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So perish all, whose breast ne'er learu'd to glow
For others' good, or melt at others' wo.

What can atone (oh, ever-injur'd shade!)
Thy fate vnpily'd, and thy rights unpaid?
No friend's complaint, no kind domestic tear.
Pleas'd thy pale ghost, or grac'd thy mournful bier..
By foreign hands-thy dying eyes were clos’d,
By foreign hands thy decent limbs compor'd;
By foreign hands thy humble

grave adorn'd,
By strangers honour'd, and by strangers mourn'd!
What though no friends in sable weeds appear,
Grieve for an hour, perhaps, then mourn a year,
And bear about the mockery of wo
To midnight dances and the public show ;
What though no weeping Loves thy ashes grace,
Nor polish'd marble emulate thy face;.
What though no sacred earth allow thee room,
Nor hallow'u dirge be mutter'd o'er ihy tombi:
Yet shall thy grave wiih rising flow'rs he dresi,
And the green turf lie lightly on thy breast ::
'There shall the morn her earliest tears bestow,
There the first roses of the year shall blow;
While angels with their silver wings o'ershades
The ground, now sacred by thy reliques made.

So peaceful res's, without a stone, a name,
What once had heauty, ijtles, wealth, and fame..
How, lov’d, how honour'ü once, avails thee not,
To whom related, or by whom begot;
A heap of dust alone remains of thee,
"Tis all ihou art, and all the proud shall be!:

Poe's ihemselves must fall like those they sungi.
Deafithe prais'd ear, and mute the. cuneful tongue.
Ev'n he, whose soul not melts in mournful lays,
Shall shortly want the gen'rous tear he pays;
Then from his closing eyes thy form shall part,
And the last pang shall tear thee from his heart;
Life's idle hus'ness at one gasp be o'er,
The muss forgot, and thou belor'd no more!

Pore.

CHAPTER V.

MORNING HYMN.

These are thy glorious works, Parent of good!
Almighty! thine this universal frame,
Thus wondrous fair! thyself how wondrous then!
Unspeakable! who sitt’št above these Htav'ıis,
To us invisible, or dimly seen
In these thy lowliest works: yet these declare
Thy goodness beyond though, and pow'r divine.
Speak ye, who best can tell, ye sons of light,
Angels; for ye behold him, and with songs
And choral symphonies, day without night,
Circle his throne rejoicing; ye in Heav'n,
On earth join all ye creatures to extol
Him first, bim last, him niidst, and without end.
Fairest of stars, last in the train of night,
If better thou belong not to the dawn,
Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling morn
With thy bright circlet, praise him in thy sphere,
While day arises, that sweet hour of priine.
Thou sun, of this great world both eye and soul,
Acknowledge him thy greater; sound his praise
In thy eternal course, both when thou climb'st,
And when high noon bast gain’d, and when thou fall'st.
Moon, that now meet'st the orient sun, now fly'st.
With the fix'd stars, fix'd in their orb ihat flies;
And ye five other wand'ring fires, that move
In mystic dance, not without song, resound
His praise, who, out of darkness, ceild up light..
Air, and ye elements, the eldest birth
Of Nature's womb, that in qua

a ernion run
Perpetual circle, multiform, and mix,
And nourish all things; let your ceaseless change
Vary try our great Maker still new praise.
Yet mists and exhalations, that now rise
From hill or streaming lake, usky or gray,
Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with golda
In honour to the world's great Author rise,

Whether to deck with clouds th' uncolour'd sky,
Or wet the thirsty earth with falling showers,
Rising, or falling, still advance his praise.
His praise, ye winds, that from foor quarters blow,
Breathe soft or loud; and wave your tops, ye pines,
With ev'ry plant, in sign of worship wave.
Fountains, and ye that warble, as ye flow,
Melodious murmurs, warbling tune his praise.
Join voices all ye living souls; ve birds,
That singing up to beaven-gate ascend,
Bear on your wiogs and in your notes his praise.
Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk
The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep';
Witness if I be silent, morn or even,
To hill or valley, fountain or fresh shade,
Made vocal by my song, and taught his praise.
Hail, universal Lord! be bounteous still
To give us only good; and if the night
Have gather'd aught of evil, or concealid,
Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark.

MILTON

CHAPTER VI.

SATAN'S SOLILOQUY.

OTHOU that, with surpassing glory crown'd,
Look’st from thy sole dominion like the God
Of this new world; at whose sight all the stars
Hide their diminish'd heads; to thee I call,
But with no friendly voice, and add thy name,
O sun, to tell thee how I hate thy beams,
That bring to my remembrance from what state
I fell, how glorious once above thy sphere ;
Till pride, and worse ambition threw me down,
Warring in Heav'ı against Heav'n's matchless King.
Ah, wherefore? he deserv'd no such return,
From me, whom he created what I was
In that bright eminence, and with his good
Upbraided none: nor was his service hard.

What could be less than to afford him praise,
The easiest recompense, and pay him thanks?
How due! yet all his good prov'd ill in me,
And wrought but malice; lifted up so high,
I 'sdain'd subjection, and thought one step higher
Would set me highest, and in a moment quit
The debt immense of endless gratitude,
So burdensome, still paying, still to owe;
Forgetful what from him I still receiv'd;
And understood not that a grateful mind
By owing owes not, but still pays, at once
Indebted and discharg'd: what burden then?
O had his pow'rful destiny ordain'd
Me some inferior angel, I had stood
Then happy; no unbounded hope had rais'd
Ambition. Yet why not? some other power
As great might have aspir'd, and me, thuugh mean,
Drawn to his part ; but other pow'rs as great
Fell not, but stand unshaken, from within
Or from without, to all temptations arm’d.
Hadst thou the same free will and pow'r to stand ?
Thou hadst. Whom bast thou then, or what t'accuse,
But Heav'n's free loye, dealt equally to all?
Be then his love accurs'd, since love or hate,
To me alike, it deals eternal wo.
Nay, curs'd be thou; since against his thy will
Chose freely what it now so justly rues.
Me miserable! which way shall I fly
Infinite wrath, and infinite despair?
Which way I fly is hell; myself am hell;
And in the lowest deep, a lower deep,
Still threat'ning to devour me, opens wide,
To which the hell I suffer seems a heaven.
O then at last relent; is there no place
Left for repentance, none for pardon left?
None left but by submission; and that word
Disdain forbids me, and my dread of shame
Among the spirits beneath, whom I seduc'd
With other promises and other vaunis,
Than to submit, boasting I could subdue
Th’Omnipotent. Ah me, they little know

How dearly I abide that boast so vain,
Under what tormenis inwardiy I groan,
While they adore me on the throne of hell:
With diadem and sceptre high advane’d,
The lower still I tall, only supreme
In misery; such joy ambition finds.
But say I could repent, and could obtain,
By act of grace, my former state; how soon
Would height recali high thoughts, how soon unsay
What feign'd submission swore! ease would recant
Vow's made in pain, as violent and void :
For never can true reconcilement grow
Where wounds of deadly hate have pierc'd so deep:
Which would but lead me to a worse relapse,
And heavier fall: so should I purchase dear
Short intermission, bought with double smart.
This knows my punisher : therefore as far
From granting he, as I from begging peace :
All hope excluded thus, behold instead.
Of us outcast, exil'd, his new delight,
Mankind createst, and for him this world.
So farewell hope, and with hope farewell fear,
Farewell remorse ; all good to me is lost;
Evil be thou my good: hy thee at least
Divided empire with Heav'n's King I hold,
By thee, and more than half perhaps' will reign;
As pian ere long, and this new world, shail know.

MIETON,

CHAPTER VII.

JUBA AND SYPHAX.

JUB. SYPHAX, "I joy to ineet thee thus alone.
I have observ'd of late thy looks are fah’n,
O’ercast with gloomy cares and discontent;
Then tell me, Syphax;. I conjure thee tell me,
What are the thoughts that kwit thy brow in frowns,
And turn thine eyes thus coldly on thy priace ?

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