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Or whence this secret dread and inward horror,
Of falling into nought? Why shrinks the soul
Back on herself, and startles at destruction?
'Tis the Divinity that stirs within us;

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'Tis Heaven itself that points out an hereafter, l
And intimates eternity to man.

Eternity! thou pleasing, dreadful thought!
Through what variety of untried being,

Through what new scenes and changes must we pass!
The wide, th' unbounded prospect, lies before me;
But shadows, clouds, and darkness, rest upon it.
Here will I hold. If there's a Power above us,"
(And that there is all nature cries aloud,

Through all her works,) He must delight in virtue;
And that which he delights in must be happy.

But when, or where ?-this world was made for Cæsar,
I'm weary of conjectures-this must end 'em.

[Laying his hand on his sword,

Thus am I doubly arm'd; my death and life,
My bane and antidote, are both before me.
This in a moment brings me to an end;
But this informs me I shall never die.
The soul, secur'd in her existence, smiles
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point.
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself
Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years,
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,
Unhurt amidst the war of elements,

The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds.

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EARTH AND HEAVEN.

HAST thou not seen, impatient boy?

Hast thou not read the solemn truth

That gray experience writes for giddy youth
On every mortal joy!

EARTH AND HEAVEN.

Pleasure must be dash'd with pain:
And yet, with heedless haste,

The thirsty boy repeats the taste,

Nor hearkens to despair, but tries the bowl again.
The rills of pleasure never run sincere:

(Earth has no unpolluted spring,)

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From the cursed soil some dangerous taint they bear; So roses grow on thorns, and honey wears a sting.

In vain we seek a heaven below the sky;
The world has false but flattering charms;
Its distant joys show big in our esteem,
But lessen still as they draw near the eye;
In our embrace the visions die :
And when we grasp the airy forms,
We lose the pleasing dream.

Earth, with her scenes of gay delight,
Is but a landscape rudely drawn,
With glaring colours, and false light;
Distance commends it to the sight,
For fools to gaze upon,

But bring the nauseous daubing nigh,
Coarse and confused the hideous figures lie,
Dissolve the pleasure, and offend the eye.

Look up, my soul, pant tow'rd th' eternal hills;
Those heavens are fairer than they seem;
There pleasures all sincere glide on in crystal rills,
There not a dreg of guilt defiles,

Nor grief disturbs the stream.

That Canaan knows no noxious thing,

No cursed soil, no tainted spring,

Nor roses grow on thorns, nor honey wears a sting.

EDWARD YOUNG.

BORN, 1681; DIED, 1765.

THE EMPTINESS OF RICHES.

CAN gold calm passion, or make reason shine?
Can we dig peace or wisdom from the mine?
Wisdom to gold prefer, for 'tis much less
To make our fortune than our happiness,
That happiness which great ones often see,
With rage and wonder, in a low degree,
Themselves unblessed. The poor are only poor.
But what are they who droop amid their store?
Nothing is meaner than a wretch of state.
The happy only are the truly great.
Peasants enjoy like appetites with kings,
And those best satisfied with cheapest things.
Could both our Indies buy but one new sense,
Our envy would be due to large expense;
Since not, those pomps which to the great belong,
Are but poor arts to mark them from the throng.
See how they beg an alms of flattery:

They languish! oh, support them with a lie!
A decent competence we fully taste;

It strikes our sense, and gives a constant feast;
More we perceive by dint of thought alone;
The rich must labour to possess their own,
To feel their great abundance, and request
Their humble friends to help them to be blest;
To see their treasure, hear their glory told,

And aid the wretched impotence of gold.

But some, great souls! and touched with warmth divine, Give gold a price, and teach its beams to shine;"

All hoarded treasures they repute a load,

Nor think their wealth their own, till well bestowed.
Grand reservoirs of public happiness,

Through secret streams diffusively they bless,

And, while their bounties glide, concealed from view, Relieve our wants, and spare our blushes too.

GREATNESS.

RETIREMENT OF COUNTRY LIFE.

BLEST be that hand divine, which gently laid
My heart at rest beneath this humble shade!
The world's a stately bark, on dangerous seas,
With pleasure seen, but boarded at our peril;
Here, on a single plank, thrown safe ashore,
I hear the tumult of the distant throng,
As that of seas remote, or dying storms;
And meditate on scenes more silent still;
Pursue my theme, and fight the fear of death.
Here like a shepherd, gazing from his hut,
Touching his reed, or leaning on his staff,
Eager ambition's fiery chase I see;

I see the circling hunt of noisy men

Burst law's enclosure, leap the mounds of right,
Pursuing and pursued, each other's prey;
As wolves for rapine; as the fox for wiles;
Till death, that mighty hunter, earths them all.
Why all this toil for triumphs of an hour?
What though we wade in wealth, or soar in fame,
Earth's highest station ends in "here he lies,"
And "dust to dust" concludes her noblest song.

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ALEXANDER POPE.

BORN, 1688; DIED, 1744.

GREATNESS.

Look next on greatness; say where greatness lies, Where, but among the heroes and the wise?”

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Heroes are much the same, the point's agreed,
From Macedonia's madman to the Swede;
The whole strange purpose of their lives, to find
Or make an enemy of all mankind!

Not one looks backward, onward still he goes,
Yet ne'er looks forward further than his nose.

No less alike the politic and wise;

All sly, slow things with circumspective eyes:
Men in their loose unguarded hours they take.
Not that themselves are wise, but others weak.
But grant that those can conquer, these can cheat,
'Tis phrase absurd to call a villain great:
Who wickedly is wise, or madly brave,

Is but the more a fool, the more a knave.
Who noble ends by noble means obtains,
Or failing, smiles in exile or in chains,
Like good Aurelius let him reign, or bleed
Like Socrates;-that man is great indeed.

UNIVERSAL ORDER.

ALL are but parts of one stupendous whole,
Whose body nature is, and God the soul;
That, changed through all, and yet in all the same,
Great in the earth, as in the ethereal frame;

Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze,
Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees;
Lives through all life, extends through all extent;
Spreads undivided, operates unspent;
Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part,

As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart;

As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns,
As the rapt seraph that adores and burns;
To him no high, no low, no great, no small;
He fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all

Cease then, nor order imperfection name:
Our proper bliss depends on what we blame.
Know thy own point: This kind, this true degree
Of blindness, weakness, Heaven bestows on thee.
Submit.-In this or any other sphere,

Secure to be as blessed as thou canst bear.

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