Page:Grave, a poem, or, A view of life, death and immortality.pdf/18

 Here is the Mother with her ſons and daughters; The barren Wife, and long-demurring Maid, Whose lonely unappropriated ſweets Smil'd like yon knot of cowſlips on the cliff, Not to be come at by the willing hand. Here are the Prude ſevere, and gay Coquet; The ſober Widow, and the young green Virgin, Cropp'd like a roſe, before 'tis fully blown, Or half its worth discloſ'd ——ſtrange medley here! Here garrulous Old Age winds up his tale; And jovial Youth of lightſome vacant heart. Whose ev'ry day was made of melody, (Shrew, Hears not the voice of mirth. ——The ſhrill-tongu'd Meek as the turtle dove, forgets her chiding Here are the wiſe, the generous and the brave; The juſt, the good, the worthleſs, the profane, The down-right clown, and perfectly well-bred; The fool, the churl, the ſcoundrel and the mean; The ſubtle Stateſman, and the Patriot ſtern; The wreck of nations, and the ſpoil of time, With all the lumber of ſix thouſand years!

Man ——how happy once in thy first ſtate! When yet but warm from thy great Maker's hand, He ſtamp'd thee with his image, and, well pleaſ'd, Smil'd on his laſt fair work. ——Then all was well. Sound was the body, and the ſoul ſerene; Like two ſweet inſtruments, ne'er out of tune. That play their ſeveral parts. ——Nor head, nor heart, Offer to ache. ——Nor was there cauſe they ſhould. For all was pure within ——No sell remorſe, For anxious caſtings up of what might be, Alarm'd his peaceful boſom. ——Summer ſeas Shew not more ſmooth when kiſs'd by ſouthern winds, Just ready to expire. ——Scarce importun'd The generous ſoil, with a luxurious hand, Offer'd the various produce of the year, And ev'ry thing most perfect in its kind.