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Nor needed, for presaging Damon guess'd.

Equal with heaven young Damon lov'd the boy,

The boast of nature, both his parents joy.

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His graceful form revolving in his mind;
So great a genius, and a foul fo kind,
Gave fad affurance that his fears were true;
Too well the envy of the gods he knew:
For when their gifts too lavishly are plac'd,
Soon they repent, and will not make them last.
For fure it was too bountiful a dole,

The mother's features, and the father's foul.
Then thus he cry'd: the morn bespoke the news:
The morning did her chearful light diffuse:
But fee how fuddenly the chang'd her face,
And brought on clouds and rain, the day's dif

grace;

Juft fuch, Amyntas, was thy promis'd race. What charms adorn'd thy youth, where nature fmil'd,

And more than man was giv'n us in a child!
His infancy was ripe a foul fublime

In

years fo tender that prevented time:

Heaven gave him all at once; then snatch'daway, Ere mortals all his beauties could furvey:

Just like the flower that buds and withers in a day.

MENAL CAS.

The mother, lovely, tho with grief oppreft, Reclin'd his dying head upon her breast. The mournful family ftood all around; One groan was heard, one univerfal found: All were in floods of tears and endless forrow drown'd.

So dire a fadness fat on ev'ry look,

E'en death repented he had giv'n the stroke.
He griev'd his fatal work had been ordain'd,

But promis'd length of life to those who yet remain❜d.

The mother's and her eldest daughter's grace,
It seems, had brib'd him to prolong their space.
The father bore it with undaunted foul,
Like one who durft his destiny controul :
Yet with becoming grief he bore his part,
Refign'd his fon, but not refign'd his heart:
Patient as Job; and may he live to fee,
Like him, a new increafing family!

DAMO N.

Such is my wish, and such

my prophesy.

For yet, my friend, the beauteous mould remains;
Long may she exercise her fruitful pains!
But, ah! with better hap, and bring a race

More lasting, and endu'd with equal grace !

Equal she may, but farther none can go :

For he was all that was exact below.

MENAL CAS,

Damon, behold yon breaking purple cloud; Hear'st thou not hymns and fongs divinely loud? There mounts Amyntas; the young cherubs play About their godlike mate, and fing him on his way, He cleaves the liquid air, behold he flies,

And every moment gains upon the skies,

The new come guest admires th' ætherial state,
The faphir portal, and the golden gate;
And now admitted in the fhining throng,
He shows the passport which he brought along.
His passport is his innocence and
grace,
Well known to all the natives of the place.
Now fing, ye joyful angels, and admire
Your brother's voice that comes to mend

quire :

your

Sing you, while endless tears our eyes bestow;
For like Amyntas none is left below.

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On the DEATH of

A very young Gentleman.

E who could view the book of destiny,

Hand read whatever there was writ of

And read whatever there was writ of thee,
O charming youth, in the first op'ning page,
So many graces in fo green an age,

Such wit, fuch modefty, fuch strength of mind,
A foul at once fo manly, and fo kind;
Would wonder, when he turn'd the volume o'er,
And after fome few leaves fhould find no more,
Nought but a blank remain, a dead void space,
A ftep of life that promis'd fuch a race.
We must not, dare not think, that heaven began
A child, and could not finish him a man;
Reflecting what a mighty store was laid
Of rich materials, and a model made:
The cost already furnish'd; fo bestow'd,
As more was never to one foul allow'd:
Yet after this profufion spent in vain,
Nothing but mould'ring afhes to remain,
I guess not, left I split upon the shelf,

Yet durft I guess, heaven kept it for himself;

And giving us the use, did foon recal,
Ere we could spare, the mighty principal.
Thus then he disappear'd, was rarify'd;
For 'tis improper speech to say he dy'd :
He was exhal'd; his great Creator drew
His fpirit, as the fun the morning dew.
'Tis fin produces death; and he had none
But the taint Adam left on ev'ry son.
He added not, he was fo pure, fo good,
'Twas but th' original forfeit of his blood:
And that fo little, that the river ran

More clear than the corrupted fount began.
Nothing remain'd of the first muddy clay;
The length of course had wafh'd it in the way:
So deep, and yet fo clear, we might behold
The gravel bottom, and that bottom gold.

As fuch we lov'd, admir'd, almoft ador'd,
Gave all the tribute mortals could afford.
Perhaps we gave so much, the powers above
Grew angry at our fuperftitious love :
For when we more than human homage pay,
The charming caufe is juftly fnatch'd away.

Thus was the crime not his, but ours alone: And yet we murmur that he went fo foon; Tho miracles are short and rarely fhown.

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