On whom for consolation shall I call?
Support me, ev'ry friend,

Your kind assistance lend

To bear the weight of this oppressive woe.
Alas! each friend of mine,

My dear departed love! so much was thine,
That none has any comfort to bestow.
My books the best relief

In ev'ry other grief,

Are now with your idea sadden'd all:

Each fav'rite author we together read,

My tortur'd mem'ry wounds, and speaks of Lucy

dead.

XVIII.

We were the happiest pair of human kind,
The rolling year its varying course perform'd
And back return'd again;

Another and another smiling came,

And saw our happiness unchang'd remain;
Still in her golden chain,

Harmonious concord did our wishes bind,
Our studies, pleasures, taste, the same.
O fatal, fatal stroke!

That all this pleasing fabric love had rais'd'
Of rare felicity,

On which ev'n wanton vice with envy gaz'd,

And ev'ry scheme of bliss our hearts had form'd
With soothing hope for many a future day,
In one sad moment broke!

Yet, O my soul! thy rising murmurs stay,

Nor dare th' all-wise Disposer to arraign,

Or against his

supreme decree

With impious grief complain.

That all thy full-blown joys at once should fade Was his most righteous will-and be that will obey'd.

XIX.

Would thy fond love his grace to her control,
And in these low abodes of sin and pain

Her pure exalted soul

Unjustly for thy partial good detain?
No-rather strive thy grov'ling mind to raise
Up to that unclouded blaze,

That heavenly radiance of eternal light,
In which enthron'd she now with pity sees
How frail, how insecure, how slight,

Is ev'ry mortal bliss ;

Ev'n love itself, if rising by degrees

Beyond the bounds of this imperfect state,
Whose fleeting joys so soon must end,
It does not to its sov'reign good ascend.
Rise then, my soul! with hope elate,
And seek those regions of serene delight,

Whose peaceful path and ever-open gate
No feet but those of harden'd guilt shall miss;
There death himself thy Lucy shall restore,
There yield up all his pow'r, ne'er to divide you more.

THE

LAST DAY.

YOUNG.

Venit summa dies.VIRGIL.

WHILE others sing the fortune of the great,
Empire and arms, and all the pomp of state,
I draw a deeper scene; a scene that yields
A louder trumpet, and more dreadful fields;
The world alarm'd, both earth and heaven o'er-
thrown,

And gasping nature's last tremendous groan;
Death's ancient sceptre broke, the teeming tomb,
The righteous Judge, and man's eternal doom.

This globe is for my verse a narrow bound;
Attend me, all ye glorious worlds around!
O! all ye angels, howsoe'er disjoin'd,
Of ev'ry various order, place, and kind,

Hiem, and assist a feeble mortal's lays;
Ts your Eterna King I strive to praise.

But chiefs fon, Great Ruler! LORD of all! Betore whose throne archangels prostrate fall; Fæ ty nod, from fiscord and from night, Surang bears, and yon sparkling worlds of light, Exat I me; al inward results quell; The cinnis and darkness of my mind dispel; Të na greit, subject thom my breast inspire, Ani, zase my lad ring soul with equal fire.

Man, bear the brow aloft, view ev'ry grace In Ger's great offspring, beauteous nature's face: See spring's gay bioom; see golden antumn's store; See how each smiles, and bear old ocean roar. Here forests rise, the mountain's awful pride; Here rivers measure cimes, and worlds divide; There valleys, fraught with gold's resplendent seeds, Hold kings" and kingdoms' fortunes in their beds: There, to the skies, aspiring hills ascend, And into distant lands their shades extend. View cities, armies, fleets; of fleets the pride, See Europe's law, in Albion's channel ride; View the whole earth's vast landscape unconfin'd, Or view in Britain all her glories join'd.

Then let the firmament thy wonder raise; "Twill raise thy wonder, but transcend thy praise. How far from east to west? The lab'ring eye Can scarce the distant azure bounds descry: Wide theatre! where tempests play at large, And God's right-hand can all its wrath discharge. Mark how those radiant lamps inflame the pole, Call forth the seasons, and the year control! They shine through time with an unalter'd ray: See this grand period rise, and that decay! So vast, this world's a grain: yet myriads grace, With golden pomp, the throng'd ethereal space; So bright with such a wealth of glory stor'd, Twere sin in heathens not to have ador'd.

How great, how firm, how sacred, all appears! How worthy an immortal round of years! Yet all must drop as autumn's sickliest grain, And earth and firmament be sought in vain: The track forgot where constellations shone, Or where the Stuarts fill'd an awful throne: Time shall be slain, all nature be destroy'd, Nor leave an atom in the mighty void.

Sooner or later in some future date, (A dreadful secret in the book of fate!) This hour, for aught all human wisdom knows, Or when ten thousand harvests more have rose;