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Where in th' intoxicating draught conceald,
Or couch'd beneath the glance of lawless love,
He snares the simple youth, who nought suspecting
Means to be blest-but finds himself undone.

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.
O sad but sure mischance! O happier far
To lie like gallant Howe 'midst Indian wilds
A breathless corse, cut off by savage hands
In earliest prime, a generous sacrifice
To fredom's holy cause ; than so to fall,
Torn immature from life's meridian joys,
A prey to Vice, Intemp'rance, and Disease,

Yet die ev'n thus, thus rather perish still, Ye sons of Pleasure, by the Almighty strick'n, Than ever dare (though oft alas! ye dare) To lift against yourselves 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'st rang'd Through okery region of delight, nor left One joy to gild the evening of thy days; Though life seem one uncomfortable void, Guilt at thy heels, before thy face despair; Yet gay this scene, and light this load of woe Compar'd with thy hereafter. Think, think

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And, ere thou plunge into the vast abyss,
Pause on the verge a while: look down and see
Thy future mansion. Why that start of horror?
From thy slack hand why drops the uplifted steel?
Didst thou not think such vengeance must await
The wretch, that with his crimes all fresh about him
Rushes irreverant, unprepar'd, uncallid,
Into his Maker's presence, throwing back
With insolent disdain, his choicest gift?

Live then, while Heav'n in pity lends thee life,
And think it all too short to wash away,
By penitential tears and deep contrition,
The scarlet of thy crimes. So shalt thou find
Rest to thy soul; so unappallid shall meet
Death when he comes, not wantonly invite
His ling'ring stroke. Ee it thy sole concern
With innocence to live : with patience wait
Th' appointed hour: too soon that hour will come,
Tho' nature run her course. But nature's God,
If need require, by thousand various ways,
Without thy aid, can shorten that short span,
And quench the lamp of life. O when he comes,
Rous'd by the cry of wickedness extreme,
To heav'n ascending from some guilty land,
Now ripe for vengeance; when he comes array'd
In all the terrors of almighty wrath,
Forth from his bosom plucks his ling'ring arm,
And on the miscreants pouss destruction down;
Who can abide his coming? who can bear
His whole displeasure? In no common form
Death then appears, but starting into size
Enormous; measures with gigantic stride

Th' astonish'd Earth, and from his looks throws round
Unutterable horror and dismay.
All nature lends her aid. Each element
Arms in his cause. Ope fly the doors of Heav'ns
The fountains of the deep their barriers break;
Above, below, the rival torrents pour,
And drown Creation; or in floods of fire
Descends a livid cataract, and consumes
An impious race.

Sometimes, when all seems peace,
Wakes the grim whirlwind, and with rude embrace
Sweeps nations to their grave, or in the deep
Whelms the proud wooden world; full many a youth
Floats on his wat'ry bier, or lies unwept
On some sad desert shote! 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.

But ah! what means that ruinous roar? why fail
These toti’ring feet? Earth to its centre feels
The Godhead's power, and trembling at his touch
Through all its pillars, and in every pore,
Hurls to the ground, with one convulsive heave,
Precipitating domes, and towns, and tow'rs,
The work of ages. Crush'd beneath the weight
Of

gen'ral devastation, millions find
One common grave; not ev'n a widow left
To wail her sons: the house, that should protect,

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Entombs its master; and the faithless plain,
If there he lies for help, with sudden yawn
Starts from beneath him. Shield me, gracious Heav'n,
O snatch me from destruction! If this globe,
This solid globe, which thine own hand hath made
So film and sure, if this my steps betray;
If my own mother Earth, from whence I sprung
Rise up with rage unnatural to devour
Her wretched offspring, whither shall I fly?
Where look for succour? Where, but up to thee,
Almighty Father? Save, O save, thy suppliant
From horrors such as these! 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. O rather lend
Thy kindly aid to mitigate his stroke;
And at that hour when all aghast I stand
(A trembling candidate for thy compassion)
On this world's brink, and look into the next;
When my soul, starting from the dark unknown,
Casts back a wishful look, and fondly clings
To her frail prop, unwilling to be wrench'd
From this fair scene, from all her custoin'd joys,
And all the lovely relatives of life;
Then shed thy comforts o'er me, then put on
The gentlest of thy looks. Let no dark crimes,
In all their hideous forms then starting up,
Plant themselves round my couch in grim array,
And stab my bleeding heart with two-edg'd torture,
Sense of past guilt, and dread of future woe,
Far be the ghastly crew! And in their stead
Let cheerful Memory from her purest cells

Lead forth'a goodly train of Virtues fair,
Cherish'd in earliest youth, now paying back
With tenfold usury the pious care,
And pouring o'er my wounds 'the heav'nly balm
Of conscious innocence. But chiefly, Thou,
Whom soft-eyed Pity once led down from Heav'n.
To bleed for man, to teach him how to live,
And, Oh! still harder lesson ; how to die;
Disdain not 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 Heav'n,
Bursts from the thraldrom of incumbering clay,
And on the wing of Ecstacy upborne,
Springs into Life, and Light, and Liberty.

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A SOLILOQUX

WRITTEN
IN A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD.

STRUCK

TRUCK with religious awe and solemn dreado
I view these gloomy mansions of the dead;
Around me tombs in mix'd disorder rise,
And in mute language teach me to be wise,
Time was these ashes liv'd; a tiine must be,
When others thus may stand and look at me.
Here, blended, lie the aged and the young,
The sich and poor, an indistinguish'd throng;

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