Whom now despairing agonies destroy,
Speak, for he can, and none fo well as he,
What treasures centre, what delights, in thee.
Had he the gems, the fpices, and the land
That boafts the treasure, all at his command;
The fragrant grove, th' ineftimable mine,
Were light when weigh'd againft one fmile of thine.

Though clafp'd and cradled in his nurse's arms,
He shine with all a cherub's artless charms,
Man is the genuine offspring of revolt,
Stubborn and sturdy-a wild afs's colt;

His paffions, like the wat'ry stores that fleep
Beneath the fmiling furface of the deep,
Wait but the lashes of a wintry storm,

To frown and roar, and shake his feeble form.
From infancy, through childhood's giddy maze,
Froward at school, and fretful in his plays,
The puny tyrant burns to fubjugate
The free republic of the whip-gig state.
If one, his equal in athletic frame,
Or, more provoking still, of nobler name,
Dares ftep across his arbitrary views,
An Iliad, only not in verfe, enfues:
The little Greeks look trembling at the scales,
Till the beft tongue, or heaviest hand, prevails.
Now fee him launch'd into the world at large.
If priest, fupinely droning o'er his charge,
Their fleece his pillow, and his weekly drawl,
Though fhort, too long, the price he pays for all.
If lawyer, loud whatever cause he plead,

But proudeft of the worft, if that fucceed.

Perhaps a grave physician, gath'ring fees,
Punctully paid for length'ning out disease;
NO COTTON, whofe humanity sheds rays
That make fuperior skill his fecond praise.
If arms engage him, he devotes to sport
His date of life, fo likely to be short.
A foldier may be any thing, if brave;

So

may a tradesman, if not quite a knave.
Such ftuff the world is made off; and mankind,
To paffion, int'rest, pleasure, whim, refign'd,
Infift on, as if each were his own pope,
Forgiveness, and the privilege of hope.
But confcience, in some awful filent hour,
When captivating lufts have loft their pow'r-
Perhaps when fickness, or fome fearful dream,
Reminds him of religion, hated theme !—
Starts from the down on which the lately flept,
And tells of laws despis'd, at least not kept;
Shows, with a pointing finger but no noife,
A pale proceffion of past finful joys,
All witneffes of bleflings foully scorn'd,

And life abus'd, and not to be fuborn'd.
Mark these, the fays; thefe, fummon'd from afar,

Begin their march, to meet thee at the bar;

There find a Judge inexorably juft,

And perith there, as all prefumption muft.

Peace be to thofe (such peace as earth can give)
Who live in pleasure, dead ev'n while they live;
Born capable, indeed, of heav'nly truth;
But down to latest age, from earliest youth,
Their mind a wilderness, through want of care,
The plough of wisdom never ent'ring there.
Peace (if infenfibility may claim

A right to the meek honours of her name)
To men of pedigree, their noble race,
Emulous always of the nearest place

Το

any throne except the throne of grace. (Let cottagers and unenlighten'd swains

Revere the laws they dream that heav'n ordains; Refort on Sundays to the house of pray'r,

And afk, and fancy they find, bleffings there.)
Themselves, perhaps, when weary they retreat
T'enjoy cool nature in a country seat,

T'exchange the centre of a thousand trades,
For clumps, and lawns, and temples, and cascades,
May now and then their velvet cushions take,

And feem to pray, for good example fake;

Judging, in charity no doubt, the town.
Pious enough, and having need of none.
Kind fouls! to teach their tenantry to prize
What they themselves, without remorse, despise:
Nor hope have they, nor fear, of aught to come-
As well for them had prophecy been dumb.
They could have held the conduct they pursue,
Had Paul of Tarfus liv'd and died a Jew;
And truth, propos'd to reas'ners wife as they,
Is a pearl caft-completely caft away.

They die.-Death lends them, pleas'd, and as in
fport,

All the grim honours of his ghaftly court.
Far other paintings grace the chamber now,
Where late we saw the mimic landscape glow:
The bufy heralds hang the fable scene

With mournful 'fcutcheons, and dim lamps between;

Proclaim their titles to the crowd around,

But they that wore them move not at the found;
The coronet, plac'd idly at their head,

Adds nothing now to the degraded dead,
And ev'n the ftar that glitters on the bier
Can only fay-Nobility lies here.