INSCRIBED TO A LADY .
Hail , lovely fair! for whom the pensive bard,
In mournful elegy attempts to sing,
Whose grief not reason's power can e'er retard,
Nor stem the source from whence those sorrows spring.
But say, my soul, is this humanely done,
Thus to encourage sorrow? no, 'tis wrong;
Such dire vindictive maxims should I shun,
And turn to reason's calmer strains my song.
Death is a tribute all things owe to fate,
Men at their births the fatal debt engage,
The penalty we pay or soon or late,
Since nought death's stern demand can e'er asswage.
The monarch like the subject is o'ercome,
At Death's unerring blow they mutual fall,
They rest congenial in the dreary tomb,
There both alike participate in all.
They who in life, in jarring enmity,
Employ'd their brooding minds with busy care,
Now in the grave with social union lie,
No more to mix with friends a civil war.
This is the common rendezvous for all,
Here all life's traveller's direct their way,
In slumbers here they wait th' eternall call,
To rouse them into never-setting day.
The rich, the poor, the coward and the brave,
The starving beggar and the vaunting beau,
Here in the rueful regions of the grave,
Alike one common entertainment know.
The haughty lord, in indolence supine,
Who long had gorg'd his paunch with dainty fare,
Is now compell'd his banquets to resign,
And yield to gnawing worms an equal share.
The vain coquet, who long with busy care,
At toilet oft employ'd her leisure hours,
Who strove, in spite of fate, to look more fair,
Her beauty now the groveling worm devours!
Ye dames of Britain, who with gaudy pride,
Your sole devotion in yourselves employ,
Lay all those transitory joys aside,
Since death will soon those fleeting charms destroy.
Beauty is but the blossom of our youth,
When age appears the alluring picture flies,
Then chuse the mental beauty, heav'n-ey'd truth,
With smiling innocence that never dies.
See, where the philosophic sage with pride,
Investigates new systems infinite,
Nor heav'n nor hell are from his fancy hid,
Till death — relentless death here ends his flight.
Tremendous apprehensions! how I shrink!
When thus eternity's dark scenes I scan,
On death, on heav'n, on hell — on all to think!
The thought is God's, too weighty far for man.
How swift we sweep thro' this our fleeting course,
Life's passage, ah! how short — dread death how nigh!
And yet we seem the passage to enforce,
As tho' we were afraid we ne'er should die.
Mankind is still complaining life is short,
And yet accelerate their journey hence!
Maturity they seek, old age they court,
When age attain'd they're wishing to be thence.
Oh! that mankind would practise well their time,
Exert the present moment they enjoy,
To rear the mind to sentiments sublime,
Nor thus a life in vanity employ.
Time unperceiv'd moves on with swiftest pace,
Yet seems to move decripid with his age,
Behind him death appears with haggard face,
Stern hypocrite, obscur'd in friendly rage.
A general ravager, a wordly thief,
To swallow up whole thousands at a meal,
Inflexible to weakness or to grief,
Will nought to move thy stubborn arm prevail.
Thy storehouse is the grave, there, there appears,
Th' inglorious conquest thou thro' time has made!
The whole production of six thousand years,
Is now by thee in dark oblivion laid.
Yet know, thy pow'r and empire here must end,
When C HRIST shall come to judge this nether ball,
With sounding trump, shall Heav'n's high concave rend,
And from their beds dull slumb'ring mortals call.
Then shall they spurn thy bonds, and swiftly fly,
Exulting thro' the bright etherial way,
To hail their Saviour in a happier sky,
And live with him in never setting day!
Hail , lovely fair! for whom the pensive bard,
In mournful elegy attempts to sing,
Whose grief not reason's power can e'er retard,
Nor stem the source from whence those sorrows spring.
But say, my soul, is this humanely done,
Thus to encourage sorrow? no, 'tis wrong;
Such dire vindictive maxims should I shun,
And turn to reason's calmer strains my song.
Death is a tribute all things owe to fate,
Men at their births the fatal debt engage,
The penalty we pay or soon or late,
Since nought death's stern demand can e'er asswage.
The monarch like the subject is o'ercome,
At Death's unerring blow they mutual fall,
They rest congenial in the dreary tomb,
There both alike participate in all.
They who in life, in jarring enmity,
Employ'd their brooding minds with busy care,
Now in the grave with social union lie,
No more to mix with friends a civil war.
This is the common rendezvous for all,
Here all life's traveller's direct their way,
In slumbers here they wait th' eternall call,
To rouse them into never-setting day.
The rich, the poor, the coward and the brave,
The starving beggar and the vaunting beau,
Here in the rueful regions of the grave,
Alike one common entertainment know.
The haughty lord, in indolence supine,
Who long had gorg'd his paunch with dainty fare,
Is now compell'd his banquets to resign,
And yield to gnawing worms an equal share.
The vain coquet, who long with busy care,
At toilet oft employ'd her leisure hours,
Who strove, in spite of fate, to look more fair,
Her beauty now the groveling worm devours!
Ye dames of Britain, who with gaudy pride,
Your sole devotion in yourselves employ,
Lay all those transitory joys aside,
Since death will soon those fleeting charms destroy.
Beauty is but the blossom of our youth,
When age appears the alluring picture flies,
Then chuse the mental beauty, heav'n-ey'd truth,
With smiling innocence that never dies.
See, where the philosophic sage with pride,
Investigates new systems infinite,
Nor heav'n nor hell are from his fancy hid,
Till death — relentless death here ends his flight.
Tremendous apprehensions! how I shrink!
When thus eternity's dark scenes I scan,
On death, on heav'n, on hell — on all to think!
The thought is God's, too weighty far for man.
How swift we sweep thro' this our fleeting course,
Life's passage, ah! how short — dread death how nigh!
And yet we seem the passage to enforce,
As tho' we were afraid we ne'er should die.
Mankind is still complaining life is short,
And yet accelerate their journey hence!
Maturity they seek, old age they court,
When age attain'd they're wishing to be thence.
Oh! that mankind would practise well their time,
Exert the present moment they enjoy,
To rear the mind to sentiments sublime,
Nor thus a life in vanity employ.
Time unperceiv'd moves on with swiftest pace,
Yet seems to move decripid with his age,
Behind him death appears with haggard face,
Stern hypocrite, obscur'd in friendly rage.
A general ravager, a wordly thief,
To swallow up whole thousands at a meal,
Inflexible to weakness or to grief,
Will nought to move thy stubborn arm prevail.
Thy storehouse is the grave, there, there appears,
Th' inglorious conquest thou thro' time has made!
The whole production of six thousand years,
Is now by thee in dark oblivion laid.
Yet know, thy pow'r and empire here must end,
When C HRIST shall come to judge this nether ball,
With sounding trump, shall Heav'n's high concave rend,
And from their beds dull slumb'ring mortals call.
Then shall they spurn thy bonds, and swiftly fly,
Exulting thro' the bright etherial way,
To hail their Saviour in a happier sky,
And live with him in never setting day!