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“ 'Twas th'us, (by the glare of false sc'ience betrayed,
“ That le’ads, to bewi'lder ; and daz'zles, to bli’nd ;) “My thou’ghts wont to roa'm, from shade on'ward to sh’ade,
“ Destruction be'fore me, and s'orrow behin'd. “Opisty, (great Father of li'ght), then I cr'ied,
Thy cr’eature, (who fain would not wan'der from th’ee !) “ Lo, humbled in du'st, I relin quish my pri'de;
“ From dou'bt and from darʻkness/ thľou only/ canst free'. “ And darkness and dou'bt/ are now flying aw'ay;
“ No lon'ger I ro'am/ in conjecture forl'orn: “So breaks on the trav'eller, fai'nt, and astr'ay,
“ The bright and the balmy effu'lgence of mo'rn. “ See tr’uth, lo've, and mercy, in tri'umph descen'ding,
“ And na'ture (all glow'ing in E'den's first blo'om !) “On the cold ch'eek of deʻath/ sm'iles and ro'ses/ are ble’nding,
“ And beauty/ immoʻrtal/ awa'kes from the tom'b."
PICTURES OF THE GOOD PREACHER AND
* The inimitable author of " John Gilpin.” This accomplished scholar and poet, after dreadfully suffering from mental derangement, died in 1800, aged 68.
Ambitious of pref'erment for its goʻld,
Would I describe a pre’acher/ such as Pa’ul,
of/ direc't me. I would trace
In m'an or wo‘man, but far most in ma‘n,
There'fore/ avaunt all atti'tude ; and star'e,
So'me, (decent in demean'our, while they pre’ach,)
TO MARY IN HEAVEN.
That lovest to greet the early mo'rn,
My Ma'ry from my soʻul was toron.
O M'ary ! (dear/ departed sh’ade !)
Where is thy pla'ce of blissful res't ?
Hearest thou the gr'oans/ that re’nd his brea'st ?
Can I forget the ha'llowed gr'ove,
To live one day of parting lov'e !
Those records dear of transports p'ast !
Ah ! little thought we/ 'tw'as our la st!
O'erhung with wild woods, thickening gr'een ;
Twined amorous roʻund/ the raptured scen'e.
The bi°rds/ sung love' on every spray,
Proclaimed the spe'ed of winged day':
And fondly broo'ds, with miser ca’re ;
(As streams their cha'nnels deeper wea'r.
Where is thy blissful place of re'st ?
Hea'rest thou the gro'ans/ that re’nd his breas't ?
ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND.*
Dr. JOHNSON. NOTWITHSTANDING the wa'rnings of philo'sophers, and the da‘ily examples of los'ses and misfoʻrtunes/ which li'fe/ forces upon our observ'ation, such/ is the absorption of our thoʻughts) in the bu'siness of the pre-sent da'y, such the re
* This beautiful and pathetic paper was written on the death of the Doctor's venerable mother.
signa'tion of our rea'son/ to empty hopes of fu'ture felicity, or such our unwillingness/ to foresee what we dre’ad, that every calamity comes suddenly upo'n us, a’nd not only pre'sses us/ as a b'urthen, but crushes us/ as a blo‘w.
There are evils which happen out of the common course of na'ture, against whi’ch/ it is no reproach/ not to be provi'ded. A flash of lightning/ intercepts the tra'veller in his way; the concussion of an earthquake/ heaps the ruins of cit'ies upon their inna'bitants. But other miseries/ ti^me bri'ngs, (though s'ilently, yet vi`sibly forward/ by its even la'pse,) which yet approach us unse'en, because we turn our eyes aw'ay, and se'ize us, unresi'sted, because we could not arm ourselves again'st them, but/ by setting them/ befor'e us.
That it is vain/ to shrink from whʼat, cannot be avo'ided, and to hide thaạt from ourselves/ which must some time be foʻund, is a truth/ which we all kn'ow, but which a‘ll/ nego le ct; and/ perhaps none moʻre/ than the speculative resa. soner, whose thoughts are always from ho'me, whose e'ye/ wanders over life', whose faîncy/ dances after meteors of happiness kindled by its'elf, and who exa'mines/ every thing/ rather than his own-state.
No'thing/ is more e'vident, than that the decays of ag'e/ must terminate in de°ath; yet/ there is no m'an, (says Tu'lly) who does not belie've that he may yet live another ye’ar; and there is no ne/ who do'es not, (upon the same pr’inciple,) hope another year for his pa'rent or his friend : but, the fallacy will be in tim'el det'ected; the last year, the last da^y/ must c'ome. It ha's come, and is pas'sed. The life, which made my own life ple' asant/ is' at an eʼnd, and the gates of deaoth/ are shut upon my prospects.
The loss of a frie'nd, upon whom the he’art was fixed, tạo whom/ every wi’sh and every endea'vour te'nded, is a state of dreary desolation, in whi'ch/ the mind looks abr'oad/ impat'ient of itself, and finds not'hing/ but emp'tiness and hor':
The blaʼmeless life', the ar'tless ten'derness, the p'ious simpli city, the mo'dest resigna'tion, the pa'tient sic'kness, and the qui'et death, are remem'bered/ only to add va`lue to the lo'ss, to a’ggravate regret/ for what cannot be ame'nded, to dee'pen so rrow/ for what c’annot be reca'lled.
These are the calamities/ by which Providence gradually disengʻages us/ from the lo've of li'fe. Oother evils/ fortitude may repe'l, or hope/ may m'itigate ; but irreparable priva'