Observe the dappled foresters, how light
They bound and airy o'er the sunny glade
One falls-the rest, wide-scatter'd with affright,
Vanish at once into the darkest shade.
Had we their wisdom, should we, often warn'd,
Still need repeated warnings, and at last,
A. thousand awful admonitions scorn'd,
Die self-accus'd of life run all to waste ?
Sad waste! for which no after-thrift atones.
The grave admits no cure for guilt or sin;
Dew-drops may deck the turf that hides the bones,
But tears of godly grief ne'er flow within.
Learn then, ye living! by the mouths be taught
Of all these sepulchres, instructors true,
That, soon or late, death also is your lot,
And the next op'ning grave may yawn for you.
-Placidaque ibi demum morte quievit. VIRG.
There calm at length he breath'd his soul away.
"O Most delightful hour by man
Experienc'd here below,
The hour that terminates
His folly, and his woe!
"Worlds should not bribe me back to tread
Again life's dreary waste,
To see again my day o'erspread
With all the gloomy past.
"My home henceforth is in the skies,
Earth, seas. and sun adieu
All heav'n unfolded to mine eyes,
I have no sight for you."
So spake Aspasio, firm possess'd
Of faith's supporting rod,
Then breathed his soul into its rest,
The bosom of his God.
He was a man among the few
Sincere on virtue's side;
And all his strength from scripture drew,
To hourly use applied.
That rule he priz'd, by that he fear'd,
He hated, hop'd, and lov'd;
Nor ever frown'd, or sad appear'd,
But when his heart had rov'd.
For he was frail, as thou or I,
And evil felt within:
But, when he felt it, heav'd a sigh,
And loath'd the thought of sin.
Such liv'd Aspasio; and at last
Call'd up from Earth to Heav'n,
The gulf of death triumphant pass'd,
By gales of blessing driv'n.
His joys be mine, each reader cries,
When my last hour arrives;
They shall be yours, my verse replies,
Such only be your lives.
Ne commanentem recta sperne.
Despise not my good counsel.
He who sits from day to day,
Where the prison'd lark is hung,
Heedless of his loudest lay,
Hardly knows that he has sung.
Where the watchman in his round
Nightly lifts his voice on high
None, accustom'd to the sound,
Wakes the sooner for his cry.
So your verse-man I, and clerk,
Yearly in my song proclaim
Death at hand-yourselves his mark→→→
And the foe's unerring aim.
Duly at my time I come,
Publishing to all aloud-
Soon the grave must be your home,
And your only suit a shroud
But the monitory strain,
Oft repeated in your ears,
Seems to sound too much in vain,
Wins no notice, wakes no fears.
Can a truth, by all confess'd
Of such magnitude and weight,
Grow, by being oft impress'd,
Trivial as a parrot's prate?
Pleasure's call attention wins,
Hear it often as we may;
New as ever seen our sins,
Though committed ev'ry day.
Death and Judgment, Heav'n and Hell-
These alone, so often heard,
No more move us than the bell,
When some stranger is interr'd.
O then, ere the turf or tomb
Cover us from ev'ry eye,
Spirit of instruction come,
Make us learn, that we must die.
Felix, qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas,
Atque metus omnes et inexorabile fatum
Subjecit pedibus, strepitumque Acherontis avari !
Happy the mortal, who has trac'd effects
To their first cause, cast fear beneath his feet,
And Death and roaring Hell's voracious fires!
Thankless for favors from on high,
Man thinks he fades too soon;
Though 'tis his privilege to die,
Would he improve the boon.
But he, not wise enough to scan
His blest concerns aright,
Would gladly stretch life's little span
To ages, if he might.
To ages in a world of pain,
To ages, where he goes
Gall'd by affliction's heavy chain,
And hopeless of repose.
Strange fondness of the human heart,
Enamour'd of its harm!
Strange world, that costs it so much smart,
And still has pow'r to charm.
Whence has the world her magic pow'r?
Why deem we death a foe?
Recoil from weary life's best hour,
And covet longer woe?
The cause is Conscience-Conscience oft
Her tale of guilt renews:
Her voice is terrible though soft,
And dread of death ensues.
Then anxious to be longer spar'd
Man mourns his fleeting breath :
All evils then seem light, compar'd
With the approach of Death.
'Tis judgment shakes him; there's the fear
That prompts the wish to stay;
He has incurr'd a long arrear,
And must despair to pay.
Pay!-follow Christ, and all is paid;
His death your peace ensures;
Think on the grave where he was laid,
And calm descend to yours.
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