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OCCASIONED BY THE
DEATH OF MR. AIKMAN,
A PARTICULAR FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR'S.
As those we love decay, we die in part,
Tell me, thou soul of her I love,
Ah! tell me, whither art thou fled? To what delightful world above,
Appointed for the happy dead?
And sometimes share thy lover's woe; Where, void of thee, his cheerless home
Can now, alas! no comfort know?
While, under ev'ry well-known tree, I to thy fancy'd shadow talk,
And every tear is full of thee;
Beside some sympathetic stream,
Oh visit thou my soothing dream!
, , ,
O born to bloom, then sink beneath the storm;
Yes, we must follow soon, will glad obey,
THE REV. MR. MURDOCH,
RECTOR OF STRADDISHALL IN SUFFOLK.
HUS Here reigns a deep tranquillity o'er all; No noise, no care, no vanity, no strife; Men, woods, and fields, all breathe untroubled life. Then keep each passion down, however dear; Trust me, the tender are the most severe. Guard, while 'tis thine, thy philosophic ease, And ask no joy but that of virtuous peace; That bids defiance to the storms of fate: High bliss is only for a higher state.