152 Dr. Barnes on the PleafureJometimes fell 
Thy tardy thought, through all the various round 
Of this exigence, that thy foftening foul 
At length may learn, what energy the hand 
Of virtue mingles in the bitter tide 
Of passion, fwelling with diftrefs and pain, 
- To mitigate the lharp, with gracious drops 
Of cordial pleasure. Aik the faithful youth. 
Why the cold urn of her, whom long he loved. 
So often fills his arm? So often draws 
His lonely footdeps, at the filent hour, 
To pay the mournful tribute of his tears ? 
O ! he will tell thee, that the wealth of worlds 
Should ne’er feduce his bofom to forego 
That facred hour, when, Healing from the noife 
Of care and envy, fitvect remembrance fooths. 
With virtue’s kinded looks, his aching bread. 
And turns his tears to rapture. Aik the croud. 
Which flies impatient from the village-walk 
To climb the neighbouring cliffs, when far below 
The cruel winds have hurled upon the coaft 
Some helplefs bark: whilfl facred pity melts 
The general eye, or Terror’s icy hand 
Smites their diftorted limbs, or horrent hair. 
While every mother clofer to her bread 
Catches her child ; and, pointing where the waves 
Foam through the ihattered veflel, fhrieks aloud. 
As one poor wretch, that fpreads his piteous arms 
For fuccour, fwallowed by the roaring furge. 
As now another, daihed againfl the rock. 
Drops lifelefs down. O deemed thou indeed 
No KIND endearment here, by nature given, 
To mutual terror, and compafiion’s tears P 
No fweetly melting foftnefs, which attrads 
O’er all that edge of pain, the focial powers, 
To this their proper adion, and their end ?” 
