RESIGNATION, By Dr. EDWARD YOUNG. THE PART I. HE days how few, how fhort the years, Each leaving, as it fwiftly flies, A fhorter in its place ? They who the longeft leafe enjoy, Have told us, with a figh, That, to be born, feems little more Than to begin to die. Numbers there are who feel this truth, With fears alarm'd; and yet, In life's delufions lull'd asleep, Confcious of nature in decline, A Permit Permit me, Madam, ere to you Sad fifter of decay. One world deceas'd, another born, Like Noah they behold, O'er whofe white hairs and furrow'd brows Too many funs have roll'd. Happy the patriarch! he rejoic'd His fecond world to fee; My fecond world, tho' gay the fcene, Can boaft no charms for me. To me this brilliant age appears With defolation spread ; Near all with whom I liv'd, and fmil'd, And with them died my joys the grave Has broken nature's laws; And clos'd, against this feeble frame, Cruel to fpare! condemn'd to life! And trembles as I write. What fhall I write? Thalia! tell; Say, long abandon'd muse! What field of fancy fhall I range? What fubject fhall I chuse? A choice A choice of moment high infpire, For doating on thy charms fo late, Beyond the themes, which moft admire, Which dazzle, or amaze; Beyond renown'd exploits of war, Beneath life's ev'ning folemn fhade, I dedicate my page To thee, thou fafeft guard of youth! All other duties crefcents are The glorious confummation, thou! Which fills her orb with light; How rarely fill'd! The love divine This the first leffon which we want, But tho' full noble is my theme, To foften forrow, and forbid And, in my winter, fing; Confine their charming fong To fummer's animating heats, Content to warble young ? Yet, Yet, write I muft; a lady* fues; Nor fcorn his feeble ftrain; To you a ftranger, but, through fate, The ghoft of grief deceas'd afcends, His forrows are recall'd to life By those he sees in you : When rent afunder, how they bleed, Thofe tears you pour, his eyes have shed; The pang you feel, he felt ; Thus Nature, loud as Virtue, bids His heart at your's to melt. But what can heart, or head, fuggeft? What fad Experience fay? Through truths auflere, to peace we work Our rugged, gloomy way : What are we? whence? for what? and whither ? Who know not, needs must mourn; But Thought, bright daughter of the skies! Can tears to triumph turn. A 3 Thought * Mrs M |