Improve the present hour, for all befide OULD I, from Heaven infpired, as fure prefage To whom the rising year fhall prove his As I can number in my punctual page, How each would trembling wait the mournful On which the press might stamp him next to die ; Time then would seem more precious than the joys Then doubtless many a trifler, on the brink Forced to a paufe, would feel it good to think, Told that his fetting fun muft rife no more. Ah felf-deceived! Could I prophetic fay Who next is fated, and who next to fall, Obferve the dappled forefters, how light They bound and airy o'er the funny glade; Had we their wifdom, fhould we, often warn'd, Sad wafte! for which no after-thrift atones. Learn then, ye living! by the mouths be taught you. ON A SIMILAR OCCASION, For the Year 1789. -Placidaque ibi demum morte quievit. Virg. There calm at length he breathed his foul away. MOST delightful hour by man The hour that terminates his span, His folly and his woe! "Worlds fhould not bribe me back to tread Again life's dreary waste, "My home henceforth is in the skies, All heaven unfolded to my eyes, I have no fight for you." So fpake Afpafio, firm poffefs'd Then breathed his foul into its reft, The bofom of his God. He was a man among the few Sincere on virtue's fide; And all his strength from Scripture drew, That rule he prized, by that he fear'd, He hated, hoped, and loved; Nor ever frown'd, or fad appear'd, But when his heart had roved. For he was frail as thou or I, But when he felt it, heaved a figh, Such lived Afpafio; and at last His joys be mine, each Reader cries, ON A SIMILAR OCCASION, For the Year 1790. Ne commonentem recta fperne. Buchanan. E who fits from day to day Where the prifon'd lark is hung, Heedlefs of his loudeft lay, Hardly knows that he has fung. Where the watchman in his round So your verse-man I, and Clerk, Yearly in my fong proclaim Death at hand-yourselves his mark— And the foe's unerring aim. Duly at my time I come, Publishing to all aloud Soon the grave must be your home, But the monitory strain, Oft repeated in your ears, Can a truth, by all confefs'd Of fuch magnitude and weight, Grow, by being oft impress'd, Trivial as a parrot's prate? Pleasure's call attention wins, Hear it often as we may; New as ever seem our fins, Though committed every day. Death and Judgement, Heaven and HellThese alone, so often heard, No more move us than the bell When some stranger is interr'd. |