Strange things, the neighbours fay, have hap-Strik'ft out the dimple from the cheek of mirth,
Wild thricks have iffued from the hollow tombs; And ev'ry fmirking feature from the face;
Dead men have come again, and walk'd about; Branding our laughter with the name of madness.
And the great bell has toll'd, unrung, untouch'd. Where are the jefters now? the man of health
Such tales their cheer, at wake or goffipping, Complexionally pleasant where the droll?
When it draws near to witching time of night. Whole ev'ry look and gefture was a joke
Oft in the lone church-yard at night I've feen, To clapping theatres and fhouting crowds,
By glimpse of moon-fhine, cheq'ring thro' the And made ev'n thick-lipp'd mufing Melancholy
To gather up her face into a smile
Before the was aware? Ah! fullen now,
And dumb as the green turf that covers them!

That throbs beneath the facrificer's knife:
Mute must thou bear the ftrife of little tongues,
And coward infults of the bafe-born crowd,
That grudge a privilege thou never hadst,
But only hop'd for in the peaceful grave,
Of being unmolefted and alone.
Araby's gums and odoriferous drugs,
And honours by the heralds duly paid
In mode and form, ev'n to a very fcruple;
O cruel irony! thefe come too late;

[on,

And only mock whom they were meant to honor.
Surely, there's not a dungeon.flave that's buried
In the highway, unfhrouded and uncoffin'd,
But lies as foft, and fleeps as found, as he.
Sorry pre-eminence of high defcent
Above the vulgar-born, to rot in state!
But fee! the well-plum'd hearfe comes nodding
Stately and flow; and properly attended
By the whole fable tribe, that painful watch
The fick man's door, and live upon the dead,
By letting out their perfons by the hour
To mimic forrow, when the heart's not fad!
How rich the trappings, now they're all unfurl'd
And glitt'ring in the fun! triumphant entries
Of conquerors, and coronation pomps,

In glory fcarce exceed. Great gluts of people
Retard th' unwieldy fhow; whilft from the
cafements,

And houfes tops, ranks behind ranks clofe wedg'd
Hang bellying o'er. But tell us,why this wafte?
Why this ado in earthing up a carcafe
That's fallen into difgrace, and in the noftril
Smells horrible? Ye undertakers! tell us,
'Midft all the gorgeous figures you exhibit,
Why is the principal conceal'd, for which
You make this mighty ftir? 'Tis wifely done:
What would offend the eye in a good picture,
The Painter cafts difcrectly into fhades.
Proud lineage, now how little thou appear'ft!
Below the envy of the private man!
Honour, that meddlefome officious ill,
Purfues thee e'en to death, nor there ftops fhort.
Strange perfecution! when the grave itself
Is no protection from rude fufferance.

Abfurd to think to over-reach the grave,
And from the wreck of names to refcue ours!
The best concerted schemes men lay for fame
Die faft away: only themfelves die fafter.
The far-fam'd fculptor, and the laurel'd bard,
Those bold infurers of eternal fame,
Supply their little feeble aids in vain.
The tap'ring pyramid, th' Egyptian's pride,
And wonder of the world! whofe fpiky top
Has wounded the thick cloud, and long outliv'd
The angry fhaking of the winter's ftorm;
Yet fpent at laft by th' injuries of heav'n,
Shatter'd with age, and furrow'd o'er with years,
The mystic cone with hieroglyphics crufted,
Gives way. O lamentable fight at once
The labour of whole ages lumbers down;
A hideous and mif-fhapen length of ruins.
Sepulchral columns wrestle but in vain
With all-fubduing Time; her cank'ring hand
With calm deliberate malice wafteth them:

Worn on the edge of days, the brafs confumes.
The bufto moulders, and the deep-cut marble,
Unfteady to the fteel, gives up its charge.
Ambition, half convicted of her fully,
Hangs down the head, and reddens at the tale.
Here all the mighty troublers of the earth
Who fwam to fov'reign rule thro' feas of blood;
Th' oppreffive, fturdy, man-deftroying villains,
Who ravag'd kingdoms, and laid empires wafte,
And in a cruel wantonnefs of pow'r

Thinn'd ftates of half their people, and gave up
To want the reft; now, like a ftorm that's fpent,
Lie hush'd, and meanly fncak behind thy covert.
Vain thought! to hide them from the gen'ral fcorn
That haunts and dogs them like an injur'd ghost
Implacable. Here too, the petty tyrant,
Whofe fcant domains geographer ne'er notic'd,
And, well for neighb'ring grounds, of arm as short,
Who fix'd his iron talons on the poor,
And grip'd them like fome lordly beast of prey,
Deaf to the forceful cries of gnawing hunger,
And piteous plaintive voice of mifery
(As if a flave was not a fhred of nature,
Of the fame common nature with his lord);
Now tame and humble, like a child that's whipp'd,
Shakes hands with duft, and calls the worm his
kinfman;

Nor pleads his rank and birthright. Underground
Precedency's a jeft; vaffal and lord,
Grofsly familiar, fide by fide confume.

When felf-esteem, or others adulation,
Would cunningly perfuade us we were something
Above the common level of our kind; [flatt'ry,
The grave gainfays the fmooth-complexion'd
And with blunt truth acquaints us what we are.

Beauty! thou pretty play-thing! dear deceit!
That fteals fo foftly o'er the ftripling's heart,
And gives it a new pulfe unknown before!
The grave difcredits thee: thy charms expung'd,
Thy rofes faded, and thy lilies foil'd,
What haft thou more to boast of? Will thy lovers
Flock round thee now, to gaze and do thee homage
Methinks I fee thee with thy head low laid;
Whilft furfeited upon thy damask cheek,
The high-fed worin in lazy volumes roll'd,
Riots unfcar'd. For this was all thy caution?
For this thy painful labours at thy glass,
T'improve thofe charms, and keep them in repair,
For which the fpoiler thanks thee not? Foul feeder L
Coarfe fare and carrion pleafe thee full as well,
And leave as keen a relifh on the fenfe.
Look how the fair one weeps! the confcious tears
Stand thick as dew-drops on the bells of flow'rs:
Honeft effufion! the fwoln heart in vain
Works hard to put a glofs on its diftrefs.

Strength, too! thou furly, and lefs gentle boast
Of thofe that laugh loud at the village ring!
A fit of common fick nefs pulls thee down,
With greater eafe than e'er thou didst the ftripling
That rafhly dar'd thee to th' unequal fight.
What groan was that I heard? deep groan indeed!
With anguish heavy laden! let me trace it:
From yonder bed it comes, where the strong man
By ftronger arm belabour'd, gafps for breath

Like a hard-hunted beaft. How his great heart | And vex'd them in the fire: nor fly, nor infect,

Beats thick! his roomy cheft by far too fcant
To give the lungs full play! what now avail
The ftrong-built finewy limbs, and well-fpread

fhoulders?

See how he tugs for life, and lays about him,
Mad with his pain! cager he catches hold
Of what comes next to hand, and grafps it hard,
Juft like a creature drowning! hideous fight!
Oh! how his eyes stand out and ftare full ghaftly!
Whilst the diffemper's rank and deadly venom
Shoots like a burning arrow crofs his bowels,
And drinks his marrow up. Heard you that groan?
It was his laft. See how the great Goliath,
Juft like a child that brawl'ditfelf to reft, [boafter!
Lies ftill. What mean'ft thou then, O mighty
Tovaunt ofnerves of thine? What means the bull,
Unconscious of his ftrength, to play the coward,
And flee before a feeble thing like man;
That, knowing well the flackness of his arm,
Trufts only in the well-invented knife!

With ftudy pale, and midnight vigils fpent,
The ftar-furveying fage clofe to his eye
Applies the fight-invigorating tube;
And travlling thro' the boundlefs length of fpace,
Marks well the courfes of the far-feen orbs,
That roll with regular confufion there,
In ecstacy of thought. But ah! proud man!
Great heights are hazardous to the weak head!
Soon, very foon, thy firmeft footing fails;
And down thou dropp'ft into that darkfome place,
Where nor device nor knowledge ever came.

Here the tongue-warrior lies disabled now,
Difarm'd, dishonour'd, like a wretch that's gagg'd,
And cannot tell his ail to paffers-by. [change?
Great man of language, whence this mighty
This dumb defpair, and drooping of the head?
Though ftrong perfuafion hung upon thy lip,
And flv Infinuation's fofter arts

In ambuth lay about thy flowing tongue;
Alas! how chop-fall'n now! thick mifts and filence
Reft, like a weary cloud, upon thy breast
Unceafing. Ah where is the lifted arm,
The ftrength of action, and the force of words,
The well-turn'd period, and the well-tun'd voice,
With all the leffer ornaments of phrafe?
Ah! fled for ever, as they ne'er had been!
Raz'd from the book of fame : or, more provoking,
Perhaps fome hackney, hunger-bitten fcribbler
Infuits thy memory, and blots thy tomb
With long flat narrative, or duller rhimes
With heavy halting pace that drawl along;
Enough to roufe a dead man into rage,
And warm with red refentment the wan cheek.

Here the great masters of the healing art,
Thefe mighty mock defrauders of the tomb!
Spite of their juleps and catholicons,
Refign to fate. Proud Afculapius' fon,
Where are thy boafted implements of art,
And all thy well-cramm'd magazines of health
Nor hill, nor vale, as far as fhip could go,
Nor margin of the gravel-bottom'd brook,
Efcap'd thy rifling hand: from ftubborn fhrubs
Thou wrung'ft their thy retiring virtues out,

Nor writhy fnake, efcap'd thy deep refearch.
But why this apparatus? why this coft?
Tell us, thou doughty keeper from the grave!
Where are thy recipes and cordials now,
With the long lift of vouchers for thy cures 2
Alas! thou fpeakeft not. The bold impoftor
Looks not more filly, when the cheat's found out.
Here, the lank-fided mifer, worft of felons!
Who meanly ftole, difcreditable shift!
From back and belly too, their proper cheer;
Eas'd of a tax it irk'd the wretch to pay
To his own carcafe, now lies cheaply lodg'd,
By clam'rous appetites no longer teas'd,
Nor tedious bills of charges and repairs.
But, ah! where are his rents, his comings in?
Aye! now you've made the rich man poor indeed:
Robb'd of his gods, what has he left behind?
O curfed luft of gold! when for thy fake
The fool throws up his int'reft in both worlds,
Firft ftarv'd in this, then damn'd in that to come.

How fhocking muft thy fummons be, O Death!
To him that is at cafe in his poffeffions;
Who, counting on long years of pleasure here,
Is quite unfurnish'd for that world to come!
In that dread moment, how the frantic foul
Raves round the walls of her clay tenement,
Runs to each avenue, and thrieks for help,
But fhrieks in vain! how withfully the looks
On all fhe's leaving, now no longer hers!
A little longer, yet a little longer,

O might the stay to wash away her ftains,
And it her for her paifage! mournful fight?
Her very eyes weep blood; and every groan
She heaves is big with horror: but the foe,
Like a ftaunch murd'rer fteady to his purpofe,
Purfues her close thro' ev'ry lane of life,
Nor miffes once the track, but preffes on;
Till, forc'd at laft to the tremendous verge,
At once the finks to everlasting ruin.

Sure, 'tis a ferious thing to die! my foul!
What a ftrange moment muft it be, when near
Thy journey's end thou haft the gulf in view?
That awful gulf no mortal e'er repafs'd
To tell what's doing on the other fide!
Nature runs back and fhudders at the fight,
And ev'ry life-ftring bleeds at thoughts of partingt
For part they must: body and foul muft part;
Fond couple! link'd more clofe than wedded pair,
This wings its way to its Almighty Source,
The witnefs of its actions, now its judge;
That drops into the dark and noifome grave,
Like a difabled pitcher of no ufc.

If death was nothing, and nought after death;
If, when men died, at once they ceas'd to be,
Returning to the barren womb of nothing, [chee
Whence first they fprung; then might the debau
Untrembling mouth the heav'ns; then might the
drunkard

Reel over his full bowl, and when 'tis drain'd,
Fill up another to the brim, and laugh [wretch
At the poor bug-bear Death; then might the
That's weary of the world, and tir'd of life,
At once give each inquietude the flip,

By

Of a span long, that never saw the fun,

Nor prefs'd the nipple, ftrangled in life's porch:
Here is the mother with her fons and daughters;
The barren wife; the long-demurring maid,
Whofe lonely unappropriated fweets
Smil'd like yon knot of cowflips on the cliff,
Not to be come at by the willing hand.
Here are the prude fevere, and gay coquette,
The fober widow, and the young green virgin,
Cropp'd like a rofe before 'tis fully blown,
Or half its worth difclos'd. Strange medley here!
Here garrulous old age winds up his tale;
And jovial youth, of lightsome vacant heart,
Whofe ev'ry day was made of melody, [fhrew,
Hears not the voice of mirth; the thrill-tongued
Meek as the turtle-dove, forgets her chiding.
Here are the wife, the gen'rous, and the brave;
The juft, the good, the worthlefs, the profane,
The downright clown, and perfectly well-bred;
The fool, the churl, the fcoundrel, and the mean,
The fupple statesman, and the patriot stern;
The wrecks of nations, and the spoils of time,
With all the lumber of fix thousand years.
Poor man how happy once in thy firft ftate!
When yet but warm from thy great Maker's hand,
He ftamp'd thee with his image, and well pleas'd
Smil'd on his laft fair work! Then all was well.
Sound was the body, and the foul ferenc;
Like two fweet inftruments ne'er out of tune,
That play their feveral parts. Nor head, nor heart,
Offer'd to ache; nor was there caufe they fhould,
For all was pure within: no fell remorse,
Nor anxious caftings up of what may be,
Alarm'd his peaceful bofom: fummer feas
Shew not more smooth when kifs'd by fouthern
Juft ready to expire. Scarce importun'd, [winds,
The gen'rous foil with a luxuriant hand
Offer'd the various produce of the year,
And ev'ry thing most perfect in its kind.
Bleffed, thrice bleffed days! but ah, how fhort!
Blefs'd as the pleafing dreams of holy men,
But fugitive, like thofe, and quickly gone.
O flipp'ry ftate of things! What fudden turns,
What ftrange viciffitudes, in the first leaf
Of man's fad hiftory! to-day moft happy;
And, ere to-morrow's fun has fet, most abject!
How fcant the fpace between these vaft extremnes!
Thus far'd it with our Sire: not long he enjoy'd
His paradife! fcarce had the happy tenant
Of the fair spot due time to prove its sweets,
Or fum them up, when straight he must be gone,
Ne'er to return again. And muft he go?
Can nought compound for the first dire offence
Of erring man? Like one that is condemn'd,
Fain would he trifle time with idle talk,
And parley with his fate. But 'tis in vain.
Not all the lavish odours of the place,
Offer'd in incense, can procure his pardon,
Or mitigate his doom. A mighty angel
With flaming fword forbids his longer stay,
And drives the loit'rer forth; nor muft he
One laft and farewel round. At once he loft
His glory and his God. If mortal now,
And forely maim'd, no wonder! Man has finn'd.

Sick of his blifs, and bent on new adventures,
Evil he would needs try: nor tried in vain.
(Dreadful experiment! deftructive measure!
Where the worst thing could happen, is fuccefs.)
Alas! too well he fped: the good he scorn'd
Stalk'd off reluctant, like an ill-us'd ghoft,
Not to return; or, if it did, its vifits
Like thofe of angels fhort, and far between:
Whilft the black dæmon, with his hell-scap'd train,
Admitted once into its better room,

Grew loud and mutinous, nor would be gone;
Lording it o'er the man, who now too late
Saw the rafh error which he could not mend;
An error fatal not to him alone,
But to his future fons, his fortune's heirs.
Inglorious bondage! human nature groans
Beneath a vaffalage fo vile and cruel,
And its vaft body bleeds through ev'ry vein.

What havock haft thou made, foul monfter, Sint
Greatest and firft of ills! the fruitful parent
Of woes of all dimenfions! but for thee
Sorrow had never been. All noxious things
Of vileft nature, other forts of evils,
Are kindly circumfcrib'd, and have their bounds.
The fierce volcano, from its burning entrails
That belches molten ftone and globes of fire,
Involv'd in pitchy clouds of fmoke and itench,
Mars the adjacent fields for fome leagues round,
And there it stops. The big-fwoln inundation,
Of mifchief more diffufive, raving loud,
Buries whole tracts of country, threat'ning more;
But that too has its fhore it cannot pafs.
More dreadful far than thefe, fin has laid waste,
Not here and there a country, but a world;
Difpatching at a wide-extended blow
Entire mankind, and for their fakes defacing
A whole creation's beauty with rude hands;
Blafting the foodful grain, the loaded branches,
And marking all along its way with ruin.
Accurfed thing! O where fhall fancy find
A proper name to call thee by, expreffive
Of all thy horrors pregnant womb of ills!
Of temper to tranfcendently malign,
That toads and ferpents of moit deadly kind
Compar'd to thee are harmlefs. Sickneffes
Of ev'ry fize and fymptom, racking pains,
And blueft plagues are thine! See how the fiend
Profufely fcatters the contagion round! [heels,
Whilft deep-mouth'd flaughter, bellowing at her
Wades deep in blood new fpilt; yet for to-morrow
Shapes out new work of great uncommon daring,
And inly pines till the dread biow is ftruck.

But hold! I've gone too far; too much difcover'd
My father's nakednefs, and nature's fhame.
Here let me paufe! and drop an honest tear,
One burst of filial duty, and condolence,
O'er all thofe ample deferts Death has spread,
This chaos of mankind. O great man-eater!
Whofe ev'ry day is carnival, not fated yet!
Unheard-of epicure! without a fellow!
takeThe verieft gluttons do not always cram;
Some intervals of abftinence are fought
To edge the appetite: thou feckest none.
Methinks the countless swarms thou haft devour'd,
And