- 
j 03.) 
a As 
LINES 
on THE RECENT DEATH OF A YOUNG 
* MAN, OF CHICESTER, WHOSE NAME 
s Is DESERVEDLY RECORDED AS BEING 
_ = 6 po VIRTUE AND TO GENIUS DEAR.’ 
A SERANGER to thy sight, but not thy 
worth, 
O'B¥****5%! secks the sacred spot of 
~ earth 
| That hides thy bones, some gen’rous tears to 
shed 
O’er so much virtve, so much genius dead! 
_ He need not boast himself the Muse’s friend, 
' Who feels no grief at thy lamented end! 
_ Heis her scorn (unconscious tho’ he be) 
Who heaves no sigh of sympathy for thee ! 
But how shall { (the meanest of her train) 
Record thy merit in sufficient strain? 
I who ne’er paus’d at thy harmonious tongue, 
¥ Nor on thine arm in social converse hung? 
_ Who ne’er sat trembling o’er thy sickly bed 
A sad spectator, by affection led, 
As some have done, “till Death with vengeance 
rude 
' Thy feeble frame, but not thy faith* sub- 
sm dued ? 
_ Yet ‘doth my kindred heart towards thee 
4 bear 
' Sweet fellowship, and hold thy mem’ry 
dear ; 
_ Dear by each tie that canits truth engage, 
Soft piety, and wit’s attemper’d rage 5 
For I have heard (whilst zeal my bosom 
- 
— . 
7 
fir'dy, : 
2 he sacred themes* that thy pure soul in- 
Me spird, 
_ Themes that alike cou’d heav’nly peace dis- 
im * pense, 
a 
%, Or rouse to ecstacy the Siete sense. 
_ My heart has kindled with devotion’s flame, 
 Tohear thee celebrate thy maker’s name 
In hymns of love—has joy’d to mark 
around 
An equal warmth in ev’ry breast abound, 
And triumph in an universal sound. 
Mauch praise to him, who with true virtue 
blest, 
Tnspires that virtue in another's breast ; 
_ Who through sweet Poesy’s delightful road 
Thus leads the captive | soul to dwell with 
God. 
_ He shall not lose his well-deserved prize, 
$¢ His crown of endless glory in the skies, 
i Who, zealous in religion’s holy cause, 
% Thus tempts th’ palary soul, and from it 
draws 
et, Each grov’ling feat, and passion harbour’d 
f there, 
~ Toscenes of purer joy more worthy ofits care. 
That praise is thine, O thou of early 
doom ! 
~ And thine that sure reward, if yet the 
tomb 
So _He wrote several hymns in a collection 
published, which are equally admired 
fe for chen piety and poetry, 
2 
va 
Original Poetry. 
Bro} 
Deceive not, and the voice of him who died 
That we might live—our Saviour and our 
guide. 
‘Oh! happy art thou, if with rev ’rence due 
Thou hast believ’d that voice—that voice is 
- true! 
And that thou hast; the strain that now $ 
hear ~ 
(That still bespeaks thy spirit hov’ring near) 
Declares aloud, for in that sacred sound 
What love, what hope, what ednfidence, 
abound ! 
Then I will weep no more—thou art not 
gone, 
But hea st thy nature chang’d—*tis I alone 
Am mortal still, whose uninstructed sight 
Perceives thee not amid this grosser light. 
Oh! cou’d it, grasp thee in its furthest 
range, 
That I might~ contemplate thy wond’rous 
change, 
Then shou’d my soul its secret joy disclose, 
‘To see thee smiling in serene repose, 
Thee, happier in the thought of former 
woes! 
But no—it cannot be—Death stands be- 
tween,- 
A dismal! shade, and intercepts the scene. 
Here then we leave chee ‘till the gloom be 
ast 
That vi eils our sight—the day will dawnat 
last ; 
When-those now sever'd from thy fond em 
brace, 
Will reunite, and grief to joy give place. 
aa a 
ELEGY, 
SUPPOSED TO HAVE BEEN WRITTEN IN 
WOOLWICH WARREN, ON THE DEATH 
O£ A FELLOW-SOLDIER, 
pis: now the pensive hour of early night ! 
The moon-beam glistens oni the a 
wave ! 
Around the bat revolves his whirling fight 5» e 
And watch-words hoarsely break a silence 
of the grave. 
Save where in feeble gusts the hollow wind 
Bears.to the heart the seaman’s hollow 
cry! E ‘ 
And hark! (sweet music to the wistful 
mind !)}° 
The distant plaintive chimes in solemn 
pauses die. 
Hapless the day, when fraught with cruel 
speed 
Relentless fate the warrior’s eyelids clos’d! 
Unknown, unwail’d he fell; and daomed to 
bleed, 
Far from the ‘shores beloy* d, where every 
wish repos’d 5 
Far from that widow’d bed, where dreams of 
fright 
Embitter’d joys, that hope presented stil! : 
Far from those eyes, that wak’'d so oft at 
, > Right, ’ 
Dim with .a fervent tear, that wept some 
presag’d ill. 
Here 
