Pour your wild ravings in Night's frighted ear, And half pronounce Heaven's sacred doom severe., Wise! beauteous! good!-0 every grace com-bin'd, That charms the eye, that captivates the mind! Mild, as the strains, that at the close of day Why. roam abroad? Since still, to Fancy's eyes,, Ah whither fled !-ye dear illusions stay!- All cold the hand, that soothed Woe's weary head! O Death, why arm with cruelty thy power, Is Virtue then no more the care of Heaven?But, peace, bold thought! be still, my bursting heart! We, not Eliza, felt the fatal dart. 'Scaped the dark dungeon does the slave complain, Nor bless the hand that broke the galling chain O happy stroke, that bursts the bonds of clay, Darts through the rending gloom the blaze of day, And wings the soul with boundless flight to soar, Where dangers threat, and fears alarm no more. ON THE DEATH OF LADY COVENTRY.-Mason. THE midnight clock has toll'd, and hark! the bell Yes, Coventry is dead: attend the strain, With hearts as gay, and faces half as fair. For she was fair beyond your brightest bloom, Whene'er with soft serenity she smil'd, Or caught the orient blush of quick surprise; How sweetly mutable, how brightly wild, The liquid lustre darted from her eyes! Each look, each motion wak'd a new-born grace, That o'er her form its transient glory cast; Some lovelier wonder soon usurpt the place, Chas'd by a charm still lovelier than the last. That bell again! it tells us what she is ; On what she was, no more the strain prolong; Luxuriant Fancy, pause- -an hour like this Demands the tribute of a serious song. Maria claims it from that sable bier, Where cold and wan the slumb'rer rests her head; In still small whispers to Reflection's ear She breathes the solemn dictates of the dead. O catch the awful notes, and lift them loud; Proclaim the theme, by sage, by fool, rever'd; Hear it, ye young, ye vain, ye great, ye proud: 'Tis Nature speaks, and Nature will be heard.. Yes, ye shall hear, and tremble as ye hear, While high with health your hearts exulting leap; Even in the midst of pleasure's mad career, For say, than Coventry's propitious star, Early to lose, while borne on busy wing Ye sip the nectar of each varying bloom; Nor fear, while basking in the beams of spring, The wintry storm that sweeps you to the tomb. Think of her fate! revere the heavenly hand That led her hence, though soon, by steps so slow : Long at her couch Death took his patient stand, To give reflection time, with lenient art, And wean her from a world she lov'd so well. Say, are ye sure His mercy shall extend Το you so long a span? Alas! ye sigh: Make, then, while yet ye may, your God your friend, And learn with equal ease to sleep or die. Nor think the Muse, whose sober voice ye Kear, No she would warm you with seraphic fire, Know ye were form'd to range yon azure field, Is this the bigot's rant? Away, ye vain,. Your hopes, your fears, in doubt, in dulness steep; Go, sooth your souls in sickness, grief, or pain, With the sad solace of eternal sleep! Yet will I praise you, triflers as ye are, More than those preachers of your fav'rite creed, Who proudly swell the brazen throat of war; Who form the phalanx, bid the battle bleed': Nor wish for more: who conquer but to die. Hear, Folly, hear; and triumph in the tale: Like you, they reason; not, like you, enjoy The breeze of bliss, that fills your silken sail. On Pleasure's glitt'ring stream you gaily steer Your little course to cold Oblivion's shore: They dare the storm, and, through th' inclement year, Stem the rough surge, and brave the torrent's roar. Is it for glory? That just fate denies. Long must the warrior moulder in his shroud, Ere from her trump the heaven-breath'd accents rise, That lift the hero from the fighting crowd. Is it his grasp of empire to extend; To curb hostilities, or baffle views? Ambition, cease; the idle contest end; 'Tis but a kingdom thou canst win or lose.. |