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N O T ES

ON THE SECOND PART.

Note u.

Page 40, 1. 9.

These still exist, &c.

There is a future Existence even in this world;

an Existence in the hearts and minds of those who

shall live after us.

It is in reserve for every man,

however obscure; and his portion, if he be diligent,

must be equal to his desires. For in whose remem

brance can we wish to hold a place, but such as

know, and are known by us? These are within

the sphere of our influence, and among these and

their descendants we may live evermore.

It is a state of rewards and punishments; and

like that revealed to us in the Gospel, has the hap

piest influence on our lives.

The latter excites us

to gain the favor of God; the former to gain the

love and esteem of wise and good men; and both

conduce to the same end; for in framing our con

ceptions of the Deity, we only ascribe to him exalted

degrees of Wisdom and Goodness.

NoTE X.

P. 46, l. 13.

Yet still how sweet the soothings of his art!

The astronomer chalking his figures on the

wall, in Hogarth's view of Bedlam, is an admirable

exemplification of this idea.

See the Rake's PROGRESS, plate 8. Note y. P. 48, l. 2.

Turns but to start, and gazes but to sigh!

The following stanzas are said to have been

written on a blank leaf of this Poem. They pre

sent so affecting a reverse of the picture, that I

cannot neglect the opportunity of introducing them

here.

Pleasures of Memory!-oh supremely blest,

And justly proud beyond a Poet's praise;
If the pure confines of thy tranquil breast
Contain, indeed, the subject of thy lays!

By me how envied !--for to me,
The herald still of misery,
Memory makes her influence known

By sighs, and tears, and grief alone:
I greet her as the fiend, to whom belong
The vulture's rav’ning beak, the raven’s fun'ral song.

Alone, at midnight's haunted hour,

When Nature wooes repose in vain,
Remembrance wastes her penal pow'r,

The tyrant of the burning brain!

She tells of time mispent, of comfort lost,

Of fair occasions gone for ever by;
Of hopes too fondly nurs'd, too rudely cross'd,
Of many a cause to wish, yet fear, to die;

For what, except th' instinctive fear
Lest she survive, detains me here,
When “ all the life of life" is filed?

What, but the deep inherent dread,
Lest she beyond the grave resume her reign,
And realize the hell that priests and beldams feign?

NOTE 2. P. 50, 1. 9.

Hast thou thro' Eden's wild-wood vales pursued, &c.

On the road-side between Penrith and Appelby

stands a small pillar with this inscription:

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