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The pangs of which I spoke I feel:

If worth like thine is borne,

O long beloved! I bless the blow,
And triumph whilst I mourn.

Nor mourn I long; by grief subdued
Be reason's empire shown,

Deep anguish comes by heaven's decree.
Continues by our own;

And when continued past its point,
Indulged in length of time,

Grief is disgrace, and what was fate
Corrupts into a crime.

And shall I, criminally mean,
Myself and subject wrong?
No; my example shall support
The subject of my song.

Madam! I grant your loss is great,
Nor little is your gain:

Let that be weighed; when weighed aright,
It richly pays your pain.

When heaven would kindly set us free,
And earth's enchantments end,
It takes the most effectual means,
And robs us of a friend.

But such a friend!-and sigh no more!
'Tis prudent, but severe:

Heaven aid my weakness, and I drop
All sorrow with this tear.

Perhaps your settled grief to sooth
I should not vainly strive,

But with soft balm your pain assuage,
Had he been still alive;

Whose frequent aid brought kind relief
In my distress of thought,

Tinged with his beams my cloudy page,
And beautified a fault.

To touch our passions' secret springs
Was his peculiar care;

And deep his happy genius dived
In bosoms of the fair.

Nature, which favours to the few
All art beyond imparts,

To him presented, at his birth,
The key of human hearts.

But not to me by him bequeathed
His gentle smooth address;

His tender hand to touch the wound
In throbbings of distress.

Howe'er, proceed I must, unblessed
With Esculapian art:

Know, Love, sometimes, mistaken Love!
Plays Disaffection's part.

Nor lands, nor seas, nor suns, nor stars,
Can soul from soul divide;
They correspond from distant worlds,
Though transports are denied.

Are you not then unkindly kind?
Is not your love severe ?

O! stop that crystal source of wo,
Nor wound him with a tear.

As those above from human bliss
Receive increase of joy,

May not a stroke from human wo,

In part their peace destroy?

He lives in those he left;-to what!
Your now paternal care:

Clear from its clouds your brightened eye,

It will discern him there;

In features, not of form alone,
But those, I trust of mind,
Auspicious to the public weal,
And to their fate resigned.

Think on the tempests he sustained,
Revolve his battles won,
And let those prophesy your joy
From such a father's son.

Is consolation what you seek?
Fan then his martial fire,
And animate to flame the sparks
Bequeathed him by his sire.

As nothing great is born in haste,
Wise Nature's time allow;
His father's laurels may descend,
And flourish on his brow.

Nor, Madam! be surprised to hear,
That laurels may be due
Not more to heroes of the field
(Proud boasters!) than to you.

Tender as is the female frame,
Like that brave man you mourn,
You are a soldier, and to fight
Superior battles born.

Beneath a banner nobler far
Than ever was unfurled

In fields of blood; a banner bright!
High-waved o'er all the world;

It, like a streaming meteor, casts
An universal light;

Sheds day, sheds more, eternal day,
On nations whelmed in night.

Beneath that banner, what exploit
Can mount our glory higher,
Than to sustain the dreadful blow,
When those we love expire?

Go forth a moral Amazon,
Armed with undaunted thought;

The battle won, though costing dear,
You'll think it cheaply bought.

The passive hero, who sits down
Unactive, and can smile
Beneath Affliction's galling load,
Outacts a Cæsar's toil.

The billows stained by slaughtered foes
Inferior praise afford;

Reason's a bloodless conqueror
More glorious than the sword.

Nor can the thunder of huzzas
From shouting nations, cause

Such sweet delight, as from your heart
Soft whispers of applause.

The dear deceased so famed in arms,
With what delight he'll view
His triumphs on the main outdone,
Thus conquered twice by you!

Share his delight; take heed to shun
Of bosoms most diseased

That odd distemper, and absurd
Reluctance to be pleased.

Some seem in love with Sorrow's charms,
And that foul fiend embrace;
This temper let me justly brand
And stamp it with disgrace.

Sorrow! of horrid parentage!
Thou second-born of hell!

Against heaven's endless mercies poured
How dar'st thou to rebel?

From black and noxious vapours bred,
And nursed by want of thought,
And to the door of Frenzy's self
By Perseverance brought.

Thy most inglorious coward tears,
From brutal eyes have ran;
Smiles, incommunicable smiles!
Are radiant marks of man;
They cast a sudden glory round
The illumined human face;
And light, in sons of honest Joy,
Some beams of Moses' face.
Is Resignation's lesson hard?
Examine, we shall find

That duty gives up little more
Than anguish of the mind.

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Who bids us lay our burden down
On his Almighty hand,
Softens our duty to relief,

To blessing a command.

For joy what cause! how every sense
Is courted from above,

The year around, with presents rich
The growth of endless love!

But must o'erlook the blessings poured,
Forget the wonders done,

And terminate, wrapt up in sense,
Their prospect at the sun;

From that their final point of view,
From that their radiant goal,
On travel infinite of thought,
Sets out the nobler soul.

Broke loose from Time's tenacious ties,
And earth's involving gloom,
To range at large its vast domain,
And talk with worlds to come:

They let unmarked, and unemployed
Life's idle moments run;

And doing nothing for themselves,
Imagine nothing done.

Fatal mistake! their fate goes on,
Their dread account proceeds,
And their not-doing is set down
Amongst their darkest deeds.

Though man sits still, and takes his ease,
God is at work on man:

No means, no moments unemployed,
To bless him, if he can.

But man consents not, boldly bent
To fashion his own fate;

Man, a mere bungler in the trade,
Repents his crime too late.

Hence loud laments. Let me thy cause,
Indulgent Father! plead;

Of all the wretches we deplore,
Not one by thee was made.

What is thy whole creation fair?

Of love divine the child:

Love brought it forth, and, from its birth, Has o'er it fondly smiled.

Now, and through periods distant far,

Long ere the world began,

Heaven is, and has in travail been,
Its birth the good of man.

Man holds in constant service bound
The blustering winds and seas;
Nor suns disdain to travel hard,
Their master, man, to please.

To final good the worst events
Through secret channels run;
Finish, for man, their destined course,
As 'twas for man begun.

One point (observed, perhaps, by few)
Has often smote, and smites
My mind, as demonstration strong
That heaven in man delights.

What's known to man of things unseen,
Of future worlds or fates?

So much, nor more, than what to man's
Sublime affairs relates.

What's revelation then? a list,
An inventory just,

Of that poor insects goods so late
Called out of night and dust.

What various motives to rejoice!
To render joy sincere,

Has this no weight? Our joy is felt
Beyond this narrow sphere.

Would we in heaven new heaven create,
And double its delight?

A smiling world, when heaven looks down,
How pleasing in its sight!

Angels stoop forward from the thrones
To hear its joyful lays;

As incense sweet enjoy, and join,
Its aromatic praise.

Have we no cause to fear the stroke

Of heaven's avenging rod,
When we presume to counteract
A sympathetic God?

If we resign, our patience makes
His rod an harmless wand;
If not, it darts a serpent's sting,
Like that in Moses' hand;

Like that it swallows up whate'er
Earth's vain magicians bring,
Whose baffled arts would boast below
Of joys a rival spring.

Consummate love! the list how large
Of blessings from thy hand?
To banish sorrow, and be blessed,
Is thy supreme command.

Are such commands but ill obeyed?
Of bliss shall we complain?

The man who dares to be a wretch
Deserves still greater pain.

Joy is our duty, glory, health;
The sunshine of the soul;
Our best encomium on the power
Who sweetly plans the whole.

| Joy is our Eden still possessed: Begone, ignoble Grief!

'Tis joy makes gods, and men exalts, Their nature our relief:

Relief, for man to that must stoop,
And his due distance know;
Transport's the language of the skies,
Content the style below.

Content is joy; and joy in pain
Is joy and virtue too;

Thus, whilst good present we possess,
More precious we pursue.

Of joy the more we have in hand
The more have we to come;
Joy, like our money, interest bears,
Which daily swells the sum.

"But how to smile, to stem the tide
Of nature in our veins;

Is it not hard to weep in joy?
What then to smile in pains?"

Victorious joy! which breaks the clouds,
And struggles through a storm,
Proclaims the mind as great as good,
And bids it doubly charm.

If doubly charming in our sex,
A sex by nature bold,

What then in yours? 'tis diamond there,
Triumphant o'er our gold.

And should not this complaint repress
And check the rising sigh?

Yet farther opiate to your pain

I labour to supply.

Since spirits greatly damped distort
Ideas of delight,

Look through the medium of a friend,
To set your notions right.

As tears the sight, grief dims the soul;
Its object dark appears;

True friendship, like a rising sun,
The soul's horizon clears.

A friend's an optic to the mind
With sorrow clouded o'er;
And gives it strength of sight to see
Redress unseen before.

Reason is somewhat rough in man;
Extremely smooth and fair,

When she, to grace her manly strength,
Assumes a female air.

A friend you have,* and I the same,
Whose prudent soft address

Mrs. M

Will bring to life those healing thoughts,
Which died in your distress.

That friend, the spirit of my theme
Extracting for your ease,

Will leave me to the dreg, in thoughts
Too common, such as these.

Let those lament, to whom full bowls
Of sparkling joys are given;
That triple bane inebriates life,
Imbitters death, and hazards heaven.

Wo to the soul at perfect ease!
'Tis brewing perfect pains;

Lulled Reason sleeps, the Pulse is king;
Despotic Body reigns.

Have you ne'er pitied Joy's gay scenes,
And deemed their glory dark?
Alas, poor Envy! she 's stone blind,
And quite mistakes her mark:

Her mark lies hid in Sorrow's shades,
But sorrow well subdued;
And in proud Fortune's frown defied
By meek, unborrowed good.

By Resignation; all in that
A double friend may find,

A wing to heaven, and, while on earth,
The pillow of mankind.

On pillows void of down for rest
Our restless hopes we place;

When hopes of heaven lie warm at least,
Our hearts repose in peace.

That peace which resignation yields,
Who feel alone can guess:

'Tis disbelieved by murmuring minds,
They must conclude it less.

The loss or gain of that alone
Have we to hope or fear;

That Fate controls, and can invert
The seasons of the year.

O! the dark days, the year around,

Of an impatient mind;

Through clouds, and storms, a summer breaks,
To shine on the resigned.

While man, by that, of every grace
And virtue is possessed,

Foul Vice her Pandemonium builds

In the rebellious breast.

By Resignation we defeat
The worst that can annoy,
And suffer with far more repose
Than worldlings can enjoy.

From small experience this I speak;
O grant to those I love
Experience fuller far, ye powers
Who form our fates above!

My love where due, if not to those
Who leaving grandeur, came
To shine on age in mean recess,
And light me to my theme?

A theme themselves! a theme how rare!
The charms which they display
To triumph over captive heads,
Are set in bright array.

With his own arms proud man's o'ercome,
His boasted laurels die;

Learning and Genius, wiser grown,
To female bosoms fly.

This revolution, fixed by Fate,
In fable was foretold;

The dark prediction puzzled wits,
Nor could the learned unfold.

But as those ladies' works I read,
They darted such a ray,

The latent sense burst out at once,
And shone in open day.

So burst full ripe distended fruits,
When strongly strikes the sun;
And from the purple grape unpressed,
Spontaneous nectars run.

Pallas, ('tis said) when Jove grew dull,
Forsook his drowsy brain,

And sprightly leaped into the throne
Of Wisdom's brighter reign;

Her helmet took; that this, shot rays
Of formidable wit;

And lance,-or genius most acute,
Which lines immortal writ;

And Gorgon shield,—or, power to fright
Man's folly dreadful shone;

And many a blockhead (easy change!)
Turned instantly to stone.

Our authors male, as then did Jove,
Now scratch a damaged head,
And call for what once quartered there,
But find the goddess fled.

The fruit of knowledge, golden fruit!
That once forbidden tree,
Hedged in by surly man, is now
To Britain's daughters free.

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In Eve (we know) of fruit so fair
The noble thirst began;

And they, like her, have caused a fall,

A fall of fame in man.

And since of genius in our sex,

O Addison! with thee

The sun is set, how I rejoice
This sister lamp to see!

It sheds, like Cynthia, silver beams
On man's nocturnal state:

His lessened light, and languid powers, I show, whilst I relate.


BUT what in either sex, beyond
All parts, our glory crowns?
"In ruffling seasons to be calm,
And smile while fortune frowns."

Heaven's choice is safer than our own:
Of ages past inquire.

What the most formidable fate?
"To have our own desire."

If, in your wrath, the worst of foes
You wish extremely ill;

Expose him to the thunder's stroke,
Or that of his own will.

What numbers rushing down the steep
Of inclination strong,

Have perished in the ardent wish!
Wish ardent, ever wrong!

"Tis Resignation's full reverse,

Most wrong, as it implies
Error most fatal in our choice,
Detachment from the skies.

By closing with the skies, we make
Omnipotence our own;

That done, how formidable Ill's
Whole army is o'erthrown!

No longer impotent and frail,
Ourselves above we rise;

We scarce believe ourselves below;
We trespass on the skies.

The Lord, and Soul, and source of all,

Whilst man enjoys his ease,

Is executing human will

In earth, and air, and seas.

Beyond us what can angels boast?
Archangels what, require?
Whate'er below, above, is done,
Is done as we desire.

What glory this for man so mean,
Whose life is but a span?
This is meridian majesty!
This the sublime of man!

Beyond the boast of Pagan song,
My sacred subject shines,

And for a soil the lustre takes

Of Rome's exalted lines.

"All that the sun surveys subdued,

But Cato's mighty mind”—

How grand! most true: yet far beneath
The soul of the resigned.

To more than kingdoms, more than worlds,
To passion that gives law:

Its matchless empire could have kept
Great Cato's pride in awe.

That fatal pride, whose cruel point
Transfixed his noble breast;
Far nobler! if his fate sustained
Had left to Heaven the rest:

Then he the palm had borne away,
At distance Cæsar thrown:

Put him off cheaply with the world,
And made the skies his own.

What can not Resignation do?

It wonders can perform:

That powerful charm, "Thy will be done,"
Can lay the loudest storm.

Come, Resignation! then, from fields,
Where, mounted on the wing,

A wing of flame, blessed martyrs' souls
Ascended to their King.

Who is it calls thee? One whose need
Transcends the common size;

Who stands in front against a foe
To which none equal rise:

In front he stands, the brink he treads
Of an eternal state!

How dreadful his appointed post!
How strongly armed by fate!

His threatening foe! what shadows deep
O'erwhelm his gloomy brow!

His dart tremendous!-at fourscore
My sole asylum thou.

Haste then, O Resignation! haste,
'Tis thine to reconcile

My foe and me; at thy approach,
My foe begins to smile.

O for that summit of my wish,
Whilst here I draw my breath,
That promise of eternal life,
A glorious smile in death.

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