And fhall the mufe too proftitute her tongue
To wealth's vain glare, or power's unfteady blaze,
While good men fall neglected and unfung;

No heart to mourn them, and no hand to praise?

It shall not be- -even now athwart the gloom,
She comes, the goddefs comes, to praise, to mourn,
To tear the wreath from dire ambition's tomb,
And place it high on virtue's facred urn.

Though abler hands the glorious task decline; Though Dunkin, modeft, hides the heavenly fire; Though Shepherd's dumb-yet shall one ray divine The laft, the meaneft of the train inspire.

Fate gave the word-and LAWSON is no more-
Still green in earth the noble ruin lies;
How shall the weeping muse the lofs deplore?
Harsh flow the strains that real grief supplies.

Yet, though the ftrains be harsh, though weak the tongue, That pays, ill chance! this tributary verse,

The heart shall aid the melancholy fong,

And pour its forrows on thy honour'd herse.

Had

Had it pleas'd heaven-what has my frenzy faid?

Where would my wishes point? frail child of duft! Hark! from the grave, cries out the reverend dead,

That heaven is wife, and all its ways are juft.

O worth, beloved, and loft! admir'd, and mourn'd!
Patient to hear, indulgent to redress!
With every virtue, every grace adorn'd,
A heart to pity, and a hand to blefs!

Who now affliction's forrows fhall affuage?
Who now the tears of fuffering virtue dry?
Who guard the orphan's unprotected age,
Or kindle gladness in the widow's eye?

Who now our varying paffions shall command?
Teach the ftern breaft to feel another's woe?
Ope the hard mifer's unrelenting hand,

And bid the ftreams of charity o'erflow?

These were thy arts-and glowing with the theme, While truths divine came, mended, from thy tongue, Vice heard, abash'd-youth caught the inspiring flame; And pleas'd attention on thy accents hung.

Refpected

Respected fhade! Now, from the realms of joy,
Indulgent liften to our fervent prayer!

Still let thy ALMA's fons thy thoughts employ !
O, still protect them with a parent's care!

Teach them to love mankind, and worship God!
Curb the wild fallies of impetuous youth!

Teach them to tread the paths that thou haft trod,
And share those bleffings that now crown thy truth!

And, lo! around the pensive mourners ftand;

Warm from the heart, the unbidden forrows flow; In dumb diftress, each lifts his trembling hand, With looks that speak unutterable woe.

What, though no poet's pen, no sculptor's art,
Adorns the grave where thy lov'd relics lie,
A figh fhall burft from every feeling heart;
A tear fhall fall from every honest eye:

And, though no ftatues weep upon thy tomb,
No ftoried pillars labour with thy fame,
Green, even in age, thy memory fhall bloom,
When pillars rife the monuments of shame.

ELEGY

TO THE MEMORY OF

A YOUNG

GENTLEMAN,

WHO DIED IN THE NINETEENTH YEAR OF HIS AGE.

THINE eyes, dear youth! are clos'd in night;

Thy thread, alas! is spun;

Cut off, at once, from life and light,

Ere half thy fands were run'!

How short the date of human things!

How tranfient are the joys!

The flower, that in the morning springs,

The evening blast destroys!

See where, absorbed in filent grief,
The childlefs mother ftands!

Some pitying angel bring relief,

And hold her frantic hands!

O, loft too foon, lamented shade!

Juft opening into man,

While custom rul'd, and paffion sway'd,

Ere reasons power began—

Yet,

Yet,- -let me here the word recall,

These rash repinings fhun

'Twas heaven's high will decreed his fall;

And let heaven's will be done!

Let all who lov'd his worth, his truth,
Remember them with groans!

And all the frailties of his youth
Be buried with his bones!

ELEGY