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ed this is yet fill it was uttered with fomething of a Cervantic torest and as he spoke it, Eugenius could perceive a stream of lambent fire lighted up for a moment in his eyes; to faint picture of those fathes of his fpirit, which (as Shakespear faid of his ancestor) were wont to set the table in a roar! . ; .
EUGENIUS was convinced from this, that the heart of his friend was broke; he squeezed his hand, and then walked fuftly out of the room, weeping as he ivalked. You rick followed Eugenius with his eyes to the door, Kazhe then closed them, and never-openied them more. · Hbe dies buried in a corner of his church-yard, under a plain marble flab, which his friend Eugenias, visbiy leave of his executors, laid upon his grave, with no more than these three words of infcription, forving both for his epitaph, and elegy. :.:
C... Alas, poor YORICK!
. ; inform atatu
Ten times a day has Yorick's ghost the consolation to hear his monumental inscription read over with fuch a yariety of plaintive tones, as denote a general pity and eiteem for him ; ----a footway crossing the church-yard close by his gráve, -not a paffenger goes by without stopping to cart a look upon it, and fighing as he walks on,
Alas, pocr YORICK!
DITY the sorrows of a poor old man,
1 Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your doors.
Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span,
Oh! give relief, and Heaven will bless your store. ...,
These tatter'd cloaths my poverty bespeak,
These hoary locks proclaim wy lengthen'd-years;
And many a furrow in my grief-worn cheek
Has been the channel to a flood of tears, ..
Yon house, ere&ed on the rising ground,
With tempting aspect drew me from my road:
For Plenty there a residence has found,
And Grandeur a magnificent abode.
Hard is the fate of the infirm and poor!
Here, as I crav'd a morsel of their bread,
A pamper'd menial dipve me from the door
To seek a shelter in an humbler shed.:
Oh! take me to your hospitable dome;
Keen blows the wind, and piercing is the cold !
Short is my passage to the friendly tomb,
For I am poor and miserably old,
Shoald I, reveal the fources of my grief, '. :
If soft humanity e'er touch'd your breaft,
Your hands would not withhold the kind relief,
And tears of Pity would not be represto
Heaven sends misfortunes ; why should we repine?
'Tis Heaven has brought me to the state you fee;
And your condition may be foon like mine,
The child of Sorrow and of Misery.
A little farm was my paternal lot, ist
Then like the lark I sprightly hail'd the morn;..
But ah! oppression forcd me from my cot,
My cattle dy'd, and blighted was my corn.
My daughter, once the comfort of my age,
Lur’d by a villain from her native home,
Is cast abandon'd on the world's-wide stage,
And doom'd in scanty poverty to roam.
My tender wife, Tweet soother of my care !
Struck with fad anguish at the stern decree,
Fell, ling'ring fell, a victim to despair,
And left the world to wretchedness and me.
Pity the forrows of a poor old man, iii ..
Whose trembling limbs have borne' him to your door,
Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span, .
Oh! give relief, and Heaven will bless your store.
. ..C H A P. IV. ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF AN UNFORTUNATE
LADY. . W H AT beck'nirig ghost, along the Moon-light shade
V Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade ? "Tis she ! - but why that bleeding bosom gor'd, - . Why dimly gleams the visionary sword? ... i
Oh ever beauteous, ever friendly! 'tell,' ; ;
Is it, in heavin a crime to love too wells..
To bear too tender, or too firm a heart,
To act a Lover's or a Roman's part?
Is there no bright reversion in the sky,
For those who greatly thinki, or bravely dies'.
Why bade ye else, ye pow'rs!'her foul afpires
Above the vulgar flight of low desire ?! . .
Ambition first sprung from your bleft abodes; toda
The glorious fault of Angels and of Gods:
Thence to their images on earth it Aows,
And in the breasts of Kings and Heroes glows..
Moft fouls, 'tis true, but peep out once an age,
Dull fallen prisoners in the body's cage :
Dim lights of life, that burn a length of years
Useless, unseen, as lamps in fepulchres ; ;
Like Eastern Kings a lazy'ftate they keep; ."
And, close confin'd to their own palace, sleep.
From these perhaps (ere naturé bade her die) Fate snatch'd her early to the pitying sky. As into air the purer spirits flow:'.. .his And sep’rate from their kindred dregs below; So flew the foul to its congenial place, Nor left one virtue to redeem her race.
But thou, falfe guardian of a charge too good," ; Thou, mean deferter of thy brother's blood ! See on these ruby lips the trembling breath, These cheeks, 'now fading at the blast of death; Cold is that breast which warm’d the world before, And those love-darting eyes must roll no more. Thus, if Eternal Justice rules the ball, Thus shall your wives, and thusøyour children fäll:
On all the line a sudden vengeance waits.. :
And frequent hearses Mall, behage your gates.
There passengers shall fand, and painting say,
(While the long fun’rals, blacken all the way)..."
Lo these were they, whose fouls, the Furies steel'da
And curs’d with hearts.upknowing how to yieldle
Thus unlamented pafs, the proud away...sy. : .
The gaze of fools, and.pageant of a daybin ic
So perifh all, whofe breast meer learn d to glow ..
For others good, of melt anothers WORO Hris i
What can atone loh qyerinjurdlade !hi..?
Thy fate unpity'd, and thxxites, uppaid di se!!.
No friends complainta noukiad.domeftiszteari',:.?:
Pleas'd thy pale ghost,, or gras'd thy impuraful bicio
By foreign hands. thy dying eyes were elosłd. :*
By foreign hands thy decent limbs compos de
By foreign hands, thy humble graxei adornd,
By strangers honour’d, and by Atrangers, maquin'dan
What tho' no friends in fable weeds appeas : .!
Grieve for an hour, perhaps, then, mourn a year,
And bear about the mockery of woe ... si.
To midnight dances, and the public how???..
What tho' no weeping Loves thy alhes grace..
Nor polish'd marble emulate thy face?...
What tho, no facred earth allow thee, room, .
Nor hallow'd, dirge be, mutter'd o'er thy, tomb ..
Yet shall thy grave with rising flow'rs be drest,
And the green turf lię lightly on thy breaft: . .
There shall the morn her earliest tears beftowa :
There the first roses of the year shall blow;
While Angels with their silver wings o'erlade
The ground, now facred by thy reļiques made.