"A World in Purchase for a Friend is Gain." 575
So fung He (Angels hear that Angel fing!
Angels from Friendship gather half their Joy)
So fung PHILANDER, as his Friend went round
In the rich Ichor, in the gen'rous Blood
Of BACCHUS, purple God of joyous Wit,
A Brow folute, and ever-laughing Eye.

580

He drank long Health, and Virtue to his Friend;
His Friend, who warm'd him more, who more infpir'd,
Friendship's the Wine of Life; but Friendship new
(Not fuch was His) is neither Strong, nor Pure.
O! for the bright Complexion, cordial Warmth,
And elevating Spirit, of a Friend,

For Twenty Summers rip'ning by my side;
All Feculence of Falfehood long thrown down;
All focial Virtues rifing in his Soul;

585

As Crystal clear; and fmiling, as they rife!
Here Nectar flows; it fparkles in our Sight;
Rich to the Tafte, and genuine from the Heart.
High-flavour'd Blifs for Gods on Earth how rare!
On Earth how loft!-PHILANDER is no more.

550

595 Think'st thou the Theme intoxicates my Song? And I too warm?-Too warm I cannot be. I lov'd him much; but now I love him more. Like Birds, whofe Beauties languish, half conceal'd, Till, mounted on the Wing, their gloffy Plumes 600 Expanded fhine with Azure, Green, and Gold; How Bleffings brighten as they take their Flight! His Flight PHILANDER took; his Upward Flight, If ever Soul afcended. Had he dropt,

605

What Friends might flatter; prudent Foes forbear;

(That Eagle Genius!) O had he let fall

One Feather as he flew! I, then had wrote,

Rivals fcarce damn; and ZOLIUS reprieve.

Yet what I can, I muft; It were profane

To quench a Glory lighted at the skies,

And caft in Shadows his illuftrious Clofe.

610

Strange! the Theme most affecting, most sublime,
Momentous moft to Man, should fleep unfung!

And yet it fleeps, by genius unawak'd,
Painim or Chriftian; to the Blush of Wit.

615

Man's higheft Triumph! Man's profoundest Fall! The Death-Bed of the juft! is yet undrawn

By mortal Hand: It merits a Divine :

Angels fhould paint it, Angels ever There ;
There on a Poft of Honour, and of Joy.

620

Dare I prefume, then? But PHILANDER bids; And Glory tempts, and Inclination calls

Yet am I ftruck; as ftruck the Soul, beneath

Aëreal Groves' impenetrable Gloom;

Or, in fome mighty Ruin's folemn Shade;

625

Or, gazing by pale Lamps on high-born Duft,

In vaults; thin Courts of poor unflatter'd Kings!

Or, at the Midnight Altar's hailow'd Flame.

It is Religion to proceed: I pause

And enter, aw'd, the Temple of my Theme.

630

It is Death-bed? No: It is his Shrine:

Behold him, there, juft rifing to a God.

The Chamber where the Good Man meets his Fate,

Is privileg'd beyond the common Walk

Of virtuous Life, quite in the Verge of Heav'n 635
Fly, ye Profane! If not, draw near with Awe,
Receive the Bleffing, and adore the Chance,
That threw in this Bethesda your Disease;
If unreftor'd by This, defpair your Cure.
For, Here, refiftlefs Demonftration dwells;
A Death-bed's a Detector of the Heart.
Here tir'd Diffimulation drops her Mask.
Thro' Life's Grimace, that Mistress of the Scene!
Here Real, and Apparent, are the Same.

640

You fee the Man; you fee his Hold on Heav'n; 645
If found his Virtue; as PHILANDER'S, found.
Heav'n waits on the last Moment; owns her Friends
On this Side Death; and points them out to Men ;
A Lecture, filent, but of fov'reign Pow'r!
To Vice, Confufion; and to Virtue, Peace.
Whatever Farce the boaftful Hero plays,

Virtue alone has Majefty in Death;

650

655

And greater ftill, the more the Tyrant frowns. PHILANDER! he feverely frown'd on thee. "No warning giv'n! Unceremonious Fate! "A fudden Ruth from Life's meridian Joys! "A Wrench from all we love! from all we are! "A restless Bed of Pain! a Plunge opaque Beyond Conjecture! Feeble Nature's Dread! "Strong Reafon's Shudder at the dark Unknown! 660

"A

"A Sun extinguish'd! a juft opening Grave! "And Oh! the laft, laft; what? (can Word exprefs? "Thought reach ?) the laft, laft-Silence of a Friend" Where are those Horrors, that Amazement, where, This hideous Group of Ills, which fingly fhock, 665 Demand from Man?-I thought him Man till now. Thro' Nature's Wreck, thro' vanquifh'd Agonies, (Like the Stars struggling thro' this Midnight Gloom) What Gleams of Jey? what more than Human Peace? Where, the frail Mortal? the poor abject Worm? 670 ̧ No, not in Death, the Mortal to be found. His Conduct is a Legacy for All.

675

Richer than Mammon's for his fingle Heir.
His Comforters he comforts; Great in Ruin,
With unreluctant Grandeur, gives, not yields
His Soul fublime; and clofes with his Fate.
How our Hearts burn within us at the Scene!
Whence, This brave Bound o'er Limits fix'd to Man?
His God fuftains him in his final Hour!
His final Hour brings Glory to his God!
Man's Glory Heav'n vouchfafes to call her own.
We gaze; we weep; mixt Tears of Grief and Joy!
Amazement ftrikes! Devotion burfts to Flame!
Chriftian's Adore! and Infidels Believe.

680.

685

As fome tall Tow'r or lofty Mountain's Brow,
Detains the Sun, Illuftrious from its Height;
While rifing Vapours, and defcending Shades,
With Damps, and Darkness, drown the spacious Vale;
Undamp'd by Doubt, Undarken'd by Defpair,
PHILANDER, thus, auguftly rears his Head,
At that Black Hour, which gen'ral Horror fheds
On the low Level of th' inlorious Throng:
Sweet Peace, and Heav'nly Hope, and humble Joy,
Divinely beam on his exalted Soul;

Destruction gild, and crown him for the Skies,
With incommunicable Luftre, Bright.

690

695

NIGHT.

D 3

NIGHT the THIRD.

NARCISSA.

Humbly Infcribed to her GRACE

The DUCHESS of P

Ignofcenda quidem, fcirent-fi ignofcere Manes. VIRGIL.

FROM Dreams, where Thought in Fancy's Maze

runs mad,

To Reason, that Heav'n-lighted Lamp in Man,
Once more I wake; and at the deftin'd Hour,

Punctual as Lovers to the Moment sworn,
I keep my Affignation with my Woe.

O Loft to Virtue, Loft to manly Thought,
Loft to the noble Sallies of the Soul !
Who think it Solitude, to be Alone.

5

10

Communion fweet; Communion large and high!
Our Reafon, Gardian Angel, and our God!
Then nearest Thefe, when others moft remote ;
And all, ere long, fhall be remote, but Thefe.
How dreadful, Then, to meet them all alone,.
A Stranger! Unacknowledg'd! Unapprov'd!
Now woo them; wed them; bind them to thy Breast;
To win thy Wish, Creation has no more..
Or if we with a Fourth, it is a Friend-
But Friends, how mortal! Dang'rous the Defire.
Take PHOEBUs to yourfelves, ye basking Bards!
Inebriate at fair Fortune's Fountain-head ;
And reeling thro' the Wilderness of Joy ;.

15

20

Where