"Resign her, Nereid," 'twas thy G.o.d's command.

Thy spouse late buried, as thy fears conceiv'd, Again returns, thy fears are all reliev'd: Thy daughter blooming with superior grace Again thou see'st, again thine arms embrace; O come, and joyful show thy spouse his heir, And what the blessings of maternal care!

To a LADY and her Children, on the Death of her Son and their Brother.

O'ERWHELMING sorrow now demands my song: From death the overwhelming sorrow sprung.

What flowing tears? What hearts with grief opprest?

What sighs on sighs heave the fond parent's breast?

The brother weeps, the hapless sisters join Th' increasing woe, and swell the crystal brine; The poor, who once his gen'rous bounty fed, Droop, and bewail their benefactor dead.

In death the friend, the kind companion lies, And in one death what various comfort dies!

Th' unhappy mother sees the sanguine rill Forget to flow, and nature's wheels stand still, But see from earth his spirit far remov'd, And know no grief recals your best-belov'd: He, upon pinions swifter than the wind, Has left mortality's sad scenes behind For joys to this terrestial state unknown, And glories richer than the monarch's crown.

Of virtue's steady course the prize behold!

What blissful wonders to his mind unfold!

But of celestial joys I sing in vain: Attempt not, muse, the too advent'rous strain.

No more in briny show'rs, ye friends around, Or bathe his clay, or waste them on the ground: Still do you weep, still wish for his return?

How cruel thus to wish, and thus to mourn?

No more for him the streams of sorrow pour, But haste to join him on the heav'nly sh.o.r.e, On harps of gold to tune immortal lays, And to your G.o.d immortal anthems raise.

To a GENTLEMAN and LADY on the Death of the Lady's Brother and Sister, and a Child of the Name of Avis, aged one Year.

ON Death's domain intent I fix my eyes, Where human nature in vast ruin lies: With pensive mind I search the drear abode, Where the great conqu'ror has his spoils bestow'd; There there the offspring of six thousand years In endless numbers to my view appears: Whole kingdoms in his gloomy den are thrust, And nations mix with their primeval dust: Insatiate still he gluts the ample tomb; His is the present, his the age to come.

See here a brother, here a sister spread, And a sweet daughter mingled with the dead.

But, Madam, let your grief be laid aside, And let the fountain of your tears be dry'd, In vain they flow to wet the dusty plain, Your sighs are wafted to the skies in vain, Your pains they witness, but they can no more, While Death reigns tyrant o'er this mortal sh.o.r.e.

The glowing stars and silver queen of light At last must perish in the gloom of night: Resign thy friends to that Almighty hand, Which gave them life, and bow to his command; Thine Avis give without a murm'ring heart, Though half thy soul be fated to depart.

To shining guards consign thine infant care To waft triumphant through the seas of air: Her soul enlarg'd to heav'nly pleasure springs, She feeds on truth and uncreated things.

Methinks I hear her in the realms above, And leaning forward with a filial love, Invite you there to share immortal bliss Unknown, untasted in a state like this.

With tow'ring hopes, and growing grace arise, And seek beat.i.tude beyond the skies.

On the Death of Dr. SAMUEL MARSHALL. 1771.

THROUGH thickest glooms look back, immortal shade, On that confusion which thy death has made: Or from Olympus' height look down, and see A Town involv'd in grief bereft of thee.

Thy Lucy sees thee mingle with the dead, And rends the graceful tresses from her head, Wild in her woe, with grief unknown opprest Sigh follows sigh deep heaving from her breast.

Too quickly fled, ah! whither art thou gone?

Ah! lost for ever to thy wife and son!

The hapless child, thine only hope and heir, Clings round his mother's neck, and weeps his sorrows there.

The loss of thee on Tyler's soul returns, And Boston for her dear physician mourns.

When sickness call'd for Marshall's healing hand, With what compa.s.sion did his soul expand?

In him we found the father and the friend: In life how lov'd! how honour'd in his end!

And must not then our AEsculapius stay To bring his ling'ring infant into day?

The babe unborn in the dark womb is tost, And seems in anguish for its father lost.

Gone is Apollo from his house of earth, But leaves the sweet memorials of his worth: The common parent, whom we all deplore, From yonder world unseen must come no more, Yet 'midst our woes immortal hopes attend The spouse, the sire, the universal friend.

To a GENTLEMAN on his Voyage to Great-Britain for the Recovery of his Health.

WHILE others chant of gay Elysian scenes, Of balmy zephyrs, and of flow'ry plains, My song more happy speaks a greater name, Feels higher motives and a n.o.bler flame.

For thee, O R-----, the muse attunes her strings, And mounts sublime above inferior things.

I sing not now of green embow'ring woods, I sing not now the daughters of the floods, I sing not of the storms o'er ocean driv'n, And how they howl'd along the waste of heav'n.

But I to R----- would paint the British sh.o.r.e, And vast Atlantic, not untry'd before: Thy life impair'd commands thee to arise, Leave these bleak regions and inclement skies, Where chilling winds return the winter past, And nature shudders at the furious blast.

O thou stupendous, earth-enclosing main Exert thy wonders to the world again!

If ere thy pow'r prolong'd the fleeting breath, Turn'd back the shafts, and mock'd the gates of death, If ere thine air dispens'd an healing pow'r, Or s.n.a.t.c.h'd the victim from the fatal hour, This equal case demands thine equal care, And equal wonders may this patient share.

But unavailing, frantic is the dream To hope thine aid without the aid of him Who gave thee birth and taught thee where to flow, And in thy waves his various blessings show.

May R----- return to view his native sh.o.r.e Replete with vigour not his own before, Then shall we see with pleasure and surprise, And own thy work, great Ruler of the skies!

To the Rev. DR. THOMAS AMORY, on reading his Sermons on DAILY DEVOTION, in which that Duty is recommended and a.s.sisted.

TO cultivate in ev'ry n.o.ble mind Habitual grace, and sentiments refin'd, Thus while you strive to mend the human heart, Thus while the heav'nly precepts you impart, O may each bosom catch the sacred fire, And youthful minds to Virtue's throne aspire!

When G.o.d's eternal ways you set in sight, And Virtue shines in all her native light, In vain would Vice her works in night conceal, For Wisdom's eye pervades the sable veil.

Artists may paint the sun's effulgent rays, But Amory's pen the brighter G.o.d displays: While his great works in Amory's pages shine, And while he proves his essence all divine, The Atheist sure no more can boast aloud Of chance, or nature, and exclude the G.o.d; As if the clay without the potter's aid Should rise in various forms, and shapes self-made, Or worlds above with orb o'er orb profound Self-mov'd could run the everlasting round.

It cannot be--unerring Wisdom guides With eye propitious, and o'er all presides.

Still prosper, Amory! still may'st thou receive The warmest blessings which a muse can give, And when this transitory state is o'er, When kingdoms fall, and fleeting Fame's no more, May Amory triumph in immortal fame, A n.o.bler t.i.tle, and superior name!

On the Death of J. C. an Infant.

NO more the flow'ry scenes of pleasure rife, Nor charming prospects greet the mental eyes, No more with joy we view that lovely face Smiling, disportive, flush'd with ev'ry grace.

The tear of sorrow flows from ev'ry eye, Groans answer groans, and sighs to sighs reply; What sudden pangs shot thro' each aching heart, When, Death, thy messenger dispatch'd his dart?

Thy dread attendants, all-destroying Pow'r, Hurried the infant to his mortal hour.

Could'st thou unpitying close those radiant eyes?

Or fail'd his artless beauties to surprise?

Could not his innocence thy stroke controul, Thy purpose shake, and soften all thy soul?

The blooming babe, with shades of Death o'er-spread, No more shall smile, no more shall raise its head, But, like a branch that from the tree is torn, Falls prostrate, wither'd, languid, and forlorn.

"Where flies my James?" 'tis thus I seem to hear The parent ask, "Some angel tell me where "He wings his pa.s.sage thro' the yielding air?"

Methinks a cherub bending from the skies Observes the question, and serene replies, "In heav'ns high palaces your babe appears: "Prepare to meet him, and dismiss your tears."

Shall not th' intelligence your grief restrain, And turn the mournful to the cheerful strain?

Cease your complaints, suspend each rising sigh, Cease to accuse the Ruler of the sky.

Parents, no more indulge the falling tear: Let Faith to heav'n's refulgent domes repair, There see your infant, like a seraph glow: What charms celestial in his numbers flow Melodious, while the foul-enchanting strain Dwells on his tongue, and fills th' ethereal plain?

Enough--for ever cease your murm'ring breath; Not as a foe, but friend converse with Death, Since to the port of happiness unknown He brought that treasure which you call your own.

The gift of heav'n intrusted to your hand Cheerful resign at the divine command: Not at your bar must sov'reign Wisdom stand.

An H Y M N to H U M A N I T Y.

To S. P. G. Esq;

I.

LO! for this dark terrestrial ball Forsakes his azure-paved hall A prince of heav'nly birth!

Divine Humanity behold, What wonders rise, what charms unfold At his descent to earth!