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XXI.

DEATH.

E who hath bent him o'er the dead Ere the first day of death is fled, The firft dark day of nothingness, The laft of danger and diftrefs, (Before decay's effacing fingers Have fwept the lines where Beauty lingers), And marked the mild angelic air,

The rapture of repofe that's there,

The fixed yet tender traits that streak
The languor of that placid cheek,—
And, but for that fad fhrouded

[graphic]

eye,

That fires not, wins not, weeps not, now,
And but for that chill, changeless brow,
Where cold obftruction's apathy

Appals the gazing mourner's heart,
As if to him it could impart

The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon;
Yes, but for thefe and thefe alone,

Some moments, aye, one treacherous hour,
He ftill might doubt the tyrant's power;
So fair, fo calm, fo foftly fealed,

The firft, laft look by death revealed.

BYRON.

XXII.

DEATH.

ITAL fpark of Heavenly flame,
Quit, oh, quit this mortal frame,
Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying,
O, the pain, the blifs of dying!
Ceafe, fond nature, cease thy ftrife,
And let me languish into life.

[graphic]

Hark they whisper; Angels fay,
"Sifter Spirit, come away!"
What is this abforbs me quite ?
Steals my fenfes, fhuts my fight?
Drowns my spirit, draws my breath?
Tell me, my foul, can this be death?

The world recedes; it difappears;
Heaven opens on my eyes; my ears
With founds feraphic ring;

Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly!
O Grave! where is thy victory?
O Death! where is thy fting?

POPE.

:

XXIII.

DEATH.

[graphic]

HICH is the happiest death to die?
"Oh!" faid one, "if I might choose,
Long at the gate of blifs would I lie
And feast my fpirit, ere it fly,

With bright celestial views.

Mine were a lingering death without pain,
A death which all might love to fee;

And mark how bright and fweet would be
The victory I should gain.

"Fain would I catch a hymn of love
From the angels' harps which ring above;
And fing it, as my parting breath
Quivered and expired in death;
So that those on earth might hear
The harp-notes of another sphere,
And mark, when nature faints and dies,
What springs of heavenly life arise,
And gather, from the death they view,
A ray of hope to light them through,
When they should be departing too."

"No," faid another; "fo not I;
Sudden as thought is the death I would die ;
I would fuddenly lay my fhackles by,
Nor bear a fingle pang at parting,
Nor fee the tear of forrow ftarting;

e;

Nor hear the quivering lips that bless me,
Nor feel the hands of love that press me,
Nor the frame with mortal terror shaking,
Nor the heart where love's foft bands are breaking.

"So would I die

All blifs without a pang to cloud it,
All joy without a pain to shroud it;
Not flain, but caught up, as it were,
To meet my Saviour in the air;
So would I die.

Oh! how bright were the realms of light,
Bursting at once upon my fight;

Even fo, I long to go,—

These parting hours how fad and flow!"

His voice grew weak, and fixed was his eye,
As if gazing on vifions of ecstasy;

The hue of his cheek and lips decayed,
Around his mouth a sweet smile played –
They looked-he was dead!

His fpirit had fled :

Painless and swift as his own defire,

The foul undreffed from her mortal veft,
And stepped in her car of heavenly fire;

And proved how bright

Were the realms of light,

Bursting at once upon the fight!

EDMESTON.

XXIV.

MAN.

OW poor, how rich, how abject, how auguft,

How complicate, how wonderful is

[graphic]

man!

How paffing wonder He who made
him fuch!

Who centred in our make fuch ftrange extremes!
From different natures, marvellously mixed,
Connexion exquifite of diftant worlds!
Diftinguished link in being's endlefs chain!
Midway from nothing to the Deity!
A beam ethereal, fullied and abforbed!
Though fullied and difhonoured, ftill divine!
Dim miniature of greatness abfolute !
An heir of glory! a frail child of duft!
Helpless immortal! infect infinite!

A worm! a god!-I tremble at myself,
And in myself am loft. At home, a stranger,
Thought wanders up and down, furprised, aghaft,
And wondering at her own. How reafon reels!
O what a miracle to man is man!

Triumphantly diftreffed! what joy! what dread!
Alternately transported and alarmed!

What can preserve my life? or what destroy?
An angel's arm can't fnatch me from the grave;
Legions of angels can't confine me there.

YOUNG.

L

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