Reproach breath'd poisons o'er her face,
And foil'd, and blafted ev'ry grace;
Officious Shame, her handmaid new,
Still turn'd the mirror to her view,
While thofe, in crimes the deepest dy'd,
Approach'd, to whiten at her fide,
And every lewd, insulting dame,
Upon her folly rose to fame.
What should fhe do? Attempt, once more,
To gain the late-deferted shore;
So trusting, back the mourner flew,
As faft the train of fiends pursue.
Again the farther fhore's attain'd,
Again the land of virtue gain'd ;
But Echo gathers in the wind,
And fhows her inftant foes behind.
Amaz'd, with head-long speed fhe tends,
Where, late, fhe left an host of friends;
Alas! those shrinking friends decline,
Nor longer own that form divine,
With fear they mark the following cry,
And from the lonely trembler fly,
Or backward drive her on the coast,
Where peace was wreck'd, and honour loft.
From earth, thus, hoping aid in vain,
To Heav'n, not daring to complain,
No truce by hostile Clamour giv'n,
And from the face of Friendship driv❜n,
The nymph funk proftrate on the ground,
With all her weight of woes around.
Enthron'd within a circling sky,
Upon a mount o'er mountains high,
All radiant fate, as in a shrine,
Virtue, first effluence divine;
Far, far above the scenes of woe,
That shut this cloud wrapt world below;
Superior goddess, effence bright,
Beauty of uncreated light,
Whom should mortality furvey,
As doom'd upon a certain day,
The breath of Frailty must expire,
The world diffolve in living fire,
The gems of Heav'n, and folar flame,
Be quench'd by her eternal beam,
And Nature, quick'ning in her eye,
To rise a new-born Phoenix, die.
Hence, unreveal'd to mortal view,
A veil around her form the threw,
Which three fad fifters of the fhade,
Pain, Care, and Melancholy made.
Thro' this, her all-enquiring eye,
Attentive from her station high,
Beheld, abandon'd to defpair,
The ruins of her fav'rite fair;
And, with a voice whofe awful found
Appal'd the guilty world around,
Bid the tumultuous winds be still;
To numbers bow'd each lift'ning hill,
Uncurl'd the furging of the main, i
And fmooth'd the thorny bed of pain,
The golden harp of Heav'n fhe ftrung,
And thus the tuneful goddess fung.
Lovely penitent, arise,
Come, and claim thy kindred skies,
Come, thy fifter angels fay
Thou haft wept thy stains away.
Let experience now decide
"Twixt the good and evil, try'd,
In the smooth, enchanted ground,
Say, unfold the treasures found.
Structures, rais'd by morning dreams,
Sands, that trip the flitting ftreams,
Down, that anchors on the air,
Clouds, that paint their changes thère.
Seas, that smoothly dimpling lie,
While the ftorm impends on high,
Showing, in an obvious glass,
Joys, that in poffeffion pass;
Tranfient, fickle, light, and gay,
Flatt'ring, only to betray;
What, alas, can life contain !
Life! like all its circles-vain.
Will the ftork, intending reft,
On the billow build her neft ?
Will the bee demand his store
From the bleak, and bladeless shore?
Man, alone, intent to stray,
Ever turns from Wisdom's way,
Lays up wealth in foreign land,
Sows the fea, and plows the fand.
Soon this elemental mass,
Soon th' incumb'ring world shall pass,
Form be wrapt in wafting fire,
Time be spent, and life expire.
Then, ye boasted works of men,
Where is your affylum then?
Sons of Pleasure, fons of Care,
Tell me, mortals, tell me where?
Gone, like traces on the deep,
Like a fcepter, grafp'd in fleep,
Dews, exhal'd from morning glades,
Melting fnows, and gliding shades.
Pafs the world, and what's behind?
Virtue's gold, by fire refin'd;
From an univerfe deprav'd,
From the wreck of nature fav'd.
Like the life-supporting grain,
Fruit of patience, and of pain,
On the swain's autumnal day,
Winnow'd from the chaff away.
Little trembler, fear no more, Thou haft plenteous crops in ftore, Seed, by genial forrows fown,
More than all thy fcorners own.
What though hoftile earth defpife, Heav'n beholds with gentler eyes; Heav'n thy friendless steps fhall guide, Chear thy hours, and guard thy fide. When the fatal trump shall found, When th' immortals pour around,
Heav'n fhall thy return atteft,
Hail'd by myriads of the blefs'd.
Little native of the fkies,
Lovely penitent, arise, "
Calm thy bofom, clear thy brow,
Virtue is thy fifter now.
More delightful are my woes,
Than the rapture pleasure knows;
Richer far the weeds I bring,
Than the robes that grace a king.
On my wars, of shortest date,
Crowns of endless triumphs wait;
On my cares, a period bless'd;`
On my toils, eternal rest.
Come, with Virtue at thy fide,
Come, be ev'ry bar defy'd,
Till we gain our native shore,
Sifter, come, and turn no more.
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