"'Twas th'us, (by the glare of false sc'ience betrayed, "O pity, (great Father of light), then I cried, 66 Thy creature, (who fain would not wan`der from th ́ee!) "Lo, humbled in du'st, I relin'quish my pri'de; "From doubt and from dar'kness/ thou only/ canst free'. “And darkness and doubt/ are now flying away; "No longer I ro`am/ in conjecture forl'orn: "So breaks on the traveller, fai'nt, and astray, "The bright and the balmy effulgence of mo'rn. "See tr'uth, love, and me'rcy, in triumph descending, "And na'ture (all glow'ing in E`den's first blo'om!) "On the cold ch'eek of de^ath/ sm'iles and ro`ses/ are blending, "And be`auty/ immortal/ awa'kes from the tomb." PICTURES OF THE GOOD PREACHER AND COWPER.* I VENERATE the m'an/ whose he'art/ is war'm, That he is honest in the sa'cred cau'se. To su ch/ I render more than mere respect, Whose actions s'ay/ that they respect themselves. Of la'dyships a stranger to the poo'r; * The inimitable author of "John Gilpin." This accomplished scholar and poet, after dreadfully suffering from mental derangement, died in 1800, aged 68. Lower tone. Ambitious of pref'erment for its go^ld, A'nd/ we'll prepa'red, by i'gnorance and slot'h, To make God's w'ork/ a si`necure; a slav'e And/ mo'st of all/ in man/ that ministers There'fore/ avaunt a'll attitude; and star ́e, Who handles things div'ine; and all besi'des, To me/ is o'dious as the nasal twa'ng Heard at conven'ticle, where worthy m'en, With handkerchief/ in hand/ depending_lo`w: And rustic coarseness wou'ld. A heavenly mind/ Concluding tone -lower and slower TO MARY IN HEAVEN. BURNS. THOU lingering st'ar; with lessening ra ́y, Aga'in thou usherest in the d'ay My Ma'ry from my so'ul was tor'n. O Mary (dear/ departed sh'ade !) Hearest thou the gr'oans/ that re'nd his brea`st? Can I forget the ha'llowed gr'ove, Those records de'ar of transports p'ast! Ah! little thought we/ 'tw'as our laˇst! Twined amorous ro'und/ the raptured scen'e. 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 daily examples of los'ses and misfortunes/ which life/ forces upon our observation, such/ is the absorption of our thoughts/ in the business of the present day, such the re This beautiful and pathetic paper was written on the death of the Doctor's venerable mother. signation of our rea'son/ to empty hopes of future felicity, or/ such our unwillingness/ to foresee what we dre ́ad, that every calamity comes suddenly upon us, and/ 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 nature, against whi'ch/ it is no reproach/ not to be provi'ded. A flash of lightning/ intercepts the traveller in his wa'y; the concussion of an earthquake/ heaps the ruins of cities upon their inna'bitants. But other miseries/ ti^me bri'ngs, (though s'ilently, yet vi'sibly forward/ by its even lapse,) which yet approach us unse'en, because we turn our eyes away, and se'ize us, unresi'sted, because we could not arm ourselves again'st them, but/ by set'ting them/ befor`e us. That it is vain/ to shrink from wh'at/ cannot be avo`ided, and to hide tha^t from ourselves/ which must some time be found, is a truth/ which we all kn'ow, but which a^ll/ negle ct; and/ perhaps none more than the speculative re'asoner, whose thoughts/ are always from home, whose e'ye/ wanders over life', whose fa^ncy/ dances after meteors of happiness kindled by its'elf, and who exa'mines/ every thing/ rather than his own-state. Nothing is more evident, than that the decays of age/ must terminate in death; yet/ there is no m'an, (says Tu'lly,) who does not believe that he may yet live another year; and there is no`ne/ who does not, (upon the same pr'inciple,) hope another year for his parent or his friend : but, the fallacy will be in time/ det'ected; the last y'ear, the last day/ must c'ome. It has come, and is pas'sed. The life/ which made my own life pleasant/ is at an e'nd, and the gates of death/ are sh'ut upon my prospects. The loss of a friend, upon whom the heart was fixe'd, t'o whom every wish and every endeavour te'nded, is a state of dreary desolation, in whi'ch/ the mind looks abr`oad/ impatient of itself, and finds not'hing/ but emp'tiness and hor'ror. The blameless life', the ar'tless ten'derness, the p'ious simplicity, the mo'dest resignation, the pa'tient sickness, and the qui'et dea'th, are remembered/ 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 recalled. The'se are the cal'amities/ by which Providence gradually disengages us/ from the lo've of life. Other evils/ fortitude may repe'l, or ho`pe/ may m'itigate; but irreparable priva ́ |