hich comes to pass each moment of our lives? fear we must, let that death turn us pale, ich murders strength and ardour; what remains ould rather call on death, than dread his call. partners of my fault, and my decline! [knell roughtless of death, but when your neighbour's ude visitant!) knocks hard at your dull sense, d with its thunder scarce obtains your ear! death your theme, in every place and hour; r longer want, ye monumental sires! rother tomb to tell you ye shall die.

ut death you dread (so great is Nature's skill! ) ow, you shall court before you shall enjoy. But you are learn'd; in volumes, deep you sit; wisdom, shallow: pompous ignorance! uld you be still more learned than the learn'd? rn well to know how much need not be known, 1 what that knowledge, which impairs your sense. : needful knowledge, like our needful food, edg'd, lies open in life's common field; d bids all welcome to the vital feast. a scorn what lies before you in the page Nature, and Experience, moral truth: indispensable, eternal fruit ;

it, on which mortals feeding, turn to gods:
1 dive in science for distinguish'd names,
honest fomentation of your pride!
king in virtue, as you rise in fame.

r learning, like the lunar beam, affords nt, but not heat; it leaves you undevout, zen at heart, while speculation shines. ake, ye curious indagators! fond knowing all, but what avails you known. ou would learn Death's character, attend. casts of conduct, all degrees of health, dies of fortune, and all dates of age, ether shook in his impartial urn, he forth at random: or, if choice is made, choice is quite sarcastic, and insults bold conjecture, and fond hopes of man. it countless multitudes not only leave, deeply disappoint us, by their deaths! ugh great our sorrow, greater our surprise. ike other tyrants, Death delights to smite, at, smitten, most proclaims the pride of power, I arbitrary nod. His joy supreme, Did the wretch survive the fortunate; feeble wrap th' athletic in his shroud;

i weeping fathers build their children's tomb : thine, Narcissa! - What though short thy date? ue, not rolling suns, the mind matures. t life is long, which answers life's great end. time that bears no fruit, deserves no name; man of wisdom is the man of years. oary youth Methusalems may die; ow misdated on their flattering tombs ! arcissa's youth has lectur'd me thus far. can her gaiety give counsel too? , like the Jews' fam'd oracle of gems, kles instruction; such as throws new light,

And opens more the character of death;
Ill-known to thee, Lorenzo! this thy vaunt:
"Give Death his due, the wretched, and the old;
E'en let him sweep his rubbish to the grave;
Let him not violate kind Nature's laws,
But own man born to live as well as die."
Wretched and old thou giv'st him; young and
He takes; and plunder is a tyrant's joy.
What if I prove, "That furthest from the fear,
Are often nearest to the stroke of fate?"

All, more than common, menaces an end.
A blaze betokens brevity of life:

gay

As if bright embers should emit a flame,
Glad spirits sparkled from Narcissa's eye,
And made youth younger, and taught life to live.
As Nature's opposites wage endless war,
For this offence, as treason to the deep
Inviolable stupor of his reign,

Where lust, and turbulent ambition, sleep,
Death took swift vengeance. As he life detests,
More life is still more odious; and, reduc'd
By conquest, aggrandizes more his power.
But wherefore aggrandiz'd? By Heaven's decree,
To plant the soul on her eternal guard,
In aweful expectation of our end.
Thus runs Death's dread commission: "Strike, but so
As most alarms the living by the dead.”
Hence stratagem delights him, and surprise,
And cruel sport with man's securities.

Not simple conquest, triumph is his aim : [most.
And, where least fear'd, there conquest triumphs
This proves my bold assertion not too bold.

What are his arts to lay our fears asleep?
Tiberian arts his purposes wrap up

In deep dissimulation's darkest night.
Like princes unconfest in foreign courts,
Who travel under cover, Death assumes

The name and look of life, and dwells among us.
He takes all shapes that serve his black designs :
Though master of a wider empire far
Than that o'er which the Roman eagle flew.
Like Nero, he 's a fiddler, charioteer,
Or drives his phaeton, in female guise;
Quite unsuspected, till, the wheel beneath,
His disarray'd oblation he devours.

He most affects the forms least like himself,
His slender self. Hence burly corpulence
Is his familiar wear, and sleek disguise.
Behind the rosy bloom he loves to lurk,
Or ambush in a smile; or wanton dive
In dimples deep; love's eddies, which draw in
Unwary hearts, and sink them in despair.
Such, on Narcissa's couch he loiter'd long
Unknown; and, when detected, still was seen
To smile; such peace has innocence in death!
Most happy they! whom least his arts deceive.
One eye on Death, and one full fix'd on Heaven,
Becomes a mortal, and immortal man.
Long on his wiles a piqu'd and jealous spy,
I've seen, or dreamt I saw, the tyrant dress;
Lay by his horrours, and put on his smiles.
Say, Muse, for thou remember'st, call it back,
And show Lorenzo the surprising scene;
If 't was a dream, his genius can explain.
'T was in a circle of the gay I stood.
Death would have enter'd; Nature push'd him back;
Supported by a doctor of renown,

His point he gain'd. Then artfully dismist
The sage; for Death design'd to be conceal'd.
He gave an old vivacious usurer

orn is the man, and mortal is the wound. home, o'er-enamour'd of their bags, run mad, roan under gold, yet weep for want of bread. ogether some (unhappy rivals!) seize, nd rend abundance into poverty; Goud croaks the raven of the law, and smiles: niles too the goddess; but smiles most at those, ust victims of exorbitant desire!)

ho perish at their own request, and, whelm'd
eneath her load of lavish grants, expire.
rtune is famous for her numbers slain;

e number small, which happiness can bear.
ough various for awhile their fates; at last

e curse involves them all: at Death's approach, I read their riches backward into loss, id mourn, in just proportion to their store. And Death's approach (if orthodox my song) hasten'd by the lure of Fortune's smiles. d art thou still a glutton of bright gold? id art thou still rapacious of thy ruin? ath loves a shining mark, a signal blow; blow which, while it executes, alarms; d startles thousands with a single fall. when some stately growth of oak, or pine, ich nods aloft, and proudly spreads her shade, Sun's defiance, and the flock's defence; the strong strokes of labouring hinds subdued, cd groans her last, and, rushing from her height cumbrous ruin, thunders to the ground: conscious forest trembles at the shock, ed hill, and stream, and distant dale, resound. These high-aim'd darts of Death, and these alone, uld I collect, my quiver would be full. quiver, which, suspended in mid air, near Heaven's Archer, in the zodiac, hung, could it be,) should draw the public eye, gaze and contemplation of mankind! onstellation aweful, yet benign, guide the gay through life's tempestuous wave; suffer them to strike the common rock, rom greater danger, to grow more secure, 1, wrapt in happiness, forget their fate.” ysander, happy past the common lot, warn'd of danger, but too gay to fear. woo'd the fair Aspasia: she was kind: youth, form, fortune, fame, they both were blest; who knew, envied; yet in envy lov'd: fancy form more finisht happiness?

t was the nuptial hour. Her stately dome e on the sounding beach. The glittering spires at in the wave, and break against the shore: >reak those glittering shadows, human joys. faithless morning smil'd: he takes his leave, re-embrace, in ecstasies, at eve.

rising storm forbids. The news arrives: old, she saw it in her servant's eye. felt it seen (her heart was apt to feel); 1, drown'd, without the furious ocean's aid, suffocating sorrows, shares his tomb.

, round the sumptuous, bridal monument, = guilty billows innocently roar;

the rough sailor, passing, drops a tear; ear? — Can tears suffice?-But not for me. w vain our efforts! and our arts how vain! distant train of thought I took to shun, thrown me on my fate- These died together; opy in ruin! undivorc'd by death! ne'er to meet, or ne'er to part, is peace cissa! Pity bleeds at thought of thee.

thou wast only near me; not myself.

Few ages have been deeper in dispute about religion than this. The dispute about religion, and the practice of it, seldom go together. The shorter, therefore, the dispute, the better. I think it may be reduced to this single question, Is man immortal, or is he not? If he is not, all our disputes are mere amusements, or trials of skill. In this case, truth, reason, religion, which give our discourses such pomp and solemnity, are (as will be shown) mere empty sound, without any meaning in them. But if man is immortal, it will behove him to be very serious about eternal consequences; or, in other words, to be truly religious. And this great fundamental truth, unestablished, or unawakened in the minds of men, is, I conceive, the real source and support of all our infidelity; how remote soever the particular objections advanced may seem to be from it. Sensible appearances affect most men much more than abstract reasonings; and we daily see bodies drop around us, but the soul is invisible. The power which inclination has over the judgment, is greater than can be well conceived by those that have not had an experience of it; and of what numbers is it the sad interest that souls should not survive! The heathen world confessed, that they rather hoped, than firmly believed, immortality! And how many heathens have we still amongst us! The sacred page assures us, that life and immortality is brought to light by the Gospel : but by how many is the Gospel rejected, or overlooked! From these considerations, and from my being accidentally privy to the sentiments of some particular persons, I have been long persuaded that most, if not all, our infidels (whatever name they take, and whatever scheme, for argument's sake, and to keep themselves in countenance, they patronise) are supported in their deplorable errour, by some doubt of their immortality, at the bottom. And I am satisfied, that men once thoroughly con

Lorenzo, these are thoughts that make man, man,
The wise illumine, aggrandize the great.
How great, (while yet we tread the kindred clod,
Find every moment fear to sink beneath

'he clod we tread; soon trodden by our sons,)
low great, in the wild whirl of time's pursuits,
'o stop, and pause, involv'd in high presage,
'hrough the long vista of a thousand years,
to stand contemplating our distant selves,
s in a magnifying mirror seen,
nlarg'd, ennobled, elevate, divine!

o prophesy our own futurities;

o gaze in thought on what all thought transcends! o talk, with fellow-candidates, of joys s far beyond conception as desert, urselves th' astonish'd talkers, and the tale! Lorenzo, swells thy bosom at the thought? he swell becomes thee: 't is an honest pride. severe thyself; and yet thyself despise. is nature no man can o'er-rate; and none an under-rate his merit. Take good heed,

or there be modest, where thou should'st be proud; hat almost universal errour shun.

ow just our pride, when we behold those heights!
ot those ambition paints in air, but those
eason points out, and ardent virtue gains;
nd angels emulate our pride how just!
hen mount we? When these shackles cast? When
is cell of the creation? this small nest,
uck in a corner of the universe,

rapt up in fleecy cloud, and fine-spun air?
ne-spun to sense; but gross and feculent
>> souls celestial; souls ordain'd to breathe
mbrosial gales, and drink a purer sky;
reatly triumphant on time's further shore,
here virtue reigns, enrich'd with full arrears;
hile pomp imperial begs an alms of peace.
In empire high, or in proud science deep,
born of Earth! on what can you confer,
ith half the dignity, with half the gain,
e gust, the glow of rational delight,

[quit

3 on this theme, which angels praise and share? an's fates and favours are a theme in Heaven. What wretched repetition cloys us here! hat periodic potions for the sick! istemper'd bodies! and distemper'd minds! an eternity, what scenes shall strike! dventures thicken! novelties surprise! hat webs of wonder shall unravel, there! hat full day pour on all the paths of Heaven, nd light th' Almighty's footsteps in the deep! Cow shall the blessed day of our discharge nwind, at once, the labyrinths of fate, nd straighten its inextricable maze! If inextinguishable thirst in man

o know; how rich, how full, our banquet there! here, not the moral world alone unfolds; he world material, lately seen in shades, nd, in those shades, by fragments only seen, nd seen those fragments by the labouring eye, Inbroken, then, illustrious and entire, is ample sphere, its universal frame,

full dimensions, swells to the survey; and enters, at one glance, the ravisht sight. Trom some superior point (where, who can tell? uffice it, 't is a point where gods reside) How shall the stranger man's illumin'd eye, n the vast ocean of unbounded space, Sehold an infinite of floating worlds Divide the crystal waves of ether pure,

In endless voyage, without port? The least
Of these disseminated orbs, how great!
Great as they are, what numbers these surpass,
Huge, as leviathan, to that small race,
Those twinkling multitudes of little life,
He swallows unperceiv'd? Stupendous these!
Yet what are these stupendous to the whole!
As particles, as atoms ill perceiv'd;
As circulating globules in our veins ;
So vast the plan. Fecundity divine!
Exuberant source! perhaps, I wrong thee still.
If admiration is a source of joy,

What transport hence! yet this the least in Heaven,
What this to that illustrious robe he wears,
Who toss'd this mass of wonders from his hand,
A specimen, an earnest of his power?
'Tis to that glory, whence all glory flows,
As the mead's meanest floweret to the Sun,
Which gave it birth. But what, this Sun of Heaven?
This bliss supreme of the supremely blest?
Death, only Death, the question can resolve.
By Death, cheap-bought th' ideas of our joy;
The bare ideas! solid happiness

So distant from its shadow chas'd below.

And chase we still the phantom through the fire,
O'er bog, and brake, and precipice, till death?
And toil we still for sublunary pay?
Defy the dangers of the field and flood,
Or, spider-like, spin out our precious all,
Our more than vitals spin (if no regard
To great futurity) in curious webs

Of subtle thought, and exquisite design;
(Fine net-work of the brain!) to catch a fly?
The momentary buzz of vain renown!
A name; a mortal immortality!

Or (meaner still!) instead of grasping air,
For sordid lucre, plunge we in the mire?
Drudge, sweat, through every shame, for every gain,
For vile contaminating trash; throw up
Our hope in Heaven, our dignity with man?
And deify the dirt, matur'd to gold?
Ambition, avarice; the two demons these,
Which goad through every slough our human herd,
Hard-travell'd from the cradle to the grave.

How low the wretches stoop! How steep they climb! These demons burn mankind; but most possess Lorenzo's bosom, and turn out the skies.

Is it in time to hide eternity?
And why not in an atom on the shore
To cover ocean? or a mote, the Sun?
Glory and wealth! have they this blinding power?
What if to them I prove Lorenzo blind?
Would it surprise thee? Be thou then surpris'd;
Thou neither know'st; their nature learn from me.
Mark well, as foreign as these subjects seem,
What close connection ties them to my theme.
First, what is true ambition? The pursuit
Of glory, nothing less than man can share.
Were they as vain as gaudy-minded man,
As flatulent with fumes of self-applause,
Their arts and conquests animals might boast,
And claim their laurel crowns, as well as we;
But not celestial. Here we stand alone;
As in our form, distinct, pre-eminent;
If prone in thought, our stature is our shame:
And man should blush, his forehead meets the skies.
The visible and present are for brutes,

A slender portion! and a narrow bound!
These reason, with an energy divine,

O'erlcaps; and claims the future and unsecn ;