When his lov'd Child the Roman could not fave,
Immortal Tully, from an early grave*,
No common forms his home-felt paffion kept :
The fage, the patriot, in the parent, wept.
And O by grief ally'd, as join’d in fame,
The fame thy lofs, thy forrows are the fame.
She whom the Mufes, whom the Loves deplore,
Ev'n fhe, thy pride and pleasure, is no more:
In bloom of years, in all her virtue's bloom,
Loft to thy hopes, and filent in the tomb.

O feafon mark'd by mourning and despair!!
Thy blafts, how fatal to the Young and Fair
For vernal freshness, for the balmy breeze,
Thy tainted winds came pregnant with disease:
Sick Nature funk before the mortal breath,
That fcatter'd fever, agony, and death!
What funerals has thy cruel ravage spread!
What eyes have flow'd! what noble bofoms bled!
Here let Reflection fix her føber view:

O think, who fuffer, and who figh with you.
See, rudely fnatch'd, in all her pride of charms,
Bright Granby from a youthful husband's arms!
In climes far diftant, fee that husband mourn;
His arms revers'd, his recent laurel torn!
Behold again, at Fate's imperious call,
In one dread inftant blooming Lincoln fall!

See

*Tullia died about the age of two and thirty. She is celebrated for her filial piety; and for having added, to the ufual graces of her fex, the more folid accomplishments of knowledge and polite letters. MALLET.

ON THE DEATH OF LADY ANSON.

See her lov'd Lord with speechlefs anguish bend !
And, mixing tears with his, thy nobleft friend,
Thy Pelham turn on heaven his streaming eye:
Again in her, he sees a brother die!

33*

And he, who long, unfhaken and ferene, Had death, in each dire form of terror, feen, Through worlds unknown o'er unknown oceans toft, By love fubdued, now weeps a confort loft: Now, funk to fondnefs, all the man appears, His front dejected, and his foul in tears!

Yet more nor thou the Mufe's voice difdain, Who fondly tries to foothe a father's painLet thy calm eye furvey the faffering ball: See kingdoms round thee verging to their fall! What fpring had promis'd and what autumn yields, The bread of thousands, ravish'd from their fields! See youth and age, th' ignoble and the great, Swept to one grave, in one promifcuous fate! Hear Europe groan! hear all her nations mourn! And be a private wound with patience borne.

:

Think too and reafon will confirm the thought:
Thy cares, for her, are to their period brought.
Yes, the, fair pattern to a failing age,

With wit, chaftis'd, with fprightly temper, fage;
Whom each endearing name could recommend,
Whom all became, wife, fifter, daughter, friend,
Unwarp'd by folly, and by vice unftain'd,
The prize of virtue has, for ever, gain'd!
From life efcap'd, and fafe on that calm shore
Where fin and pain and error are no more,

She

She now no change, nor you no fear can feel :
Death, to her fame, has fix'd th' eternal feal!:

A FUNERAL HYMN.

YE

I.

E midnight fhades, o'er Nature spread!
Dumb filence of the dreary hour!

In honour of th' approaching dead,
Around your awful terrors pour.
Yes, pour around,.

On this pale ground,

Through all this deep furrounding gloomy,
The fober thought,

The tear untaught,

Thofe meeteft mourners at a tomb.

II.

Lo! as the furplic'd train draw near
To this laft mansion of mankind,

The flow fad bell, the fable bier,
In holy mufings wrap the mind!'
And while their beam,

With trembling stream,

Attending tapers faintly dart;

Each mouldering bone,

Each sculptor'd stone,

Strikes mute inftruction to the heart!

IL Now,

III.

Now, let the facred organ blow,

With folemn pause, and founding flow :
Now, let the voice due measure keep,
In strains that figh, and words that weep;
Till all the vocal current blended roll,
Not to deprefs, but lift the foaring foul.

IV.

To lift it in the Maker's praise,

Who first inform'd our frame with breath;
And, after fome few stormy days,

Now, gracious, gives us o'er to Death.
No King of Fears

In him appears,

Who fhuts the fcene of human woes:

Beneath his fhade

Securely laid,

The dead alone find true repofe.

V.

Then, while we mingle duft with duft,
To One, fupremely good and wife,
Raife halellujahs! 'God is juft,

And man most happy, when he dies!
His winter past,

Fair fpring at last

Receives him on her flowery fhore;

Where Pleafure's rofe

Immortal blows,

And fin and forrow are no more!

ΤΟ

TO MIR A. FROM THE COUNTRY.

AT this late hour, the world lies huff'd below,

Nor is one breath of air awake to blow.

Now walks mute Midnight, darkling o'er the plain,
Reft, and foft-footed Silence, in his train,
To blefs the cottage, and renew the fwain.
These all-asleep, me all-awake they find;
Nor reft, nor filence, charm the lover's mind.
Already, I a thousand torments prove,
The thoufand torments of divided love:
The rolling thought, impatient in the breaft;
The fluttering wifh on wing, that will not reft;
Defire, whofe kindled flames, undying, glow;
Knowledge of diftant blifs, and present woe;
Unhufh'd, unfleeping all, with me they dwell,
Children of abfence, and of loving well!
Thefe pale the cheek, and cloud the chearless eye,
Swell the swift tear, and heave the frequent figh
These reach the heart, and bid the health decline;
And thefe, O Mira! these are truly mine.

She, whofe fweet fmile would gladden all the grove,
Whole mind is mufic, and whofe looks are love;
She, gentle power! victorious softness!—She,
Mira, is far from hence, from love, and me;
Yet, in my every thought, her form I find,

looks, her words-her world of charms combin'd!