Raves round the walls of her clay tenement; Runs to each avenue, and fhrieks for help; But fhrieks in vain! How wifhfully the looks • On all the's leaving, now no longer her's! A little longer; yet a little longer;
O might she stay to wash away her stains; And fit her for her paffage! Mournful fight! Her very eyes weep blood; and ev'ry groan She heaves is big with horror. But the foe, Like a staunch murd 'rer, fteady to his purpose, Purfues her close thro ev'ry lane of life; Nor miffes once the track, but preffes on, Till, forced at laft to the tremendous verge, At once the finks to everlasting ruin.
SECTION IV.
Elegy to Pity.
HAIL, lovely pow'r whose bosom heaves the figh, When fancy paints the fcene of deep diftrefs;
Wh ofe tears fpontaneous cryftallize the eye,
When rigid fate denies the pow'r to blefs.
Not all the fweets Arabia's gales convey
From flow'ry meads, can with that figh compare ; Not dew drops glitt'ring in the morning ray, Seem near fo beauteous as that falling tear.
Devoid of fear, the fawns around thee play; Emblem of peace, the dove before thee flies; No blood stained traces mark thy blameless way; Beneath thy feet no hapless infect dies.
Come lovely nymph, and range the mead with me, To ring the partridge from the guileful foe; From fecret inares the ftruggling bird to free; And ftop the hand upraised to give the blow. And when the air with heat meridian glows,
And nature droops beneath the conquering gleam, Let us, flow wandering where the current flows, Save finking flies that oat along the ftream. Or turn to nobler, greater tasks thy care, To me thy fympathetic gifts impart ;
Teach me in friendship's griefs to bear a fhare, And justly boast the gen'rous feeling heart. Teach me to footh the helpless orphan's grief; With timely aid the widow's woes affuage; To mis'ry's moving cries to yield relief;
And be the fure refource of drooping age. So when the genial fpring of life shall fade, And finking nature own the dread decay, Some foul congenial then may lend its aid, And gild the clofe of life's eventful day.
Verses supposed to be written by Alex. Selkirk, during his Solitary abode in the Island of Juan Fernandez.
I AM monarch of all I furvey,
My right there is none to dispute; From the centre all round to the fea, I am lord of the fowl and the brute. Oh folitude! where are the charms, That fages have feen in thy face? Better dwell in the midst of alarms, Than reign in this horrible place. I am out of humanity's reach,
I must finish my journey alone; Never hear the fweet mufic of speech; I ftart at the found of my own. The beasts that roam over the plain, My form with indifference fee, They are fo unacquainted with man, Their tameness is shocking to me. Society, friendship, and love,
Divinely beftowed upon man, Oh had I the wings of a dove, How foon would I tafte you again! My forrows I then might affuage In the ways of religion and truth; Might learn from the wisdom of
And be cheered by the fallies of youth.
Religion what treafure untold Refides in that heav'nly word! W
More precious than filver or gold,
Of all that this earth can afford. But the found of the church going bell These vallies and rocks never heard; Ne'er fighed at the found of a knell, Or fmiled when a fabbath appeared. Ye winds that have made me your sport, Convey to this defolate fhore, Some cordial endearing report
Of a land I fhall vifit no more. My friends, do they now and then fend A wish or a thought after me? O tell me I yet have a friend, Though a friend I am never to fee. How fleet is a glance of the mind! Compared with the speed of its flight, The tempeft itself lags behind,
And the swift winged arrows of light, When I think of my own native land, In a moment I feem to be there; But, alas recollection at hand
Soon hurries me back to defpair. But the fea fowl is gone to her neft The beaft is laid down in his lair; E'en here is a feafon of reft, And I to my cabin repair. There's mercy in ev'ry place;
And mercy; encouraging thought! Gives even affection a grace,
And reconciles man to his lot.
WHEN all thy mercies, O my God!
My rifing foul furveys,
Tranfported with the view, I'm loft
In wonder, love, and praise.
O how all words, with equal warmth, The gratitude declare,
That glows within my ravished heart? But thou canst read it there,
Thy Providence my life fuftained, And all my wants redrest, When in the filent womb I lay, And hung upon the breast.
To all my weak complaints and cries, Thy mercy lent an ear,
Ere yet my feeble thoughts had learnt To form themselves in pray'r. Unnumbered comforts to my foul Thy tender care beftowed, Before my infant heart conceived From whom thofe comforts flowed. When, in the flipp'ry paths of youth, With heedless steps, I ran, Thine arm, unfeen, conveyed me fafe, And led me up to man.
Through hidden dangers, toils and deaths, It gently cleared my way:
And through the pleasing fnares of vice, More to be feared than they.
When worn with fickness, oft haft thou, With health renewed my face, And, when in fins and forrows funk, Revived my foul with grace.
Thy bounteous hand, with worldly blifs, Has made my cup run o'er; And, in a kind and faithful friend, Has doubled all my ftore.
Ten thousand thousand precious gifts My daily thanks employ; Nor is the leaft, a cheerful heart, That taftes thofe gifts with joy.
Through ev'ry period of my life, Thy goodness I'll purfue; And, after death, in diftant worlds,
The glorious theme renew.
When nature fails, and day and night
Divide thy works no more,
My ever grateful heart, O Lord! Thy mercy fhall adore.
Through all eternity, to thee A joyful fong I'll raife, For O! eternity's too short To utter all thy praise.
A Man perishing in the Snow; from whence Reflections are raised on the Miseries of Life.
AS THUS the fnows arife; and foul and fierce, All winter drives along the darken'd air ; In his own loofe revolving field, the swain Difafter'd ftands; fees other hills afcend, Of unknown joylefs brow; and other scenes, Of horrid profpect, fhag the trackless plain ; Nor finds the river, nor the forest, hid Beneath the formlefs wild; but wanders on From hill to dale, ftill more and more astray; Impatient flouncing through the drifted heaps, Stung with the thoughts of home; the thoughts of home Rush on his nerves, and call their vigour forth In many a vain attempt. How finks his foul ! What black defpair, what horror fills his heart! When for the dufky fpot, which fancy feign'd His tufted cottage rifing through the fnow, He meets the roughnefs of the middle wafte, Far from the track and bleft abode of man ; While round him night refiftlefs clofes faft, And ev'ry tempeft howling o'er his head, Renders the favage wildernefs more wild. Then throng the bufy fhapes into his mind, Of cover'd pits, unfathomably deep, A dire defcent beyond the power of froft! Of faithlefs bogs; of precipices huge,
Smooth'd up with fnow; and what is land, unknown. What water, of the still unfrozen fpring,
In the loofe marfh or folitary lake,
Where the fresh fountain from the bottom boils,
These check his fearful fteps; and down he finks Beneath the fhelter of the fhapeless drift, Thinking o'er all the bitterness of death,
Mix'd with the tender anguifh nature shoots 'Through the wrung bofom of the dying man,
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