THE MAN OF ROSS. -ALL our praises why should Lords engross ? Rise, honest Muse! and sing the Man of Ross: Pleas'd Vaga echoes through her winding bounds, And rapid Severn hoarse applause resounds. Who hung with woods yon mountain's sultry brow? From the dry rock who bade the waters flow? Not to the skies in useless columns tost, Health to the sick, and solace to the swain. Whose causeway parts the vale with shady rows? Whose seats the weary traveller repose? Who taught that Heav'n-directed spire to rise? ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF AN UNFORTUNATE LADY. WHAT beck'ning ghost, along the moon. light shade, Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade? 'Tis she !-but why that bleeding bosom gor'd? Why dimly gleams the visionary sword? Why bade ye else, ye pow'rs! her soul Above the vulgar flight of low desire? Ambition first sprung from your blest abodes, The glorious fault of angels and of gods: Thence to their images on earth it flows, And in the breasts of kings and heroes glows. Most souls, 'tis true, but peep out once an age, Dull sullen pris'ners in the body's cage: Dim lights of life, that burn a length of years Useless, unseen, as lamps in sepulchres; Like Eastern kings, a lazy state they keep, And, close confin'd to their own palace, sleep. From these perhaps (ere Nature bade her die) Fate snatch'd her early to the pitying sky. So flew the soul to its congenial place, But thou, false guardian of a charge too good, Thou, mean deserter of thy brother's blood! See on these ruby lips the trembling breath, These cheeks now fading at the blast of death. Cold is that breast which warmed the world before, And those love-darting eyes must roll no more. Thus, if Eternal justice rules the ball, Thus shall your wives, and thus your children fall: On all the line a sudden vengeance waits, And frequent hearses shall besiege your gates: There passengers shall stand, and point ing say (While the long fun'rals blacken all the way), Lo! these were they, whose souls the Furies steel'd, And curs'd with hearts unknowing how to yield. Thus unlamented pass the proud away, The gaze of fools, and pageant of a day! So perish all, whose breast ne'er learn'd to glow For others' good, or melt at others' wo. What can atone (O, ever-injur'd shade!) Thy fate unpitied, and thy rites unpaid? No friend's complaint, no kind domestic tear Pleas'd thy pale ghost, of grac'd thy mournful bier ; By foreign hands thy dying eyes were clos'd, By foreign hands thy decent limbs compos'd, By foreign hands thy humble grave adorn'd, By strangers honour'd, and by strangers mourn'd. What though no friends in sable weeds appear, Grieve for an hour, perhaps, then mourn a year, And bear about the mockery of wo To midnight dances, and the public show: What though no weeping Loves thy ashes grace, Nor polish'd marble emulate thy face; What though no sacred earth allow thee room, Nor hallow'd dirge be mutter'd o'er thy tomb; Yet shall thy grave with rising flow'rs be dress'd, And the green turf lie lightly on thy breast: There shall the morn her earliesters bestow, There the first roses of the year small blow: While angels with their silver wings o'ershade The ground, now sacred by thy relics made. So peaceful rests, without a stone, a If ever chance two wandering lovers A wit's a feather, and a chief's a rod; An honest man's the noblest work of God. brings To Paraclete's white walls and silver springs, O'er the pale marble shall they join their heads, And drink the falling tears each other sheds; Then sadly say, with mutual pity mov'd, "O may we never love as these have lov'd!" From the full choir, when loud hosannas And swell the pomp of dreadful sacrifice, Devotion's self shall steal a thought from One human tear shall drop, and be for- And sure if fate some future bard shall join In sad similitude of griefs to mine, Condemn'd whole years in absence to deplore, And image charms he must behold no more; Such if there be, who loves so long, so well; Let him our sad, our tender story tell! The well-sung woes will soothe my pensive ghost; He best can paint them who shall feel them most. Fame but from death a villain's name can save, As justice tears his body from the grave; Is hung on high to poison half mankind. the heart: One self-approving hour whole years out- Of stupid starers, and of loud huzzas ; THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO VITAL spark of heavenly flame! Hark! they whisper; angels say, Steals my senses, shuts my sight, The world recedes; it disappears! UJOSEPH ADDISON. 1672-1719.] FOR whereso'er I turn my ravished eyes, And still I seem to tread on classic ground; For here the muse so oft her harp has In midst of dangers, fears, and death, How are thy servants blest, oh Lord! In foreign realms and lands remote, And breathed the tainted air. Thy mercy sweetened every toil, Think, oh my soul, devoutly think, Confusion dwelt in every face, And humbly hope for more. My life, if thou preserv'st my life, Thy sacrifice shall be ; And death, if death must be my doom, AN ODE. THE spacious firmament on high, Th' unweary'd sun, from day to day, Soon as the evening shades prevail, What, though in solemn silence, all When waves on waves, and gulfs on gulfs, And utter forth a glorious voice; O'ercame the pilot's art. Yet then from all my griefs, O Lord, For, though in dreadful whirls we hung, I knew thou wert not slow to hear, The storm was laid, the winds retired Obedient to thy will; The sea, that roared at thy command, For ever singing, as they shine, PARAPHRASE OF PSALM XXIII When in the sultry glebe I faint, |