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At Aix his voluntary sword be drew,

There first in blood his infant honour seaFd; From fortune, pleasure, science, lo"e he flew,

And scorn'd repose when Britain took the field. With eyes of flame, and cool undaunted breast,

Victor he stood on Beilisle's rocky steeps

Ah ! gallant youth! this marble tells the rest,

Where melancholy Friendship bends, and weeps.



THECurfewtplk the knelLof paring day, i
^JVie k>wing heYdsjwTnd^owTy o erJtnalea, »
XG£plfughnT!fn hdfneivard prcuis hi^ ye€ry,wJty,
And testes tne world to daneness andto rife.

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,

And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,

And drowsy tink'lings lull the distant folds:
Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower

The moping owl does to the moon complain Of such as, wand'ring near her secret bower,

Molest her ancient solitary reign.

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade,

Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,

The rude Forefathers of the Hamlet sleep. The breezy call of incense-breathing Morn,

The swallow twitt'ring from the straw built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,

No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed

For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,
Or busy housewife ply her evening care:

No children run to lisp their sire's return,
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.

Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield,
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke;

How jocund did they drive their team afield!
How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!

Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure;

Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile
The short and simple annals of the poor.

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
-And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,

Await alike tV inevitable hour :—
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

Nor you, ye Proud, impute to These the fault,
If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise,

Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.

Can storied urn or animated bust

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust,

Or Flatt'ry soothe the dull cold ear of Death? Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid

Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd,

Or waked to ecstacy the living lyre.

But knowledge to their eyes her ample page
Rich with the spoils of time did ne'er unroll;

Chill Penury repress'd their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the soul.

Pull many a gem, of purest ray serene,
The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear:

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.

Some village-Hampden, that with dauutless breast
The little Tyrant of his fields withstood;

Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, .
Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood.

Th' applause of list'ning senates to command,
The threats of pain and ruin to despise,

To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,
And read their history in a nation's eyes,

Their lot forbade: nor circumscribed alone
Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined;

Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne,
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind.

The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide,
To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame,

Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride
With incense kindled at the Muse's flame.

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife
Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray;

Along the cool sequester'd vale of life
They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.

Yet ev'n these bones from msult to protect

Some frail memorial still erected nigh, With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd,

Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.

Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletterM mustj

The place of fame and elegy supply: 4nd many a holy text around she strews,

That teach the rustic moralist to die.

For who, to dumb Forgetfulness a prey,
This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd,

Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,
Nor cast ©lie longing, lingering look behind f

On some fond breast the parting soul relies,
Some pious drops the closing eye requires;

Ev'n from the tomb the voice of Nature cries,
Ev'n in our ashes live their wonted fires.

For thee, who mindful of th' unhonour'd Dead,
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate;

If chance, by lonely Contemplation led,
Some kindred Spirit shall inquire thy fate,

Haply some hoary headed Swain may say,
'Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn

Brushing with hasty steps the dews away,
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.

'There at the foot of yonder nodding beech
That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high,

His listless length at noontide would he stretch,
And pore upon the brook tha; babbles by.

'Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn,
Mutt'ring his way ward fancies he would rove;

Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn,
Or crazed with care, or cross'd in hopeless love.

'One morn I missM him on the 'custom'd hill,

Along the heath and near his fav'rite tree; Another came; nor yet beside the rill,

Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he; 'The next, with dirges, due in sad array

Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne. Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay

Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.

HERE rests his head upon the lap of Earth,

A Youth, to Fortune and to Fame unknown;
Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth,

And Melancholy mark'd him for her own. Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,

Heav'n did a recompense as largely send: He gave to Mis'ry all he had, a tear,

He gain'd from Heav'n ('twas all he wish'd) a friend. No farther seek his merits to disclose,

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode (There they alike in trembling hope repose),

The bosom of his Father and his God.




iGNARiE nostrum mentes, et inertia corda,
Dura curas regnm, et sortem miseramur iniquam,
Quae solio affixit, vetuitque calescere flamma
Dulci, quae dono divum, gratissima serpit
Viscera per, mollesque animis lene implicat aestus,
Ncc teneros sensus, Veneris nee praemia norunt,
Eloquiumve oculi, aut facunda silentia linguae:

Scilicit ignorant lacrymas, saevosque dolores,
Dura rudimenta, et violentiae exordia flammae;
Scilicit ignorant, quae flumine tinxit amaro
Tela Venus, caecique armamentaria Divi,
Irasque, insidiasque, et taciturn sub pectore vulnus*
Namque sub ingressu, priraoque in limine Amoris

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