In him rejoiced the sons of want and grief;

From him the streams of social friendship ran; With generous pity, and with kind relief,

He traversed life in doing good to man.

O'er life's broad sea he spread his full blown sail,
Secure amid wild faction's stormy roar;
By wisdom guided, caught the flying gale,
And gained the port, eternal glory's shore.

Justly to celebrate his deathless praise,

No muse, like ours, can string her grateful lyre; Nor even Pindar such bold notes could raise,

Nor to the sun on waxen wings aspire.

When in the field resistless Hector met,

To express he conquered, we but say he fought; Suffice it then the ear of fond regret,

To tell that Bow DOIN always nobly thought.

Sprung from a race, to nought but virtue born,
Advanced by industry to pomp and state;

Yet he, beholding these with eyes of scorn,
Rose above fame, and dared be truly great.

Long have we hoped kind Temperance would wield, To guard her favourite, her defensive arms; Around his honoured life would spread her shield, And long secure him by its potent charms.

But, ah! fallacious hopes! Oh sweet deceit !

Dear, flattering dream, which partial Fancy wrought

In Friendship's loom, who, with fond pride elate,

Viewed the rich texture of illusive thought!

Imperial Reason, weeping o'er his fate,

Hurled from her empire, rules his breast no more.

Where is that voice, which saved a falling state,

Which charmed the world, and taught e'en foes t'adore?

When wintry time's tempestuous billows roar,

O'er the dark storm Death spreads his horrid wings;
Swept are proud empires from the foaming shore,
And beggars mingle in one grave with kings.

Where are the splendours of the Attick dome?
Where haughty Carthage, towering to the sky?
Where the tall columns of imperial Rome?

In the vile dust, where pride is doomed to lie.

BOWDOIN, the glory and delight of all,

The prince of science, Misery's feeling friend, Bedecked with blooming honours, too must fall, And to the mansions of the grave descend.

Could human excellence, with power sublime,
Charm from barbarian Death's destructive hand
The ruthless scythe of all destroying Time,
BOWDOIN were still the senate of the land.

But greatly smiling in his latest breath,

Like Phoebus blazing from his western throne, His soul, unconquered, through the clouds of death More radiant beamed, and more divinely shone.

Ye mournful friends, suppress the bursting tear;
BOWDOIN is gone his native skies to claim:
Forgive the youth, who, weeping o'er his bier,

In this fond verse inscribes his sacred name.

"Know then thyself; presume not God to scan;

"The proper study of mankind is man.'

POPE'S Essay on Man.

[Written March 23, 1791.]

BLEST be the sage, whose voice has sung,
And to the world such counsel given!
Sure 'tis an angel's warning tongue,

The language of benignant Heaven!

When first in Eden's roseate bowers,

Gay, youthful Nature held her throne, Around her tripped the blithesome Hours, And all the Loves and Graces shone.'

Celestial Virtue saw the dame,

Enthroned amid her joyful band,

And glowing with Affection's flame,

He blushed, he sighed, and asked her hand.

Struck with his tall, majestick form,

His rosy cheek, his sparkling eye, Her breast received a strange alarm, And unsuppressed, returned the sigh.

At Hymen's shrine no vows are paid,

For mutual love their hearts unites; Carols were sung from every shade,

And Eden echoed with delights.3

At length, their pleasures to complete,
Fair Happiness their amours blest;
Gay was her form, her temper sweet,
And mildest charms adorned her breast;

Mild as the bosom of the lake,

When Zephyr from the western cave1 Dares not the level chrystal break,

And breathes a perfume o'er the wave.

But joy on eagle pinions flies;

Thus oft in June's resplendent morn,

When golden lustre paints the skies,

Thick lowering clouds the heavens deform.

Beneath the earth's dark centre hurled,

Where on their grating hinges groan

The portals of the nether world,

Apostate Vice had raised her throne.

A spirit of angelick birth;

But blemished now with blackest stains, Degraded far below the earth,

To realms, where endless darkness reigns.

Far from his ebon palace strayed

This fiend to earth with giant pace;

His eyes a lurid frown displayed,

And horror darkened all his face.

Through Eden's shady scenes he roves;
A sweetly warbling voice he hears;
When, lo, beneath the distant groves,

Nature in sportive dance appears!

He saw, he gazed with rapture warm,
Resolved to gain the fair one's heart;
His haggard, foul, disgusting form,

He decks in all the charms of art.

His face, o'erclouded late with gloom,
His limbs, in tattered garb arrayed,
Assumed the flush of youthful bloom,
The pomp of regal robes displayed.

Dazzling with gems, a crown he bore; 'Twas grace his easy motions led; A gentle smile his features wore,

And round a sweet enchantment spread.

From his smooth tongue sweet poison flowed;
Fair Innocence, her careless heart
Decoyed, forsook her native road,

Lost in the wilderness of art.

Sad tears and bosom-rending sighs

The mournful nymph pours forth in vain; Vain are the streams of Sorrow's eyes, To wash away the crimson stain.

Hopeless she wandered and forlorn,

In bitterest woe; her plaintive tale Was heard, the echo of the lawn," And the sad ditty of each gale.

While thus she roved in deep disgrace,
Her bosom torn with conscious shame,

An infant from the foul embrace

Is born, and Misery is her name.