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WHE

HE N the Cock crew, bewept"-smote by that eye,

Which looks on me, on aH; That pow's,who bids This midnight centinel, with clarion fhrill, Emblem of that which shall awake the dead, Rouse fouls from slumber, into thoughts of Heaven. Shall I too weep? Where then is fortitude? And fortitude abandon'd, where is man? I know the terms on which he sees the light; He that is born, is listed ; life is war ; Eternal war with woe. Who bears it beft, Deserves it least. On other themes I'll dwell. Lorenzo ! let me turn my thoughts on thee, And thine, on themes may profit; profit there, Where most thy need. Themes, too, the genuine growth Of dear PHIL ANN DER's duft. He, thus, tho' dead,

May

May Atill befriend-What themes ? Time's wondrous Price,
Death, Friendship, and PHILANDER's final scene.

So could I touch these themes, as might obtain
Thine ear, nor leave thy heart quite disengag'd,
The good deed would delight me; half.imprefs
On
my

dark cloud an Iris ; and from grief
Call glory-Doft thou mourn PHILANDER's fate?
I know thou say'ft it: Says thy life the fame?
He mourns the dead, who lives as they desire.
Where is that thirst, that avarice of TIME,
(O glorious avarice!) thought of death inspires,
As rumour'd robberies endear our gold ?
O Time! than gold more sacred ; more a load
Than lead, to fools ; and fools reputed wise.
What moment granted man without account?
What years are squander'd, wisdom's debt anpaid ?
Our wealth in days, all due to that discharge.
Hafte, hafte, he lies in wait, he's at the door,
Insidious Death! should his strong hand arrest,
No composition sets the pris'ner free,
Eternity's inexorable chain
Fast binds; and vengeance claims the full arrear.

How late I shudder'd on the brink! how late
Life call'd for her last refuge in despair !
That Time is mine, O MEAD! to thee I owe;
Fain would I pay thee with Eternity.
But ill my genius answers my desire ;
My fickly song is mortal, past thy cure.
Accept the will;that dies not with my ftrain,
For what calls thy disease, LORENZO! not

For Esculapian, but for Moral aid.
Thou think it it folly to be wife too soon.
Youth is not rich in Time, it may be, poor ;
Part with it as with money, sparing; pay
No moment, but in purchase of its worth ;
And what its worth, ask death. beds; they can tell.
Part with it as with life, reluctant ; big
With holy hope of nobler time to come ;
Time higher aim'd, ftill nearer the great mark
Of men and angels; virtue more divine.

Is this our duty, wisdom, glory, gain?
(These heav'n benign in vital union binds)
And sport we like the natives of the bough,
When vernal suns inspire ? Amusement reigns
Man's great demand : To trifle is to live :
And is then a trifie, too, to die?

Thoa say'ft I preach, LORENZO ! 'Tis confeft.
What, if for once, I preach thee quite awake?
Who wants amusement in the flame of battle?
Is it not treason, to the soul immortal,
Her foes in arms, eternity the prize?
Will

toys amuse, when med'cines cannot curè ?
When spirits ebb, when life's enchanting scenes
Their luftre lose, and lessen in our sight,
As lands, and cities with their glitt'ring spires,
To the poor shatter'd bark, by sudden storm
Thrown off to sea, and soon to perish there?
Will Toys amuse ? No: Thrones will then be toys,
And earth and skies seem duft upon the scale.
Redeem we time Its lofs. We dearly buy.

Wha:

: What pleads Lorenzo for his high-priz'd sports ? He pleads time's num'rous blanks; he loudly pleads The straw-like trifles on life's common stream. From whom those blanks and trifles, but from thee No blank, no trifle, nature made, or meant. Virtue, or purpos’d virtue, still be thine ; This cancels thy complaint at once, This leaves In act no trifle, and no blank in time. This greatens, fills, immortalizes all; This, the blest art of turning all to gold ; This, the good heart's prerogative to raise A royal tribute from the poorest hours ; Immense revenue ! ev'ry moment pays. If nothing more than purpose in thy power ; Thy purpose firm, is equal to the deed : Who does the best his circumstance allows, Does well, acts nobly; angels could no more. Our outward act, indeed, admits restraint ; 'Tis not in things o'er thought to domineer; Guard well thy thought; our thoughts are heard in heaven.

On all-important Time, thro' ev'ry age, Tho' much, and warm, the wise have urgʻd; the man Is yet unborn, who duly weighs an hour. I've lost a day.” The prince who nobly cry'd Had been an emperor without his crown ; Of Rome ? say, rather, lord of human race: He fpoke, as if deputed by mankind. So should all speak: So reafon speaks in all : From the soft whispers of that God in man, Why fly to folly, why to phrensy fly,

For

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