« PreviousContinue »
“ 'Twas th'us, (by the glare of false sc'ience betra’yed,
“ That le’ads, to bewi'lder ; and daz'zles, to bli'nd ;)
“ Destruction be'fore me, and s'orrow behind. “O pisty, (great Father of light), then I cr'ied,
Thy cr’eature, (who fain would not wan der from th’ee !) “ Lo, humbled in du'st, I relin'quish my pri'de ;
“ From dou'bt and from darʻkness/ th ou only/ canst free'. “ And darkness and dou'bts are now flying aw'ay;
“ No lon'ger I ro'am/ in conjec'ture forlorn : “ So breaks on the traveller, fai'nt, and astr'ay,
“The bright and the balmy effu'lgence of mo'rn. “ See tr’uth, lo've, and me'rcy, in tri'umph descen'ding,
“ And na'ture (all glow'ing in E'den's first blo'om !) “On the cold ch'eek of deʻath/sm'iles and ro'ses/ are ble’nding,
“ And beauty/ immoʻrtal/ awa'kes from the tom'b.”
PICTURES OF THE GOOD PREACHER AND
* The inimitable author of “ John Gilpin." This accomplished scholar and poet, after dreadfully suffering from mental derangement, died in 1800, aged 68.
Ambitious of pref'erment for its goʻld,
Would I describe a pre’acher/ su'ch as Pa'ul,
In m'an or wo'man, but far most in ma`n,
There'fore/ avaunt all atti'tude ; and star'e,
So'me, (decent in demeanour, while they pre'ach,)
Concluding tone -lower and slower than any preceding portion of the lesson.
TO MARY IN HEAVEN.
Thou lingering star; with lessening ra'y,
That lovest to gr'eet the early mo'rn,
My Ma'ry from my so’ul was tor'n.
O M'ary! (dear/ departed sh'ade !)
Where is thy pla'ce of blissful res't ?
Hearest thou the gr'oans/ that re’nd his brea'st ?
Can I forget the ha'llowed gr'ove,
To live one day of parting love !
Those records dear of transports p'ast !
Ah! little thought we/ 'tw'as our last !
O'erhung with wild woo'ds, thickening gr'een ;
Twined amorous rosund/ the raptured scen'e.
The biords/ sung love' on every sp'ray,
Proclaimed the speed of winged day'.
And fondly broods, with miser ca’re ;
(As strea'ms their cha'nnels deeper wea'r.
Wheʻre is thy blissful pla'ce of re’st ?
Hea'rest thou the gro'ans/ that re’nd his breas't?
ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND.*
Dr. Johnson. NOTWITHSTANDING the wa’rnings of philo'sophers, and the daʻily examples of losses and misfo'rtunes/ which li'fe/ forces upon our observ'ation, such/ is the absorption of our tho’ughts) in the bu'siness of the preîsent da'y, such the re
* This beautiful and pathetic paper was written on the death of the Doctor's venerable mother.
signa'tion of our reason to empty hopes of fu'ture feli city, or/ such our unwil'lingness/ to foresee what we dre’ad, that every calamity comes suddenly upo'n us, a'nd/ not only pre'sses us/ as a b'urthen, but cru”shes us/ as a bloủw.
There ar'e e’vils which happen out of the common course of na'ture, against whi'ch/ it is no reproach/ not to be provi'ded. A flas'h of ligʻhtning/ intercepts the tra'veller in his wa'y; the concussion of an earthquake/ heaps the ruins of cit'ies/ upon their inna'bitants. But oother miseries/ ti me bri'ngs, (though s'ilently, yet vi^sibly forward/ by its even la'pse,) which yet approach us unse'en, because we turn our eyes aw'ay, and se'ize us, unresi'sted, because we could not arm ourselves again'st them, but/ by setting them, befor'e us.
That it is vain/ to shrink from wh’at/ cannot be avo'ided, and to hide thaạt from ourselves, which must some time be fo’und, is a tru'th/ which we all kn'ow, but which a‘ll/ negleoct; and/ perhaps none more than the speculative re’asoner, whose thougʻhts are always from ho'me, whose e'ye/ wanders over life', whose faîncy/ dances after meteors of happiness kindled by its'elf, and who exa'mines/ every thing/ rather than his oown-state.
Nothing/ is more evident, than that the decays of age/ must terminate in de°ath ; yet/ there is no m'an, (says Tu'lly,) who does not belie've that he may yet live another ye’ar; and there is no'ne/ who do'es not, (upon the same pr’inciple,) hope another year for his pa'rent or his fri'end : but, the fa'llacy will be in tim'el det'ected; the last y'ear, the last dały/ must come. It ha's come, and is pas'sed. The life/ which made my own life ple' asant/ is' at an eʼnd, and the gates of death/ are sh’ut upon my prospects.
The loss of a frie'nd, upon whom the he’art was fixe'd, tạo whom/ every wi'sh and
endea'vour te'nded, is a state of dreary desolation, in whi'ch/ the mind looks abroad/ impat'ient of itse'lf, and finds nothing/ but emptiness and hor'.
The blaʼmeless life', the ar’tless tenderness, the p'ious simpli city, the mo'dest resigna'tion, the pa'tient sickness, and the qui'et dea'th, are remem'bered/ only to add va`lue to the loʻss, to a'ggravate regret/ for what ca'nnot be ame’nded, to dee'pen so rrow/ for what c’annot be reca'lled.
The'se are the calamities/ by which Providence gradually diseng'ages us from the lo've of li'fe. Oother evils/ fortitude may repe'l, or hoʻpe/ may m'itigate ; but irreparable priva'.