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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.
His graceful form revolving in his mind;
So great a genius, and a foul so kind,
Gave fad assurance 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 laft.
For sure it was too bountiful a dole,
The mother's features, and the father's soul.
Then thus he cry'd : the morn bespoke the news:
The morning did her chearful light diffuse:
But see how suddenly she chang'd her face,
And brought on clouds and rain, the day's dis-

grace ;
Just such, Amyntas, was thy promis'd race.
What charms adorn'd thy youth, where nature

smild,
And more than man was giv’n us in a child !
His infancy was ripe : a foul sublime
In

years fo tender that prevented time :
Heaven gave him all atonce; then snatch'daway,
Ere mortals all his beauties could survey:
Just like the flower that buds and withersin a day.

M E N A L CA S.

The mother, lovely, tho with grief opprest, Reclin'd his dying head upon her breast. The mournful family stood 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 fpace.
The father bore it with undaunted soul,
Like one who durft his deftiny controul :
Yet with becoming grief hê bore his part,
Resign’d his son, but not resign'd his heart:
Patient as Job; and may he live to see,
Like him, a new increasing family!

D A M O 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.

M E N A L CA S.
Damon, behold yon breaking purple cloud;
Hear'st thou not hymns and songs 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 saphir portal, and the golden gate ;
And now admitted in the shining 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 sing, ye joyful angels, and admire
Your brother's voice that comes to mend

your

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quire :

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,

H

E who could view the book of destiny,

And read whatever there was writ of thee, O charming youth, in the first op’ning page, So many graces in so green an age, Such wit, such modesty, such strength of mind, A soul at once so manly, and so kind; Would wonder, when he turn'd the volume o'er, And after some few leaves should find no more, Nought but a blank remain, a dead void space, A step of life that promis’d such 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 profusion spent in vain, Nothing but mould'ring ashes to remain, I guess not, lest I split upon the shelf, Yet durft I guess, heaven kept it for himself;

ز

so good,

1

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 exhald ; 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 fon.
He added not, he was fo

pure,
'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 so clear, we might behold
The gravel bottom, and that bottom gold.

As such 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 superstitious love :
For when we more than human homage pay,
The charming cause is justly snatch'd away.

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

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