There, on a post of honour, and of joy. Dare I presume, then? But PHILANDER bids; And glory tempts, and inclination calls Yet am I struck; as struck the soul, beneath Or, in some mighty Ruin's solemn shade; And enter, aw'd, the temple of my theme. The chamber where the good man meets his fate, Heav'n waits not the last moment; owns her friends On this side of death; and points them out to men, A lecture, silent, but of sov'reign pow'r! Whatever farce the boastful hero plays, And greater still, the more the tyrant frowns. Beyond conjecture! feeble Nature's dread! Strong Reason's shudder at the dark unknown! "A sun extinguisht! a just opening grave! "And Oh! the last, last, what? (can words express? Richer than Mammon's for his single heir. How our hearts burnt within us at the scene! Whence this brave bound o'er limits fixt to man? His final hour brings glory to his God! Man's glory heav'n vouchsafes to call her own. Amazement strikes! devotion bursts to flame! As some tall tow'r, or lofty mountain's brow, Sweet Peace, and heav'nly Hope, and humble Joy, Destruction gild, and crown him for the skies, That mournil the dead, and this denyil a grave. Page 46. London: Pub Jan?11802. by Vernor & Hood, and the other Proprietors. |