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Where the watchman in his round
Nightly lifts his voice on high, None, accustom'd to the sound,
Wakes the sooner for his cry.
So your Verse-man I, and Clerk,
Yearly in my song proclaim
And the foc's unerring aim.
Duly at my time I come,
Publishing to all aloud
And your only suit, a shroud.
But the monitory strain,
Oft repeated in your ears, Seems to sound too much in vain,
Wins no notice, wakes no fears.
Can a truth, by all confessid,
Of such magnitude and weight, Grow, by being oft express'd,
Trivial as a parrot's prate ?
Pleasure's call attention wins,
Hear it often as we may ; New as ever seem our sins,
Though committed every day.
Death and Judgment, Heav'n and Hell
These alone, so often heard, No more move us than the bell,
When some stranger is interr'd.
Oh then, ere the turf or tomb
Cover us from every eye,
Make us learn that we must die !
TO JOHN JOHNSON,
ON HIS PRESENTING ME WITH AN ANTIQUE BUAT
KINSMAN beloved, and as a son by me !
The sculptur'd form of my old favorite Bard !
Joy too, and grief, much joy that there should be
Wise men, and learn'd, who grudge not to reward
With some applause my bold attempt, and hard, Which others scorn. Critics by courtesy !
The grief is this, that sunk in Homer's mine,
I lose my precious years, now soon to fail ! Handling his gold, which, howsoe'er it shine,
Proves dross when balanc'd in the Christian scale.
Be wiser thou, like our forefather Donne ;
TO THE REV. MR. NEWTON, ON HIS BETURN FROM RAMSGATE.
THAT ocean you of late survey'd,
Those rocks I too have seen, But I, afflicted and dismay'd,
You, tranquil and serene.
You, from the flood-controlling steepa
Saw stretch'd before your view,
No longer such to you.
To me the waves that ceaseless broke
Upon the dangerous coast, Hoarsely and ominously spoke
Of all my treasure lost.
Your sea of troubles you have past, · And found the peaceful shore ; I, tempest toss'd, and wreck'd at last,
Come home to port no more.
WHAT is there in the vale of life,
EPITAPH ON MR. CHESTER.
And earth a second Eden shows,
Complaints supply the zephyr's part,
EPITAPH ON MR. CHESTER, OF CHICHELEY. TEARS Aow and cease not, where the good man
Till all who knew him follow to the skies.
ON MRS. M. HIGGINS, OF WESTON. LAURELS may flourish round the conqueror's
tomb, But happiest they, who win the world to come : Believers have a silent field to fight, And their exploits are veil'd from human sight. They in some nook where little known they dwell, Kneel, pray in faith, and rout the hosts of hell : Eternal triumphs crown their toils divine, And all those triumphs, Mary, now are thine.
TO COUNT GRAVINA, On his translating the Author's Song on a Rose
into Italian Verse.
And steep'd not now in rain,
Will never fade again.
For a Stone erected at the sowing of a Grove of
Oaks, at Chillington, the seat of Thomas