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But he, nor I, feel more: paft ills, Narciffa!
Are funk in thee, thou recent wound of heart!

Which bleeds with other cares, with other

pangs; Pangs num'rous, as the num'rous ills that fwarm'd O'er thy diftinguifht fate, and, cluft'ring there Thick as the locuft on the land of Nile,

Made death more deadly, and more dark the grave.
Reflect (if not forgot my touching tale)
How was each circumstance with afpics arm'd?
An afpic, each; and all, an hydra woe.
What ftrong Herculean virtue could fuffice?-
Or is it virtue to be conquer'd here ?
This hoary cheek a train of tears bedews;
And each tear mourns its own diftinct distress;
And each diftrefs, diftinctly mourn'd, demands
Of grief ftill more, as heighten'd by the whole.
A grief like this proprietors excludes:
Not friends alone fuch obfequies deplore ;
They make mankind the mourner; carry fighs
Far as the fatal fame can wing her way;
And turn the gayeft thought of gayeft age,
Down their right channel, thro' the vale of death.
The vale of death! that husht Cimmerian vale,
Where darkness, brooding o'er unfinisht fates,
With raven wing incumbent, waits the day
(Dread day!) that interdicts all future change!
That fubterranean world, that land of ruin!
Fit walk, Lorenzo, for proud human thought!

There

There let my thought expatiate; and explore
Balfamic truths, and healing sentiments,
Of all most wanted, and moft welcome, here.
For Lorenzo's fake, and for thy own,
gay

My foul!" The fruits of dying friends furvey;

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Expose the vain of life; weigh life and death: "Give death his eulogy; thy fear fubdu'd; "And labour that first palm of noble minds, "A manly fcorn of terror from the tomb."

This harvest reap from thy Narciffa's grave. As poets feign'd, from Ajax' ftreaming blood Arofe, with grief infcrib'd, a mournful flow'r; Let wisdom bloffom from my mortal wound. And firft, of dying friends; what fruit from these? It brings us more than triple aid; an aid To chase our thoughtleffness, fear, pride, and guilt. Our dying friends come o'er us like a cloud, To damp our brainless ardors; and abate That glare of life, which often blinds the wife. Our dying friends are pioneers, to smooth Our rugged pafs to death; to break those bars Of terror, and abhorrence, nature throws Crofs our obstructed way; and, thus, to make Welcome, as fafe, our port from ev'ry storm. Each friend by fate snatch'd from us, is a plume Pluckt from the wing of human vanity,

Which makes us ftoop from our aëreal heights,

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And, dampt with omen of our own decease,
On drooping pinions of ambition lower'd,
Juft fkim earth's furface, ere we break it up,
O'er putrid pride to scratch a little dust,
And fave the world a nuisance. Smitten friends
Are angels fent on errands full of love;

For us they languish, and for us they die:
And shall they languish, shall they die, in vain?

Ungrateful, shall we grieve their hovʼring shades, -
Which wait the revolution in our hearts ?

Shall we difdain their filent, soft address ;
Their pofthumous advice, and pious pray'r?
Senfelefs, as herds that graze their hallow'd graves.
Tread under-foot their agonies and groans;
Fruftrate their anguish, and deftroy their deaths?

HYMNS

HYMNS by Mr. ADDISON.

T

PROVIDENCE.

HE Lord my pasture shall prepare,
And feed me with a fhepherd's care;
His prefence shall my wants fupply,
And guard me with a watchful eye;
My noon-day walks he shall attend,
And all my midnight hours defend.

When in the fultry glebe I faint,
Or on the thirsty mountain pant;
To fertile vales and dewy meads
My weary wand'ring fteps he leads;
Where peaceful rivers, foft and flow,
Amid the verdant landskip flow.

Tho' in the paths of death I tread,
With gloomy horrors overspread,
My stedfast heart shall fear no ill,
For thou, O Lord, art with me still;
Thy friendly crook shall give me aid,
And guide me through the dreadful fhade.

Tho' in a bare and rugged way,
Thro' devious lonely wilds I ftray,
Thy bounty shall my pains beguile :
The barren wilderness shall smile,

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With fudden greens and herbage crown'd,

And ftreams fhall murmur all around.

WH

GRATITUDE.

HEN all thy mercies, O my God,
My rifing foul furveys;

Transported with the view, I'm loft

In wonder, love, and praise :

O how fhall words with equal warmth
The gratitude declare,

That glows within my ravish'd heart?
But thou canst read it there.

Thy Providence my life sustain'd,
And all my wants redreft,

When in the filent womb I lay,
And hung upon the breast.

To all my weak complaints and cries,
Thy mercy lent an ear,

Ere yet my feeble thoughts had learnt
To form themselves in pray'r.

Unnumber'd comforts to my foul
Thy tender care bestow'd,

Before

my infant heart conceiv'd

From whom those comforts flow'd.

When

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