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The careless world looks down with scorn

On intellectual fires ;
And he indeed is most forlorn

Whom genius most inspires.

Yet mourn not vainly, suff'ring man,

At this, thy fate o'ercast; Life, good or ill, is but a span,

Which cannot always last.

And fondly hope, amidst thy woe,

To make the balance even;
That those whom sorrow marks below,

Are doubly blest in heaven.



'Tis past !—the funeral knell is rung,

The solemn requiem for the dead
Is hush'd—the dirge of death is sung!

A nation's tears have all been shed.

Within the grave's sepulchral gloom

A purer spirit ne'er repos'd; And never yet the silent tomb

Upon a richer treasure clos'd.

Do wealth and honours swell thy train

Say, what are wealth and honours now? Does fleeting beauty make thee vain

Go gaze upon that lifeless brow!

Does youth, with ev'ry charm to please,

A judgment clear, a taste refin'd, Attemper'd sweet with native ease,

Or flatt'ry's voice uplift thy mind?



Reflect on Charlotte's early doom,
And mark the triumph of the tomb!

But if with nobler passions fraught,

Thy soul, despising meaner things, Aspire to dignity of thought,

A great ambition, worthy kings !

If to religion's sacred zeal

The love of liberty be join'd; With charity, to deeply feel

The sorrows that afflict mankind

Rejoice! for to unspotted worth

Behold what rich rewards are givn; Living, dying-peace on earth,

And Immortality in Heav'n.


A., Friendship! how oft have I try'd

To find thee, but ever in vain; ’Midst the turbulent children of pride,

And the humble delights of the plain.

And when, at thy glorified shrine

My heart hath her orisons paid ; Hope, smiling, presented thee mine,

I follow'd—but found thee a shade!

'Tis Love that awakens our fires,

While Friendship with sympathy glows; 'Tis Beauty inflames our desires,

And Friendship that softens our woes.

When hope has forsaken the mind,

And nought but despair is in view, How happy the wretch who can find

A heart that to Friendship is true !

Then give me these blessings supreme,

Ye powers indulgent above,
The Friend, who shall gain my esteem,

And the fair, who shall merit my love.


What though the shades of death descend

On her my soul holds dear;
And those that o'er her pillow bend,

May soon surround her bier

My fainting heart shall not despair,

But look beyond the grave :
Hath pitying heav'n less will to spare ?

Hath God less pow'r to save ?

Yet happier they, who call’d to rest,

Ere sorrow fades their bloom, Awhile a blessing are--and blest

Then sink into the tomb

For them the Spring's gay


appear, And Summer paints the flow'r; They fall, ere Autumn's leaf is sear,

Or wintry tempests low'r.

And tho' they part with fond regret,

While still the leaves are green ; How mournful they, imprison'd yet,

Who long to quit the scene.

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