CLASSICAL MODERN* POETRY. 153 



Then what is Life ? When stripp'd of its disguise, 



A thing to be desired it cannot be ; 

 Since every thing that meets our foolish eyes 



Gives proof sufficient of its vanity. 

 'Tis but a trial all must undergo ; 



To teach unthankful mortals how to prize 

 That happiness vain man's denied to know, 



Until he's call'd to claim it in the skies. 



CLARE. 



THE SPIRIT'S PRAYER. 



A Spirit, whom the voice of death 



Had call'd from this cold sphere, 

 Paused for a moment on her path, 



To look at scenes once dear. 

 The frozen tinge that shadow'd o'er 



Her face had died away ; 

 The shroud she wore an hour before, 



She left beside her clay. 



Her eye beheld, with strange delight, 



The systems round her roll ; 

 A thousand things, unknown and bright, 



Broke on her wondering soul. 

 She saw the Earth hang dim and far 



Beneath her airy tread, 

 Lit by each solitary star 



That round her calmly spread. 



She saw the city of her birth 



Beneath the moonshine lie : 

 She saw the thousands of the earth 



Unheeded, fall and die] 

 Smote by the giant arm of death, 



They fell, and left no trace ; 

 Their spirits pass'd her on their path, 



Through the wild fields of space. 



She gazed through the unclouded air, 

 Where once her mansion lay; 



Her children still were weeping there, 

 Beside her tombless clay. 

 H 5 



