What feels the body when the foul expires,
By time corrupted, or confum'd by fires?
Nor dies the fpirit, but new life repeats
In other forms, and only changes feats.

230

Ev'n I, who thefe myfterious truths declare, Was once Euphorbus in the Trojan war; My name and lineage I remember well, And how in fight by Sparta's king I fell. In Argive Juno's fane I late beheld

235

My buckler hung on high, and own'd my former fhield.

Then death, fo call'd, is but old matter drefs'd In fome new figure, and a vary'd veft :

Thus all things are but alter'd, nothing dies;
And here and there th' unbody'd spirit flies, 240
By time, or force, or fickness difpoffeft,
And lodges, where it lights, in man or beast;
Or hunts without, till ready limbs it find,
And actuates thofe according to their kind;
From tenement to tenement is tofs'd;
The foul is ftill the fame, the figure only loft:
And as the foften'd wax new feals receives,
This face affumes, and that impreffion leaves;
Now call'd by one, now by another name;
The form is only chang'd, the wax is ftill the
fame :

So death, fo call'd, can but the form deface,
Th' immortal foul flies out in empty space;
To feek her fortune in fome other place.

245

250

Then let not piety be put to flight,

To please the taste of glutton appetite ; 255
But fuffer inmate fouls fecure to dwell,
Left from their feats your parents you expel;
With rabid hunger feed upon your kind,

Or from a beast diflodge a brother's mind.

And fince, like Tiphys, parting from the

fhore,

260

265

In ample feas I fail, and depths untry'd before,
This let me further add, that nature knows
No ftedfaft ftation, but, or ebbs, or flows:
Ever in motion; fhe deftroys her old,
And cafts new figures in another mold.
Ev'n times are in perpctual flux; and run,
Like rivers from their fountain, rolling on;
For time, no more than ftreams, is at a stay :
The flying hour is ever on her way;
And as the fountain ftill fupplies her store,
The wave behind impels the wave before;
Thus in fucceffive courfe the minutes run,
And urge their predeceffor minutes on,
Still moving, ever new: for former things
Are fet afide, like abdicated kings:
And every moment alters what is done,
And innovates fome act till then unknown.

270

275

Ver. 261. In ample feas I fail, and depths untry'd before,] Pythagoras, it is faid, wrote a poem on the univerfe, in hexameter verfes, mentioned by Diog. Laertius, S. 7.

Dr. J. WARTON.

280

285

Darkness we fee emerges into light, And fhining funs defcend to fable night; Ev'n heaven itself receives another die, When weary'd animals in flumbers lie Of midnight ease; another, when the gray Of morn preludes the fplendor of the day. The difk of Phoebus, when he climbs on high, Appears at first but as a bloodshot eye; And when his chariot downward drives to bed, His ball is with the fame fuffufion red; But mounted high in his meridian race All bright he shines, and with a better face: For there, pure particles of æther flow, Far from th' infection of the world below. Nor equal light th' unequal moon adorns, Or in her wexing, or her waning horns. For ev'ry day she wanes, her face is lefs, But, gath'ring into globe, fhe fattens at increase.

290

295

Perceiv'ft thou not the process of the year, How the four feafons in four forms appear, Refembling human life in ev'ry fhape they( wear?

300

Spring firft, like infancy, fhoots out her head,
With milky juice requiring to be fed :
Helpless, though fresh, and wanting to be led.
The green ftem grows in ftature and in fize,
But only feeds with hope the farmer's eyes;

Then laughs the childish year with flowerets

crown'd,

And lavishly perfumes the fields around,
But no fubftantial nourishment receives,
Infirm the ftalks, unfolid are the leaves.

305

Proceeding onward whence the year began, The Summer grows adult, and ripens into

man.

This feafon, as in men, is moft repleat
With kindly moisture, and prolific heat.

310

Autumn fucceeds, a fober tepid age, Not froze with fear, nor boiling into rage; More than mature, and tending to decay, When our brown locks repine to mix with odi

ous grey.

315

Laft, Winter creeps along with tardy pace, Sour is his front, and furrow'd is his face. His fcalp if not dishonour'd quite of hair, The ragged fleece is thin, and thin is worse than bare.

Ev'n our own bodies daily change receive, 320 Some part of what was theirs before they leave; Nor are to-day what yesterday they were: Nor the whole fame to-morrow will appear. Time was, when we were fow'd, and just be

gan,

From fome few fruitful drops, the promise of a

man;

325

Then Nature's hand (fermented as it was)
Moulded to shape the foft, coagulated mafs;
And when the little man was fully form'd,
The breathless embrio with a fpirit warm'd;
But when the mother's throes begin to come,
The creature, pent within the narrow room, 331
Breaks his blind prifon, pushing to repair
His ftifled breath, and draw the living air;
Caft on the margin of the world he lies,
A helpless babe, but by inftinct he cries.
He next effays to walk, but, downward prefs'd,
On four feet imitates his brother beaft:

335

By flow degrees he gathers from the ground His legs, and to the rolling chair is bound; Then walks alone; a horfeman now become, 340 He rides a stick, and travels round the room: In time he vaunts among his youthful peers, Strong-bon'd, and ftrung with nerves, in pride of years,

345

He runs with mettle his first merry stage,
Maintains the next, abated of his rage,
But manages his ftrength, and fpares his age.
Heavy the third, and ftiff, he finks apace,
And, though 'tis down-hill all, but creeps
along the race.

Now fapless on the verge of death he stands,
Contemplating his former feet, and hands; 350