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Soft pity! thou whose swelling eyes still bend
Religion's holy mansion * rises near,
“O sad mistake! O vain misguiding light,
“ Had I, just God of truth, obeyed thy word “ With half the zeal I serv'd an earthly Lord, « Thou ne'er had'st left me in
friendless hour, " Thus old, to feel the scourge of worldly power.
* Leicester Abby. The fatigue of his journey, and the distress of his mind, rendered hiin incapable of proceeding further towards London. He reached this place with great difficulty, and died there.
“ Thy toil is light, thy recompense secure, “ I serv'd a prince whose smiles were never sure ; “ Who fearless scorn'd all hazard to fulfill “ Some purpose of a wild ungovern d will. “ He who shall live to see with aged eyes “ The tombs of parents, children, friends arise, “ Shall often wish his ashes slept with theirs, “ And crave their pillow in his warmest prayers. “ But I tho' struggling in each moment's breath, “ Suill wish'd to live, till sorrow welcom'd death, “ No change to misery can be a curse, “ The happy only fear a sad reverse. “ Yet let my royal master deign to hear, “ That Wolsey nam'd him in his latest prayer. « Ah, let him think on all the toil I bore, And weep
when I can weep no more.” Fate checks the rest; in vain they bend around : Life pass'd his lips, and vanish'd with the sound. On heav'n with anxious hope he fix'd his eye, And breath'd, with lifted hands, his last sad sigh. Still silence reigns; true grief ne'er spends its force Like shallow streams that murmur in their course. The deepest waters ever silent flow, And heart-sick sorrow hates the noise of woe. The holy father, rais'd by elder years, And virtue more mature, commends their tears, And strives to leave with lasting force impress'd, These pious lessons on each soften'd breast.
ye, whom now the world's long-faded charms • Shall ne'er seduce from holy virtue's arms; “ No longer toss'd in dreams of worldly care, “ Ye pensioners of peace, and sons of prayer,
“ Learn hence to prize your own secure retreat; “ Subdued by you, still fortune rules the great. “ Your frailest thoughts, ere truth confirm’d the breast, “ Ne'er feign'd, what he whose fate you mourn possess'd. “ Yet, such was he, who here resign'd his breath, “ Happy at length to go, tho' led by death, " Where base ingratitude must quit her aim;
Happy to lose the bitter sense of shame. “ Howe'er projected high, when fate shall call “ Back to this common centre all must fall. “ Grown stiff in death, the eye which glanc'd command, “ Shall crave the office of a pious hand. “ Perhaps that care unpay'd, deny'd a tomb “ Till pitying winds the hated face consume. “So quickly vanish grandeur, wealth and power; “ The giant shadows of life's sun-shine hour. “ Behold how soon the supple slaves of state, “ Thankless, forget the favours of the great, “ Down fortune's fav’ring current still they glide, “ But never turn to strive against the tide. “ The friends of power, like armies rais'd for show, “ The practis'd forms of mimic duty kuow; “ In gay review observe each nice command, “ But in an hour of danger never stand, “ Yet think not that Adversity bestows • No sun shine
for all her show'rs of woes; “ That gift was her's which last his eyes confest, “ That beam of soft anticipated rest. “ The tears of sufferance are but the seeds “ Of future bliss; when joy to grief succeeds, “ Each drop shall purge from worldly film the sight, “ And fit it for a brighter, purer light.
“ Had fav’ring fortune still remain'd his guide, “ Nor e'er to life's last step forsook his side, “ Far other passions then had fill'd his eyes, “ Which wean'd at length from earth, now sought the
66 skies. " Then happy he who trembling on life's brink
Already bent, desires at once to sink ; " And as his wrinkles lean to earth more near, " Wishes to cover them for ever there. “Be ours that fortitude; that bliss attend,
And smooth the awful hour, when life must end; “ Still trust a Power, whose word can ne'er deceive, “And ne'er repine a joyless world to leave; : : " Where on a sea, by hourly tempest tost,
All blindly steer, the helm of reason lost; “Where many sink, and they who gain the shore, “ Think them as happy who were drown'd before ; « Where all are busied in some vain pursuit, “ Fair in its blossom, barren in its fruit. “ Till late they find when full possession cloys,
They earn'd disgust, but paid for real joys.
EPIGRAM, IMITATED FROM MARTIAL,
Hang me outright, but I could spend
sight's well worth a two-mile trudge---
N. B. HALHED, ESQ.