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Are swift as Care--that monster leaves behind The' aerial courser and the fleeter wind; Through every clime performs a constant part, And sheaths its painful daggers in the heart.
Ah! why should man an idle game pursue, To future may-bes stretch the distant view? May more exalted thoughts our hours employ, And wisely strive to taste the present joy: Life's an inconstant sea—the prudent ply With every oar to' improve the auspicious sky: But if black clouds the
heavens deform, A cheerful mind will sweeten every storm. Though fools expect their joys to flow sincere, Yet none can boast eternal sunshine here.
The youthful chief, that like a summer flower Shines a whole life in one precarious hour, Impatient of restraint, demands the fight, While painted triumphs swim before his sight. Forbear, brave youth! thy bold designs give o'er, Ere the next morn shall dawn thou 'lt be no more; Invidious death shall blast thy opening bloom, Scarce blown, thou fadest; scarce born, thou
meetst a tomb. What though, my friend, the young are swept
away, Untimely cropp'd in the proud blaze of day; Yet when life's spring on purple wings is flown, And the brisk food a noisome puddle grown; When the dark eye shall roll its orb for light, And the rollid orb confess impervious night; When once untuned the ear's contorted cell, The silver cords unbrace the sounding shell ; Thy sickening soul no more a joy shall find, Music no more shall stay thy labouring mind.
The breathing canvass glows in vain for thee,
Then why thus fond to draw superfluous breath,
easy fortune, and a cheerful heart;
READER, approach my urn- -thou needst not fear
[explore; Though young, though gay, this scene of death Alas! the
is now no more!
ON ROBERT CLAVERING, M. B. Oh! come, who know the childless parent's sigh, The bleeding bosom, and the streaming eye; Who feel the wounds a dying friend imparts, When the last pang divides two social hearts. This weeping marble claims the generous tear, Here lies the friend, the son, and all that's dear.
He fell full blossom’d in the pride of youth, The nobler pride of science, worth, and truth. Calm and serene he view'd his mouldering clay, Nor fear'd to go, nor fondly wish'd to stay: And when the king of terrors he descried, Kiss'd the stern mandate, bow'd his head, and died.
ON COLONEL GARDINER:
WHO WAS SLAIN IN THE BATTLE OF PRESTON PANS,
While fainter merit asks the powers of verse, Our faithful line shall Gardiner's worth rehearse. The bleeding hero and the martyr'd saint Transcends the poet's pen, the herald's paint. His the best path to fame that e'er was trod, And surely his-a glorious road to God.
ON MR. SIBLEY,
Here lies an honest man! without pretence
· These be his honours!' honours that disclaim The blazon’d scutcheon, and the herald's fame! Honours! which boast defiance to the grave, Where (spite of Anstis) rots the garter'd knave.
ON A LADY,
WHO HAD LABOURED UNDER A CANCER.
STRANGER, these dear remains contain'd a mind
gave her willing heart to God! Because she trusted in her Saviour's power, Hence firm and fearless in the dying hour!
No venal Muse this faithful picture draws; Bless'd saint! desert like yours extorts applause. Oh! let a weeping friend discharge his due; His debt to worth, to excellence, and you !
ON MR. THOMAS STRONG;
WHO DIED ON THE 26TH OF DECEMBER, 1736.
When ask'd to whom these lovely truths belong, Thy friends shall answer, weeping, Here lies