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Now lost to all; her friends, her virtúe fled,
Do thine, sweet Auburn, thine, the loveliest train,
To distant clines, a dreary scene, Where half the convex world intrudes between, Through torrid tracts with fainting steps they go, Where wild Altama murmurs to their wo. Far diff'rent there from all that charm'd before, The various terrors of that horrid shore ; Those blazing suns that dart a downward ray, And fiercely shed intolerable day; Those matted woods where birds forget to sing, But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling ; Those pois'nous fields with rank luxuriance crown'd, Where the dark scorpion gathers death around : Where at each step the stranger fears to wake The rattling terrors of the vengeful snake; Where crouching tigers wait their hapless prey, And savage men more murd'rous still than they; While oft in whirls the mad tornado flies, Mingling the ravaged landscape with the skies. Far diff'rent these from ev'ry former scene, The cooling brook, the grassy-vested green, The breezy covert of the warbling grove, That only shelter'd thefts of harmless love. [day,
Good Heav'n! what sorrows gloom'd that parting That call’d them from their native walks away; When the poor exiles, ev'ry pleasure past, Hung round the bow'rs, and fondly look'd their last, And took a long farewell, and wish'd in vain For seats like these beyond the western main;
And shudd'ring still to face the distant deep,
Oh, Luxury! thou cursed by Heaven's decree,
E'en now the devastation is begun, And half the bus'ness of destruction done ; E’en now, methinks, as pond'ring here I stand, I see the rural virtues leave the land. Down where yon anch'ring vessel spreads the sail, That, idly waiting, flaps with ev'ry gale, Downward they move, a melancholy band, Pass from the shore, and darken all the strand. Contented Toil, and hospitable Care, And kind connubial Tenderness are there ; And Piety, with wishes placed above, And steady Loyalty, and faithful Love.
And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid, Still first to fly where sensual joys invade!
Unfit, in these degen'rate times of shame,
SAMUEL Johnson. 1709–1784.
"ON THE DEATH OF MR. ROBERT LEVET.
CONDEMN'D to Hope's delusive mine,
As on we toil from day to day,
Our social comforts drop away.
See Levet to the grave descend,
Of ev'ry friendless name the friend.
Yet still he fills affection's eye,
Obscurely wise, and coarsely kind; Nor, letter'd Arrogance, deny
Thy praise to merit unrefined. When fainting Nature call'd for aid,
And hov’ring Death prepared the blow, His vig'rous remedy display'd,
The pow'r of art without the show. In Misery's darkest cavern known,
His useful care was ever nigh, Where hopeless Anguish pour'd his groan,
And lonely Want retired to die.
No summons mock'd by chill delay,
No petty gain disdain'd by pride, The modest wants of ev'ry day
The toil of ev'ry day supplied.
His virtues walk'd their narrow round,
Nor made a pause, nor left a void; And sure th' Eternal Master found
The single talent well employ'd.
The busy day, the peaceful night,
Unfelt, uncounted, glided by ; His frame was firm, his powers were bright,
Though now his eightieth year was nigh.
Then with no fiery throbbing pain,
No cold gradations of decay, Death broke at once the vital chain,
And freed his soul the nearest way.
THE VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES, IN IMITATION OF THE
TENTH SATIRE OF JUVENAL.
Let observation, with extensive view,
But, scarce observed, the knowing and the bold
Let hist’ry tell where rival kings command, And dubious title shakes the madded land, When statutes glean the refuse of the sword, How much more safe the vassal than the lord; Low skulks the hind beneath the rage of power, And leaves the wealthy traitor in the Tower, Untouch'd his cottage, and his slumbers sound, Though confiscation's vultures hover round.