And Peace, that feldom knows to share
The Statesman's friendly bowl, be there;
While rofy Health, fuperior guest,
Loose to the Zephyrs bares her breaft;
And, to add a fweeter grace,
Give her foft Amelia's face.
Mafon, why this dull delay ?
Hafte, to Sion hafte away.
There the Mufe again shall ask,
Nor thy hand forget its tafk;
Nor the Lyre its strains refuse
To the Patron of the Muse.
On the IMMORTALITY of the SOUL.
From the LATIN of ISAAC HAWKINS BROWN, Efq;
O all inferior animals 'tis giv'n
T'enjoy the ftate allotted them by Heaven;
No vain researches e'er difturb their reft,
No fears of dark futurity moleft.
Man, only Man folicitous to know
The springs whence Nature's operations flow,
Plods through a dreary wafte with toil and pain,
And reasons, hopes, and thinks, and lives in vain ;
For fable Death ftill hov'ring o'er his head,
Cuts fhort his progrefs, with his vital thread.
Wherefore, fince Nature errs not, do we find
These feeds of Science in the human mind,
If no congenial fruits are predefign'd?
For what avails to man this pow'r to roam
Thro' ages paft, and ages yet to come,
T'explore new worlds o'er all th' ætherial way,
Chain'd to a spot, and living but a day?
Since all must perish in one common grave,
Nor can these long laborious fearches fave,
Were it not wiser far, fupinely laid,
To sport with Phyllis in the noontide shade?
Or at thy jovial feftivals appear,
Great Bacchus, who alone the foul can clear
From all that it has felt, and all that it can fear?
Come on then, let us feaft: let Chloe fing,
And soft Neæra touch the trembling string;
Enjoy the present hour, nor feek to know
What good or ill to-morrow may bestow.
But these delights foon pall upon the taste;
Let's try then if more serious cannot last :
Wealth let us heap on wealth, or fame purfue,
Let pow'r and glory be our points in view;
In courts, in camps, in fenates let us live,
Our levees crowded like the buzzing hive:
Each weak attempt the fame fad lesson brings,
Alas, what vanity in human things!
What means then shall we try? where hope to find
A friendly harbour for the restless mind?
Who ftill, you fee, impatient to obtain
Knowledge immenfe, (fo Nature's laws ordain)
Ev'n now, tho' fetter'd in corporeal clay,
Climbs step by step the profpect to survey,
And feeks, unweary'd, Truth's eternal ray.
No fleeting joys fhe afks, which must depend
On the frail senses, and with them muft end;
But fuch as fuit her own immortal fame,
Free from all change, eternally the fame.
Take courage then, these joys we shall attain;
Almighty Wisdom never acts in vain ;
Nor fhall the foul, on which it has beftow'd
Such pow'rs, e'er perish, like an earthly clod;
But purg'd at length from foul corruption's stain,
Freed from her prison, and unbound her chain,
She shall her native ftrength, and native fkies regain :
To heav'n an old inhabitant return,
And draw nectareous ftreams from truth's perpetual urn.
Whilft life remains, (if life it can be call'd
T'exift in fleshly bondage thus enthrall'd)
Tir'd with the dull pursuit of worldly things,
The foul scarce wakes, or opes her gladfome wings,
Yet ftill the godlike exile in disgrace
Retains fome marks of her celestial race;
Elfe whence from Mem'ry's ftore can the produce
Such various thoughts, or range them so for use?
Can matter these contain, dispose, apply?
Can in her cells fuch mighty treasures lye ?
Or can her native force produce them to the eye ?
Whence is this pow'r, this foundress of all arts,
Serving, adorning life, thro' all its parts,
Which names impos'd, by letters mark'd those names,
Adjusted properly by legal claims,
From woods, and wilds collected rude mankind,
And cities, laws, and governments defign'd?:
What can this be, but fome bright ray from heaven,
Some emanation from Omniscience given ?
When now the rapid ftream of Eloquence
Bears all before it, paffion, reason, sense,
Can its dread thunder, or its lightning's force
Derive their effence from a mortal source ?
What think you of the bard's enchanting art,
Which, whether he attempts to warm the heart
With fabled scenes, or charm the ear with rhyme,
Breathes all pathetic, lovely, and fublime?
Whilft things on earth roll round from age to age,
The fame duil farce repeated; on the stage
The poet gives us a creation new,
More pleafing, and more perfect than the true;
The mind, who always to perfection haftes,
Perfection, fuch as here fhe never tastes,
With gratitude accepts the kind deceit,
And thence forefees a fyftem more compleat.
Of thofe what think you, who the circling race
Of funs, and their revolving planets trace,
And comets journeying thro' unbounded space ?
Say, can you doubt, but that th' all-searching foul,
That now can traverse heav'n from pole to pole,
From thence defcending vifits but this earth,
And shall once more regain the regions of her birth?
Could fhe thus act, unlefs fome Power unknown,
From matter quite diftin&t, and all her own,
Supported, and impell'd her? She approves
Self-conscious, and condemns, fhe hates, and loves,
Mourns, and rejoices, hopes, and is afraid,
Without the body's unrequefted aid:
Her own internal ftrength her reason guides,
By this fhe now compares things, now divides;
Truth's fcatter'd fragments piece by piece collects,
Rejoins, and thence her edifice erects;
Piles arts on arts, effects to caufes ties,
And rears th' afpiring fabric to the skies :
From whence, as on a diftant plain below,
She fees from caufes confequences flow,
And the whole chain diftinctly comprehends,
Which from th' Almighty's throne to earth defcends :
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