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Where now that glowing mind, those raptured lays,
That late were wont to charm the list'ning ear? He lived,-you graced him living with your praise ; He died:-0!
with a tear ! Nor o'er the son alone your sorrows shed !
Another strain the parent's woes require !
And to his Dawson's praises tune the lyre !
eye ; Bid his sad bogom cease awhile to bleed,
And check the progress of the bursting sigh! Say that, to titles born, he knew no pride ;
No vice he knew, his breast was Virtue's throne ! Beloved, adored, by all the world beside,
He was unconscious of his worth alone! Folly for him spread all her lures in vain,
In vain, with ev'ry art, she strove to please !: He spurned her presents, broke her galling chain,
And climbed fair Virtue's sacred hill with ease.
Say that, if innate purity of mind,
Pity to feel, and charity to save ;
Could charm the ruthless bosom of the Grave;
He still had lived to cheer a parent's heart,
A parent happy in his son's renown;
And raised a nation's glory with his own..
This Fate forbad, and snatched him from our eyes, She took ('twas all she could,) his fleeting
breath ; Beyond her power, he reascends the skies,
Disdains the sepulcbre, and smiles on death. Yes, honoured youth ! in ev'ry gentle breast
Thy name shall live for ages yet to come: By ev'ry Muse thy worth shall be confest,
And Virtue's self shall weep upon thy tomb ! Tell then, blest spirit, tell the thoughtless crew, Who boast their youth, that youth will soon
be o'er; Bid them reflect, and, provident like you,
Improve, while yet they may, the present hour.
ON MY BIRTHDAY.-Mrs. Carter.
AUTHOR of life! in vain my tongue essays,
Conduct the steps of my unguarded youth,
TO THE MEMORY OF MRS. ELIZABETH CARTER
WITHIN the silent chambers of the dead,
Her sacred clay lies wrapp'd in peaceful sleep, With years and honour crown'd. Time gently led
Her steady footsteps down the giddy steep
Of human life; surrounded by the blaze
In early youth, from Pleasure's train retir'd,
Willing she trod stern Learning's rugged way, By praise undazzled, humble, tho' admir'd,
She tun'd her lyre to Wisdom's moral lay ; Evin in that season, when the sportive pow'r Of Fancy strews our path with many a blooming
Mild in the even temper of her mind,
Benevolent to all, to merit just,
Unwillingly she blamed; wbere blame she must.
Oh. Virtue ! how divine thy form appears, Adorn'd by genius, and with knowledge
crown'd; When smiles benign thy lovely aspect wears,
When gentle charities thy throne surround! Such was the blessed spirit now at rest, Releas'd from mortal cares to mingle with the
ON THE DEATH OF MR. GARRICK.
The last sad rites were done—the sacred ground Was clos'd, and Garrick's dust to dust re
turn'd: In life, in death, with general honours crown'd,
A nation own'd his worth-applauded-mour'd. For who, like him, could every sense control ; To Shakespeare's self, new charms, new force,
impart, Bid unknown horrors shake the firmest soul,
And unknown feelings melt the hardest heart ? Oft when his eye, with more than magic pow'r, Gave life to thoughts which words could ne?er
reveal, The voice of praise awhile was heard no more,
All gazd in silence, and could only feel. Each thought suspended in a general pause,
All shar'd his passions, and forgot their own; 'Till, rous'd at length, in thunders of applause,
Th' accordant dictates of each heart were known.
O lost for ever to our wond'ring view !
Yet faithful Memory shall preserve thy name, Even distant times thy honours shall renew, And Garrick still shall share his Shakespeare's