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$17. A Night Piece, on Death. PARNELL.
BY the blue taper's trembling light

No more I waste the wakeful night,
Intent with endless view to pore
The schoolmen and the fages o'er :
Their books from wildom widely ftray,
Or point, at beft, the longest way.
I'll feek a readier path, and go
Where wisdom's furely taught below.
How deep yon azure dies the sky !
Where orbs of gold unnumber'd lie;
While thro' their ranks, in filver pride,
The nether crefcent feems to glide.
The flumb'ring breeze forgets to breathe,
The lake is fmooth, and clear beneath,
Where once again the fpangled fhow
Defcends to meet our eyes below.
The grounds which on the right afpire
In dimnefs from the view retire;
The left presents a place of graves,
Whofe wall the filent water laves.
That fteeple guides thy doubtful fight
Among the livid gleans of night.
There pafs with melancholy ttate,
By all the folemn heaps of fate;
And think, as foftly-fad you tread
Above the venerable dead,

Time was, like thee they life poffeft,
And time fhall be, that thou shalt reft."
Thofe graves with bending ofier bound,
That nameless heave the crumbled ground,
Quick to the glancing thought difclose,
Where toil and poverty repofe.

The flat fmooth ftones that bear a name,
The chiffel's flender help to fame,
(Which ere our fet of friends decay
Their frequent fteps inay wear away),
A middle race of mortals own,
Men half ambitious, all unknown.

The marble tombs that rife on high,
Whose dead in vaulted arches lie,
Whofe pillars fwell with sculptur'd stones,
Arms, angels, epitaphs, and bones;
Thefe, all the poor remains of state,
Adorn the rich, or praise the great ;
Who, while on earth in fame they live,
Are fenfelefs of the fame they give.

Ha! while I gaze, pale Cynthia fades,
The burting earth unveils the fhades !
All flow, and wan, and wrapp'd with shrouds,
They rife in vifionary crowds,
And all with fober accent cry,
"Think, mortal, what it is to die."

Now, from yon black and fun'ral yew,
That bathes the charnel-house with dew,
Methinks, I hear a voice begin-
(Ye ravens, ceafe your croaking din,
Ye tolling clocks, no time refound
O'er the long lake and midnight ground)—
It fends a peal of hollow groans,
Thus fpeaking from among the bones.
"When men my scythe and darts fupply,
How great a King of Fears am I !

They view me like the last of things;
They make, and then they dread, my kings.
Fools! if you lefs provok'd your fears,
No more my spectre-form appears.
Death's but a path that must be trod,
If man would ever pass to God:
A port of calms, a state of ease,
From the rough rage of fwelling feas.

Why, then, thy flowing fable ftoles,
Deep pending cypress, mourning poles,
Loofe fcarfs to fall athwart thy weeds,
Long palls, drawn hearses, cover'd steeds,
And plumes of black, that, as they tread,
Nod o'er the 'fcutcheons of the dead?

Nor can the parted body know,
Nor wants the foul, these forms of woe :
As men who long in prifon dwell,
With lamps that glimmer round the cell,
Whene'er their fuff'ring years are run,
Spring forth to greet the glittering fun;
Such joy, tho' far transcending sense,
Have pious fouls at parting hence.
On earth, and in the body plac'd,
A few and evil years they wafte t
But, when their chains are caft aside,
See the glad fcene unfolding wide;
Clap the glad wing, and tow'r away,
And mingle with the blaze of day.

§ 18. An Elegy, written in a Country Church Yard. GRAY.

HE curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds flowly o'er the lea, The plowman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the And all the air a folemn tillness holds, [fight, Save where the beetle wheels his drony flight,' And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds; Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tow'r,

The moping owl does to the Moon complain
Of fuch, as, wand'ring near her facred bow'r,
Moleft her ancient, folitary reign.

Beneath thofe rugged elins, that yew-tree's
fhade,
[heap,
Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,

The rude forefathers of the hamlet fleep.
The breezy call of incenfe-breathing morn,
The fwallow, twitt'ring from the ftraw-
built shed,

The cock's fhrill clarion, or the echoing horn,
No more shall rouse them from their lowly

bed.

For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,
Or bufy housewife ply her evening care:
Nor children run to lifp their fire's return,

Or climb his knees the envied kifs to fhare.
Oft did the harveft to their fickle yield, [broke;
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has

How

How jocund did they drive their teams afield! How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy ftroke !

Let not ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obfcure; Nor grandeur hear with a difdainful fmile

The fhort and fimple annals of the poor. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Await, alike, th' inevitable hour;

The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, If mem'ry o'er their tomb no trophies raife, Where thro' the long-drawn aile and fretted vault, [praife. The pealing anthem fwells the note of

Can ftoried urn, or animated bust,

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can Honour's voice provoke the silent duft, Or Flattr'y foothe the dull cold ear of death? Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid

Some heart, once pregnant with celeftial fire: Hands, that the rod of empire might have Or wak'd to extafy the living lyre. [fway'd, But knowledge to their eyes her ample page, Rich with the spoils of Time, did ne'er unChill Penury reprefs'd their noble rage, [roll; And froze the genial current of the foul. Full many a gem, of pureft ray ferene,

The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear; Full many a flow'r is born to blush unseen, And wafte its fweetnefs on the defert air. Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breaft

The little tyrant of his fields withstood, Some mute inglorious Milton here may reft; Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood.

The applaufe of lift'ning fenates to command,
The threats of pain and ruin to defpife,
To fcatter plenty o'er a finiling land,

And read their history in a nation's eyes, Their lot forbad: nor circumfcrib'd alone Their growing virtues, but their crimes confin'd;

Forbad to wade through slaughter to a throne, And fhut the gates of mercy on mankind; The ftruggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, To quench the blushes of ingenuous flame, Or heap the fhrine of Luxury and Pride

With incenfe kindled at the Mufe's flame. Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife Their fober wishes never learn'd to ftray: Along the cool fequefter'd vale of life

They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. Yet even these bones from infult to protect, Some frail memorial ftill erected nigh, With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd, Implores the paffing tribute of a sigh.

Their name, their years, fpelt by th' unletter'd
The place of fame and elegy fupply: [mufe,
And many a holy text around the ftrews,
That teach the ruftic moralift to die.

For who, to dull forgetfulness a prey,

This pleafing anxious being e'er refign'd, Left the warm precincts of the chearful day, Nor caft one longing, ling'ring look behind? On fome fond breaft the parting foul relies,

Some pious drops the clofing eye requires: Ev'n from the tomb the voice of nature cries, Ev'n in our afhes live their wonted fires.

For thee, who, mindful of th`unhonour'd dead,

Dott in these lines their artless tale relate;

If, chance, by lonely Contemplation led,

Some kindred spirit fhall inquire thy fate; Haply fome hoary-headed swain may fay, "Oft have we feen him, at the peep of dawn, Brufhing, with hafty fteps, the dews away, To meet the fun upon the upland lawn. There, at the foot of yonder nodding beech,

That wreathes its old fan:aftic roots fo high, His liftlef's length at noon-tide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by. Hard by yon wood, now fmiling, as in fcorn, Mutt'ring his wayward fancies, he would

rove;

Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn, Or craz'd with care, or.crofs'd in hopeless

love.

One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill,

Along the heath, and near his fav'rite tree: Another came; nor yet befide the ril!,

Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he. The next, with dirges due, in fad array, [borne.

Slow thro' the church-yard path we law him Approach and read (for thou canft read) the lay, Gray'd on the stone beneath yon aged thorn."

THE EPITAPH.

Here refts his head upon the lap of earth,

A youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown, Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth, And Melancholy mark'd him for her own. Large was his bounty, and his foul fincere,

He gave to mis'ry all he had, a tear; [a friend. Heav'n did a recompence as largely fend: He gain'd from heav'n ('twas all he with'd) No farther feek his merits to difclofe,

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode. (There they alike in trembling hope repofe) The bofom of his Father and his God,

I leave to thofe that prize them. At this hour, This folemn hour, when filence rules the world,

And wearied nature makes a gen'ral pause;
Wrapt in night's fable robe, through cloysters
And charnels pale, tenanted by a throng [drear
Of meagre phantoms fhooting cross my path
With filent glance, I seek the shadowy vale
Of DEATH. Deep in a murky cave's receis,
Lay'd by Oblivion's littlefs ftream, and fenc'd
By fhelving rocks, and intermingled horrors
Of yew and cypress shade, from all intrusion
Of bufy noontide beam, the Monarch fits
In unfubftantial majefty enthron'd.

At his right hand, nearest himself in place
And frightfulness of form, his Parent SIN
With fatal industry and cruel care
Bufies herself in pointing all his things,
And tipping every shaft with venom drawn
From her infernal tore: around him rang'd
In terrible array, and mixture ftrange
Of uncouth fhapes, ftand his dread Ministers.
Foremoft Old Age, his natural ally
And firmest friend: next him diseases thick,
A motly train; Fever, with cheek of fire;
Confumption wan; Palfy, half warm with life,
And half a clay-clod lump; joint-tort'ring
Gout,

And ever-gnawing Rheum; Convulfion wild;
Swoln Dropfy; panting Afthma; Apoplex
Full gorg'd. There too the Peftilence that

walks

In darkness, and the Sickness that deftroys At broad noon-day. Thele, and a thousand

more,

Horrid to tell, attentive wait; and, when
By Heaven's command DEATH waves his ebon
wand,

Sudden rush forth to execute his purpose,
And fcatter defolation o'er the Earth.

make

Ill-fated Man, for whom fuch various forms Of mis'ry wait, and mark their future prey! Ah! why, All-righteous FATHER, didit thou [ous duft This creature, Man why wake th' unconfciTo life and wretchedness? O better far Still had he slept in uncreated night, If this the lot of Being. Was it for this Thy Breath divine kindled within his breast The vital flame? For this was thy fair image Stampt on his foul in godlike lineaments ? For this dominion giv'n him abfolute O'er all thy works, only that he might reign Supreme in woe? From the bieft fource of [foul ills Could fuch Far be the thought, [creature The impious thought! God never made a But what was good. He made a living Soul; The wretched Mortal was the work of MAN. Forth from his Maker's hands he fprang to life, [knew, Fresh with immortal bloom; no pain he No fear of change, no check to his defires

Good

Could Pain and Death proceed? Fall from fair Mercy's hands?

"Twixt him and Death, the test of his obe-
Urg'd on by wanton curiofity
He broke. There in one moment was undone
The fairest of God's works. The fame rath
That pluck'd in evil hour the fatal fruit, [hand,
Unbarr'd the gates of Hell; and let loose Sin
And Death, and all the family of Pain,
To prey upon Mankind. Young Nature faw
The monitious crew, and shook thro' all her
frame.

Then fled her new-born luftre, then began
Heav'ns chearful face to lour, then vapours
choak’d

The troubled air, and form'd a veil of clouds
To hide the willing Sun. The earth convuls'd
With painful throes threw forth a briftly crop
Of thorns and briars; and Infect, Bird, and
Beaf,

That wout before with admiration fond [him,
To gaze at Man, and fearless crowd around
Now fled before his face, fhunning in hate
The infection of his mifery. He alone
Who justly might, th' offended Lord of Man,
Turn'd not away his face; he, full of pity,
Forfook not in this uttermost distress ['main'd
His best lov'd work. That comfort till re-
(That beit, that greatest comfort in affliction)
The countenance of God, and thro' the gloom
Shot forth fome kindly gleams, to chear and
[Heav'n,

warm

Th' offender's finking foul. Hope, fent from Uprais'd his drooping head, and thew'd afar A happier fcene of things; the PROMIS'D SEED Trampling upon the SERPENT's humbled creft; DEATH of his fling difarm'd ; and the dank grave,

Made pervious to the realms of endless day, No more the limit but the gate of life. [ground

Chear'd with the view, MAN went to till the From whence he rofe; fentenc'd indeed to toil As to a punishment, yet (ev'n in wrath) So merciful is Heav'n) this toil became The folace of his woes, the fweet employ Of many a live-long hour, and fureft guard Against Difeafe and Death. DEATH, tho' deWas yet a diftant ill, by feeble arm [nounc'd, Of Age, his fole fupport, led flowly on. Not then, as tince, the fhort liv'd fons of men Flock'd to his realms in countless multitudes; Scarce in the courfe of twice five hundred years One folitary ghoft went fhiv'ring down To his unpeopled fhore. In fober ftate, Through the fequefter'd vale of rural life, The venerable PATRIARCH guileless held The tenor of his way; Labour prepar'd His fimple fare, and 'Temp'rance rul'd his board. Tir'd with his daily toil, at early eve He funk to fudden reft; gentle and pure As breath of evening Zephyr, and as sweet, Were all his flumbers; with the Sun he rofe, Alert and vigorous as He, to run (ftrength His deftin'd course. Thus nerv'd with giant He ftemm'd the tide of time, and toed the hock Of

Of ages rolling harmless o'er his head.
At life's meridian point arriv'd, he stood,
And looking round faw all the valles fill'd
With nations from his loins; full-well content
To leave his race thus fcatter'd o'er the Earth,
Along the gentle flope of life's decline
He bent his gradual way, till full of years
He dropt like mellow fruit into his grave.

Such in the infancy of Time was Man,
So calm was life, fo impotent was DEATH!
O had he but preferv'd thefe few remains,
Thefe flatter'd fragments of loft happiness,
Snatch'd by the hand of Heav'n from the fad

wreck

Of innocence prin æval; still had he liv'd
In ruin great; tho' fall'n, yet not forlorn;
Though mortal, yet not every where befet
With Death in every shape! But he, impatient
To be compleatly wretched, haftes to fill
The measure of his woes.-'Twas Man him-
felf
[felf
Brought Death into the world; and Man him-
Gave keennels to his darts, quicken'd his pace,
And multiplied destruction on mankind.
First ENVY, eldeft-born of Hell, embrued
Her hands in blood, and taught the Sons of
Men

To make a Death which Nature never made,
And Godabhorr'd; with violence rude to break
The thread of life ere half its length was run,
And rob a wretched brother of his being.
With joy Ambition saw, and foon improv'd
The execrable deed. 'Twas not enough
By fubtle fraud to fnatch a fingle life,
Puny impiety! whole kingdoms fell
To late the lutt of power: more horrid ftill,
The fouleft ftain and scandal of our nature

Safe glides his little bark along the fhore
Where virtue takes her stand; but if too far
He launches forth beyond difcretion's mark,
Sudden the tempeft icowls, the furges roar,
Blot his fair day, and plunge him in the deep.
O fad but fure mifchance! O happier far
To lie like gallant Howe 'midft Indian wilds
A breathless corfe, cut off by favage hands
In earliest prime, a generous facrifice
To Freedom's holy caufe; than fo to fall
Torn immature from life's meridian joys,
A prey to Vice, Intemp'rance, and Difeafe.

Yet die ev'n thus, thus rather perish still,
Ye Sons of Pleafure, by th` Almighty ftrick'n,
Than ever dare (though oft, alas! ye dare)
To lift against yourfelves the murd'rous steel,
To wrest from GOD's own hand the sword of

Justice

And be your own avengers! Hold, rash Man,
Though with anticipating speed thou`it rang'd
Through every region of delight, nor left
One joy to gild the evening of thy days;

Became its boat. One Murder made a Villain,Though life feem one uncomfortable void,

Millions a Hero. Princes were privileg'd
To kill, and numbers fan&tified the crime.
Ah! why will Kings forget that they are Men?
And Men that they are brethren? Why delight
In human facrifice? Why burt the ties
Of Nature, that thould knit their fouls together
In one foft bond of amity and love?
Yet ftill they breathe deftruction, till go on
Inhumanly ingenious to find out
New pains for life, new terrors for the grave,
Artificers of Death! Still Monarchs dream
Of univerfal empire growing up
From univerfal ruin. Blast the defign, [fall
GREAT GOD OF HOSTS, nor let thy creatures
Unpitied victims at Ambition's fhrine !

Yet fay, should Tyrants learn at last to feel,
And the loud din of battle ceafe to bray;
Should dove-ey'd Peace o'er all the earth extend
Her olive branch, and give the world repose,
Would Death be foil'd? Would health, and

ftrength, and youth

Defy his power? Has he no arts in ftore,
No other hafts fave those of war? Alas!
Ev'n in the fmile of Peace, that smile which
fheds

A heav'nly funfhine o'er the foul, there basks
That ferpent Luxury. War its thousands flays,

Guilt at thy heels, before thy face despair;
Yet gay this fcene, and light this load of woe,
Compar'd with thy hereafter. Think, O think,
And, ere thou plunge into the valt abyss,
Paute on the verge a while, look down and see
Thy future manlion. Why that start of horror?
From thy flack hand why drops th' uplifted
fteel?

Didit thou not think fuch vengeance must await
The wretch that with his crimes all fresh about
Rushes irreverent, unprepar'd, uncall'd, [him
Into his Maker's prefence, throwing back
With infolent difdain his choiceft gift? [life,

Live then, while Heav'n in pity lends thee
And think it all too short to wash away
By penitential tears and deep contrition
The Scarlet of thy crimes. So fhalt thou find
Reft to thy foul, fo unappall'd fhalt meet
Death when he comes, not wantonly invite
His ling'ring ftroke. Be it thy fole concern
With innocence to live, with patience wait
Th' appointed hour; too soon that hour will
come,

Tho' Nature run her courfe. But Nature's God,
If need require, by thousand various ways,
Without thy aid, can fhorten that short span,
And quench the lamp of life. O when he comes,

Pous

Rous'd by the cry of wickedness extreme
To Heav'n ascending from some guilty land,
Now ripe for vengeance; when he comes ar-
In all the terrors of Almighty wrath; [ray'd
Forth from his bofom plucks his ling'ring arm,
And on the miscreants pours deftruction down,
Who can abide his coming? Who can bear
His whole difpleafure? In no common form
Death then appears, but starting into fize
Enormous measures with gigantic ftride
Th`aftonish'd Earth, and from his looks throws
Unutterable horror and difmay. [round

All nature lends her aid. Each Element
Arms in his cause. Ope fly the doors of Heav'n;
The fountains of the deep their barriers break;
Above, below, the rival torrents pour,
And drown Creation; or in floods of fire
Defcends a living cataract, and confumes
An impious race. Sometimes, when all feems
[brace
Wakes the grim whirlwind, and with rude em-
Sweeps nations to their grave, or in the deep
Whelms the proud wooden world; full many
a youth

peace,

Floats on his wat'ry bier, or lies unwept
On fome fad defert fhore! At dead of night
In fudden filence ftalks forth PESTILENCE:
CONTAGION close behind taints all her steps
With pois'nous dew; no fmiting hand is feen,
No found is heard, but foon her fecret path
Is mark'd with defolation; heaps on heaps
Promifcuous drop. No friend, no refuge near;
All, all, is falfe and treacherous around,
All that they touch or tafte, or breathe, is
DEATH.
[fail

But ah! what means that ruinous roar? why
Thefe tott'ring feet? Earth to its centre feels
The Godhead's power, and trembling at his
Through all its pillars, and in ev'ry pore, [touch
Hurls to the ground with one convulfive heave
Precipitating domes, and towns, and tow'rs,
The work of ages. Crush'd beneath the weight
Of gen'ral devaftation, millions find
One common grave; not ev'n a widow left
To wail her fons: the house, that should protect,
Entombs its mafter; and the faithless plain,
If there he flies for help, with sudden yawn
Starts from beneath hin. Shield me, gracious
Heav'n,

O fnatch me from deftruction! If this Globe, This folid Globe, which thine own hand hath made

So firm and fure, if this my steps betray;
If my own mother Earth from whence I fprang
Rife up with rage unnatural to devour

Her wretched offspring, whither shall I fly ?
Where look for fuccour? Where, but up to

And at that hour when all aghaft I stand
(A trembling candidate for thy compaffion)
On this World's brink, and look into the next;
When my soul starting from the dark unknown
Cafts back a wishful look, and fondly clings
To her frail prop; unwilling to be wrench'd
From this fair fcene, from all her custom'd joys,
And all the lovely relatives of life;
Then fhed thy comforts o'er me, then put on
The gentleft of thy looks. Let no dark crimes,
In all their hideous forms then starting up,
Plant themselves round my couch in grim array,
And ftab my bleeding heart with two edg'd
torture,

Senfe of paft guilt, and dread of future woe.
Far be the ghaftly crew! And in their stead
Let chearful Memory from her pureft cells
Lead forth a goodly train of Virtues fair
Cherish'd in earliest youth, now paying back
With tenfold ufury the pious care,
And pouring o'er my wounds the heav'nly balin
Of conscious innocence. But chiefly, THOU,
Whom foft-ey'd Pity once led down from

Heav'n

Some flee the city, fome the hermitage;
Their aims as various as the roads they take
In journeying through life; the talk be mine
To paint the gloomy horrors of the tomb;
Th' appointed place of rendezvous, where all
Thefe trav'llers meet. Thy fuccours I implore,
Eternal King! whofe potent arm fuftains
The keys of hell and death. The Grave,

[pell'd

dread thing! Men fhiver when thou'rt nam'd; Nature apShakes off her wonted firmness. Ah! how dark

Thy long-extended realms, and rueful waftes Where nought but filence reigns, and night, dark night,

Dark as was Chaos ere the infant fun Was roil'd together, or had tried its beams Athwart the gloom profound! The fickly taper, By glimm'ring thro' thy low-brow'd misty vaults, [lime,

Furr'd round with mouldy damps, and ropy Lets fall a fupernumerary horror, [fome. And only serves to make thy night more irkWell do I know thee by thy trufty yew, Chearless,

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