Their lot forbade';a nor circumscribed alone'

Their growing virtues', but their crimes confined';
Forbadea to wade through slaughter to a throne',

And shut the gates of mercy on mankind':
The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide',

To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame';
Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride',

With incense kindled at the muse's flame'. Far from the madd’ning crowd's ignoble strife',

Their sober wishes never learned to stray'; Along the cool', sequestered vale of life',

They kept the noiseless tenour of their way'. Yet even these bones', from insult to protect',

Some frail memorial still erected nigh', With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculptureb decked',

Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. Their name', their years', spelled by th’unlettered muse,

The place of fame and elegy supply'; And many a holy text around she strews',c

That teach* the rustick moralist to die. For who', to dumb forgetfulness a prey',

This pleasing', anxious being e'erd resigned'; Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day',

Nor cast one longing', ling'ring look behind'? On some fond breast the parting soul relies';

Some pious drops the closing eye requires';
Even from the tomb the voice of naturee cries',

Even in our ashes live their wonted fires'.
For thee', who', mindful of the unhonoured dead',

Dost in these lines their artless tale relate',
If chance', by lonely contemplation led',

Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate'; Haply some hoary-headed swain may say',

“Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn', Brushing with hasty step the dews away',

To meet the sun upon the upland lawn'. There at the foot of yonder nodding beech',

That wreathes its old fantastick roots so high', His listless length at noontide would he stretch',

And pore upon the brook that babbles by'.

Hard by yon wood', now smiling', as in scorn',

Mutt'ring his wayward fancies he would rove':
Now drooping, woful', wan', like one forlorn',

Or crazed with care', or crossed in hopeless love'.
One morn I missed him on th'accustomed hill',

Along the heath', and near his fav’ritea tree';
Another came'; nor yet beside the rill',

Nor up the lawn', nor at the wood'.. was he'.
The next', with dirges due', in sad array',

Slow through the churchway path we saw him borne';
Approach and read' (for thou canst read') the lay',

'Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn'."

THE EPITAPH.

Here rests his head upon the lap of earth',

A youth to fortune', and to fame unknown';
Fair science frowned not on his humbled birth',

And melancholy marked him for her own'.
Large was his bounty', and his soul', sincere':

Heaven did a recompense as largely send'.
He gave to misery all he had'-a têar',

He gained from heaven' ('twas all he wished') a friend'.
No farther seek his merits to disclose',

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode';
(There they', alike', in trembling hope repose ';)

The bosom of his Father and his God'.

SECTION XXV.

Stanzas.—DR. PERCIVAL.
My heart was a mirror, that showed every treasuree
Of beauty and loveliness life can display;
It reflected each beautiful blossom of pleasure,
But turned from the dark looks of bigots away;
It was living and moving with loveliest of creatures,
In smiles or in tears as the soft spirits chose;
Now, shining with brightest and ruddiest features,
Now, pale as the snow of the dwarf mountain rose.
But the winds and the storms broke the mirror, and severed
Full many a beautiful angel in twain;
And the tempest raged on till the fragments were shivered,

And scattered, like dust that rolls over the plain :
Få'vůr-it. bFör'tshủne-not, tshủn. Sl'ense-not, st'unse. Un'bl
Trèzh'àre. Plezh'úre--not, plézh'er.

One piece which the storm in its madness neglected,
Away on the wings of the whirlwind to bear,
One fragment was left, and that fragment reflected
All the beauty that Mary threw carelessly there.

OUR Eagle shall rise 'mid the whirlwinds of war,
And dart through the dun cloud of battle his eye;
Shall spread his wide wings o'er the tempest afar,
O'er spirits of valour that conquer or die.
And ne'era shall the rage of the conflict be o'er,
And ne'era shall the warm blood of life cease to flow,
And still 'mid the smoke of the battle shall soar
Our Eagle--till scattered and fled be the foe:
When peace shall disarm war's dark brow of its frown,
And roses shall bloom on the soldier's rude grave,
Then honour shall weave of the laurel a crown
That beauty shall bind on the brow of the brave.

Nåre.

23

CHAPTER IV.

PROMISCUOUS PIECES.

SECTION I.

Dedications.-LORD Bacon. The dedication of books to patrons'," in this age', is not to be commended'; for such books as are worthy of the name', ought to have no patrons but truth and reason'. The ancienti custom was', to dedicate them only to private and equal friends', or to entitle them with a friend's name'; or', if dedi. cated to kings or great personages', it was to those only to whose talents and taste the argument of the work was peculiarly suited'.

I would not be understood', however', as condemning the applications of the learned to men of fortune', when the occasion renders it proper and expedient'. The answer of Diogenese was just, who', when asked', tauntingly', · How is came to pass that philosopherse were the followers of rich men', and not rich men', of philosophers'," replied', soberly', and yet', sharply'; “Because philosopherse know what they need'; but rich men do not'."

Equally pointed was the following reply of Aristippus'. On presenting a petition to Dionysius without being able to gain his attention', he fell down at his feet'; whereupon Dionysius was prevailed on to give him a hearing', and to grant his request'. But afterward', some one over-sensitive for the reputation of philosophy', reproved Aristippus for having offered so great an indignity to his profession', as for a philosopher to fall at a tyrant's feet':-to whom Aristippus replied, “ It is not my fault', sir', but the fault of Dionysius', that he has his ears in his feet'." Nor was it accounted weakness', but discretion', in him who excused himself for not disputing a point with Adrianus Cesar', by saying', “It is the dictate of reason to yield the argument to one who commands thirty legions'.” These and the like instances of yielding to the force of cir. cumstances', and of stooping to points of necessity and convenience', are to be accounted submissions', not to the person, but to the occasion'.

SECTION II.

Reflections on Westminster Abbey.-ADDISON. WHEN I am in a serious humour', I very often walk by myself in Westminster Abbey'; where the gloominess of the place', and the use to which it is applied', together with the solemnity of the building', and the condition of the people who lie in it, are apt to fill the mind with a kind of melancholy', or', rather', thoughtfulness', that is not disagreeable'. Yesterday I passed a whole afternoon in the church-yard', the cloisters', and the church', amusing myself with the tombstones and inscriptions which I met with in those several regions of the dead'. Most of them record nothing else of the buried person', but that he was born on one day', and died on another'; two circumstances that are common to all mankind'. I could not but look upon those registers of existence'," whether of brass or marble', as a kind of satire upon the departed persons', who had left no other memorial of themselves', than', that they were born', and that they died'.

Upon my going into the church', I entertained myself with the digging of a grave', and saw', in every shovelful of it that was thrown up', the fragment of a bone or scull', intermixed with a kind of fresh', mouldering earth', which“, some time or other', had held a place in the composition of a human body'. Upon this', I began to consider with myself', what innumerable multitudes of people lay confused together under the pavement of that anciento cathedral'; how men and women', friends' and enemies', priests' and soldiers', monks' and prebendaries', were crumbled among one another', and blended together in the same common mass'; -how beauty', strength', and youth', with old age', weakness', and deformity', lay undistinguished in the same promiscuous heap of matter!

After having thus surveyed this great magazine of mortality', as it were', in the lump', I examined it more particularly by the accounts which I found on several of the monuments',

•Eg-zist'ense—not, unse. bPåve'mènt. càne'tshènt-not, ån' shunt. Wér. Món'ů-ments-not, munts."..