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At length loud grief thus with a cheerful shriek
(His trumpet) sounds a battle, joy defying ;
Spreading his colours in Eliza's cheek,
And from her eyes (his watch-tower) far, espying,

With hope, delight, and joy, and comfort flying,

Thus with her tongue their coward flight pursues, While sighs, shrieks, ţears, give chase with never

fainting creus : “Thou traitour joy, that in prosperity So loudly vaunt'st! whither, åh, whither fiest? And thou that bragg'st never from life to fly, False hope, ah! whither now so speedy hiest ?

In vain thy winged feet so fast tlou pliest :

Hope, thou art dead, and Joy, in hope relying, Bleeds in his hopeless wounds, and in his death

lies dying." With that her fainting spouse lifts up his head, And with some joy his inward griefs refraining, Thus with a feeble voice, yet cheerful, said: “Spend not in tears this little time remaining ; Thy grief doth add to mine, not ease my paining: My death is life; such is the scourge of God: Ah! if his rod be such, who would not kiss his

rod? “My dear, (once all my joy, now all my care) To these my words (these my last words) apply

thee! Give me thy hand; these my last greetings are : Show me thy face, I never more shall eye thee. Ah, would our boys, our lesser selves, were by

thee! Those my live pictures to the world I give : So single only die, in them twice-two I live.

66

“I touch the shore, and see my rest preparing.
Oh, blessed God! how infinite a blessing
Is in this thought, that thro' this troubled faring,
Through all the faults this guilty age depressing,

I guiltless past, no helpless man oppressing i

And coming now to thee, lift to the skies Unbribed hands, cleans'd heart, and never tainted

eyes ! Life, life! how many Scyllas dost thou hide In thy calm streamh, which sooner kill than

threaten! Gold, honour, greatness, and their daughter, pride! More quiet lives, and less with tempests beaten!

Whose middle state content doth richly sweeten!

Ile knows not strife, or brabling lawyers' brawls; His love and wish live pleas'd within his private

walls. “ Thou God of Peace, with what a gentle tide Through this world's raging tempest hast thou

brought me? Thou, thou my open soul didst safely hide, When thousand crafty foes so nearly sought me ;

Else had the endless pit too quickly caught me;

'That endless pit, where it is casier never To fall, than being fall'n, to cease from falling ever. " Ah, life! once virtue's spring, now sink of evil! Thou change of pleasing pain, and painful pleasure; Thou brittle painted bubble, shop o' th' Devil; How dost thou bribe us with false guilded treasure,

That in thy joys we find no mean or measure! How dost thou witch! I know thou dost deceive

[thee. I know I should, I must, and yet I would not leave

me :

“Ah, death! once greatest ill, now only blessing,
Untroubled sleep, short travel, ever resting,
All sickness' cure, thou end of all distressing,
Thou one meal's fast, usher to endless feasting;

Tho' hopeless griefs cry out, thy aid requesting,

Thoʻthou art sweeten'd by a life most hateful, How is't, that when thou comést, thy coming is

ungrateful? “ Frail flesh, why would'st thou keep a hated guest, And him refuse whom thou hast oft invited! Life thy tormenter, death thy sleep and rest. And thou, (poor soul!) why at his sight art frighted, Who clears thine eyes, and makes thee eagle

sighted ? Mount now, my soul, and seat thee in thy throne : Thou shalt be one with him, by whom thou first

wast one. Why should'st thou love this star, this borrow'd

light, And not that Sun, at which thou oft hast guessed, But guess'd in vain ? which dares thy piercing sight, Which never was, which cannot be expressed?

Why lov’st thy load, and joy'st to be oppressed ? Seest thou those joys? those thousand thousand graces ?

[embraces.” Mount now, my soul, and leap to those outstretch'd Thus said, and while the body slumb’ring lay, (As Theseus Ariadne's bed forsaking) His quiet soul stole from her house of clay; And glorious angels on their wings it taking,

Swifter than lightning flew, for Heaven making ;
VOL. V.

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There happy goes he, heav'nly fires admiring, Whose motion is their bait, whose rest is restless

jeering: And now the courts of that thrice blessed King It enters, and his presence sits enjoying ; While in itself it finds an endless spring of pleasures new, and never weary joying,

Ne'er spent in spending, feeding, never cloying: Weak pen to write! for thought can never feign them :

tain them. The mind that all can hold, yet cannot half conThere doth it blessed sit, and looking down, Laughs at our busy care, and idle paining; And fitting to itself that glorious crown, Scorns Earth, where even kings most serve by

reigning; Where men get wealth, and Hell; so lose by

gaining: Ah, blessed soul! there sit thou still delighted, Till we at length to him with thee shall be united..

SELECT POEMS

OF

SIR WALTER RALEIG H.

WITH

A LIFE OF THE AUTHOR,

FROM CAMPBELL,

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