CLVIII

A REASONABLE AFFLICTION

ON his death-bed poor Lubin lies,
His spouse is in despair:

With frequent sobs, and mutual cries,
They both express their care.

A different cause, says parson Sly,
The same effect may give;
Poor Lubin fears that he shall die;

His wife, that he may live.

CLIX

M. PRIOR.

THE POWER OF MUSIC

WHEN Orpheus went down to the regions below,
Which men are forbidden to see,

He tun'd up his lyre, as old histories show,
To set his Eurydice free.

All hell was astonish'd a person so wise,

Should rashly endanger his life,

And venture so far-but how vast their surprise! When they heard that he came for his wife.

To find out a punishment due to his fault
Old Pluto had puzzl'd his brain;
But hell had no torments sufficient, he thought,
-So he gave him his wife back again.

But pity succeeding found place in his heart,
And, pleas'd with his playing so well,
He took her again in reward of his art;

Such merit had music in hell.

CLX

DR. T. LISLE.

A NIGHT PIECE

How deep yon azure dyes the sky!
Where orbs of gold unnumber'd lie,
While through their ranks in silver pride
The nether crescent seems to glide.
The slumbering breeze forgets to breathe,
The lake is smooth and clear beneath,
Where once again the spangled show
Descends to meet our eyes below.

The grounds, which on the right aspire,
In dimness from the view retire;
The left presents a place of graves,
Whose wall the silent water laves;
That steeple guides thy doubtful sight
Among the livid gleams of night.
There pass, with melancholy state,
By all the solemn heaps of fate,
And think, as softly-sad you tread
Above the venerable dead,

"Time was, like thee, they life possest,
And time shall be, that thou shalt rest."

Those graves, with bending osier bound, That nameless heave the crumbled ground, Quick to the glancing thought disclose, Where toil and poverty repose.

The flat smooth stones that bear a name, The chisel's slender help to fame,

(Which ere our set of friends decay Their frequent steps may wear away), A middle race of mortals own,

Men, half ambitious, all unknown.

The marble tombs that rise on high,

Whose dead in vaulted arches lie,

Whose pillars swell with sculptur'd stones Arms, angels, epitaphs, and bones,

These, all the poor remains of state,
Adorn the rich, or praise the great;
Who, while on earth in fame they live,
Are senseless of the fame they give.

T. PARNELL.

CLXI

ORIGIN OF EVIL

EVIL, if rightly understood,
Is but the Skeleton of good,
Divested of its Flesh and Blood.

While it remains, without Divorce,
Within its hidden, secret Source,

It is the Good's own Strength and Force.

As Bone has the supporting Share,

In human Form divinely fair,
Altho' an Evil when laid bare;

As Light and Air are fed by Fire,
A shining Good, while all conspire,
But (separate) dark, raging Ire;

As Hope and Love arise from Faith,
Which then admits no Ill, nor hath ;
But, if alone, it would be Wrath;

Or any Instance thought upon,
In which the Evil can be none,
Till Unity of Good is gone.

So, by abuse of Thought and Skill,
The greatest Good, to wit, Free-Will,
Becomes the Origin of Ill.

Thus when rebellious Angels fell,

The very Heav'n, where good ones dwell, Became th' apostate Spirits' Hell.

Seeking, against eternal Right,
A Force without a Love and Light,
They found, and felt its evil might.

Thus Adam, biting at their Bait,
Of Good and Evil when he ate,
Died to his first thrice happy State.

Fell to the Evils of this Ball,

Which, in harmonious Union all,

Were Paradise before his Fall.

And, when the Life of Christ in Men
Revives its faded Image, then,

Will all be Paradise again.

J. BYROM.