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“ 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! or All heaven unfolded to my eyes,

“I bave no sight for you."

So spoke Aspasio, firm possest

Of faith's supporting rod,
Tben 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 prized, by that he feared,

He hated, hoped, and loved ;
Nor ever frowned, or sad appeared,

But when his heart had roved.

For he was frail as thou or I,

And evil felt within ;
But, when he felt it, heaved a sigh,

And loathed the thought of sin.

Such lived Aspasio; and at last

Called up from Earth to Heaven, The gulph of death triumphant passed,

By gales of blessing driven.

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 commonenten recta sperne.


Despise not my good counsel.

He who sits from day to day,

Where the prisoned 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, accustomed to the sound,

Wakes the sooner for his cry.

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So your verse-man I, and elerk,

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 aloudSoon 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 confessed

Of such magnitude and weight, Grow, by being oft expressed,

Trivial as a parrot's prate?

Pleasure's call attention wins,

Hear it often as we may; New as ever seem our sins,

Though committed every day.

Death and judgment, Heaven and Hell

These alonc, so often heard, No more move us than the bell

When some stranger is interred.

Ob then, ere the turf or tomb

Cover us from every, eye, Spirit of instruction, conie,

Make us learn that we must die.



Felix, qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas,
Aique metus omnes et inexcrabile fatum
Subjecit pedibus, strepitumque Acberontis avari!


Happy the mortal, who has traced effects
To their first cause, cast fear beneath his feet,
And Death, and roaring Hell's voracious firest

THANKLESS for favours from on high,

Man thinks he fades too soon; Though 'tis his privilege to die,

Would he improve the bobu.

But he, not wise enough to scan

His best concerns aright,
Would gladly stretch life's little span

To ages, if he might:

To ages in a world of pain,

where he goes
Galled by affliction's heavy chain,

And hopeless of repose.

Strange fondness of the human heart,

Enamoured of its harm! Strange world, that costs it so much smart,

And still has power to charm.

Whence has the world her magic power?

Why deem wc death a foc? 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 ensucs.

Then anxious to be longer spared

Man mourns his fleeting breath: All evils then seem light, compared

With the approach of death.

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