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Page 14 - Yet still they breathe destruction, still go on Inhumanly ingenious to find out New pains for life, new terrors for the grave, Artificers of Death ! Still Monarchs dream Of universal empire growing up From universal ruin. — Blast the design, Great God of Hosts, nor let Thy creatures fall Unpitied victims at Ambition's shrine...
Page 13 - God abhorr'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 soon improved The execrable deed. 'Twas not enough, By subtle Fraud, to snatch a single life, Puny impiety...
Page 21 - At thy good time Let Death approach ; I reck not — let him but come In genuine form, not with thy vengeance arm'd, Too much for man to bear.
Page 20 - At dead of night, In sullen silence stalks forth Pestilence : Contagion close behind taints all her steps With poisonous dew; no smiting hand is seen, No sound is heard ; but soon her secret path Is mark'd with desolation ; heaps on heaps Promiscuous drop: no friend, no refuge near! All, all, is false and treacherous around: All that they touch, or taste, or breathe, is Death.
Page 9 - Twixt him and death, the test of his obedience, Urg'd on by wanton curiosity, He broke. There in one moment was undone The fairest of God's works. The same rash hand That pluck'd in evil hour the fatal fruit, Unbarr'd the gates of Hell, and let loose Sin And Death, and all the family of Pain, To prey upon Mankind. Young Nature saw The monstrous crew, and shook thro
Page 23 - Thou to smooth the restless bed Of Sickness and of Pain. Forgive the tear That feeble Nature drops, calm all her fears, Wake all her hopes, and animate her faith, Till my rapt soul, anticipating...
Page 16 - Down the smooth stream of life the stripling darts, Gay as the morn ; bright glows the vernal sky, Hope swells his sails, and Passion steers his course. Safe glides his little bark along the shore, Where Virtue takes her stand : but if too far He launches forth beyond discretion's mark, Sudden the tempest scowls, the surges roar, Blot his fair day, and plunge him in the deep.
Page 5 - FRIEND to the wretch whom every friend forsakes, I woo thee, Death ! In fancy's fairy paths Let the gay songster rove, and gently trill The strain of empty joy.