| |
| ALL-CONQUERING Death! by thy resistless pow’r, | |
| Hope’s tow’ring plumage falls to rise no more! | |
| Of scenes terrestrial how the glories fly, | |
| Forget their splendors, and submit to die! | |
| Who ere escap’d thee, but the saint 1 of old | 5 |
| Beyond the flood in sacred annals told, | |
| And the great sage, 2 whom fiery courses drew | |
| To heav’n’s bright portals from Elisha’s view; | |
| Wond’ring he gaz’d at the refulgent car, | |
| Then snatch’d the mantle floating on the air. | 10 |
| From Death these only could exemption boast, | |
| And without dying gain’d th’ immortal coast. | |
| Not falling millions sate the tyrant’s mind, | |
| Nor can the victor’s progress be confin’d. | |
| But cease thy strife with Death, fond Nature, cease: | 15 |
| He leads the virtuous to the realms of peace; | |
| His to conduct to the immortal plains, | |
| Where heav’n’s Supreme in bliss and glory reigns. | |
| |
| There sits, illustrious Sir, thy beauteous spouse; | |
| A gem-blaz’d circle beaming on her brows. | 20 |
| Hail’d with acclaim among the heav’nly choirs, | |
| Her soul new-kindling with seraphic fires, | |
| To notes divine she tunes the vocal strings, | |
| While heav’n’s high concave with the music rings. | |
| Virtue’s rewards can mortal pencil paint? | 25 |
| No—all descriptive arts, and eloquence are faint; | |
| Nor canst thou, Oliver, assent refuse | |
| To heav’nly tidings from the Afric muse. | |
| |
| As soon may change thy laws, eternal fate, | |
| As the saint miss the glories I relate; | 30 |
| Or her Benevolence forgotten lie, | |
| Which wip’d the trick’ling tear from Mis’ry’s eye. | |
| Whene’er the adverse winds were known to blow, | |
| When loss to loss 3 ensu’d, and woe to woe, | |
| Calm and serene beneath her father’s hand | 35 |
| She sat resign’d to the divine command. | |
| |
| No longer then, great Sir, her death deplore, | |
| And let us hear the mournful sigh no more, | |
| Restrain the sorrow streaming from thine eye, | |
| Be all thy future moments crown’d with joy! | 40 |
| Nor let thy wishes be to earth confin’d, | |
| But soaring high pursue th’ unbodied mind. | |
| Forgive the muse, forgive th’ advent’rous lays, | |
| That fain thy soul to heav’nly scenes would raise. | |
