With famish'd frown on this affrighted ball, Go, wiser ye, that flutter life away, Crown with the mantling juice the goblet high! Weave the light dance with festive freedom gay, And live your moment, since the next ye die! Yet know, vain skeptics! know, the Almighty Mind, Nor shall the pile of hope his mercy rear'd, Shall be by all or suffer'd or enjoy'd! NOTE. In a book of French verses, entitled, Euvres du Philosophe de Sans Souci, and lately re-printed at Berlin by authority, under the title of Poesies Diverses, may be found an Epistle to Marshal Keith, written professedly against the immortality of the soul. By way of specimen of the whole, take the following lines: De l'avenir, cher Keith, jugeons par le passe; Par un meme destin il ne pensera plus! Non, rien n'est plus certain, soyons en convaincu. It is to this Epistle that the latter part of the Elegy alludes. With famish'd frown on this affrighted ball, Go, wiser ye, that flutter life away, Crown with the mantling juice the goblet high! Weave the light dance with festive freedom gay, And live your moment, since the next ye die! Yet know, vain skeptics! know, the Almighty Mind, Nor shall the pile of hope his mercy rear'd, Shall be by all or suffer'd or enjoy'd! NOTE. In a book of French verses, entitled, Œuvres du Philosophe de Sans Souci, and lately re-printed at Berlin by authority, under the title of Poesies Diverses, may be found an Epistle to Marshal Keith, written professedly against the immortality of the soul. By way of specimen of the whole, take the following lines: De l'avenir, cher Keith, jugeons par le passe; Par un meme destin il ne pensera plus! Non, rien n'est plus certain, soyons en convaincu. It is to this Epistle that the latter part of the Elegy alludes. Hymn, FROM PSALM 148. BEGIN, my soul, the exalted lay! And praise the Almighty's name. To swell the inspiring theme. Ye fields of light, celestial plains, Your Maker's wondrous power proclaim! Ye angels, catch the thrilling sound! Let every listening saint above Wake all the tuneful soul of love, And touch the sweetest string. H Join, ye loud spheres, the vocal choir; Soon as gray evening gilds the plain, Thou heaven of heavens, his vast abode, Whate'er a blooming world contains, Ye dragons, sound his awful name Let every element rejoice: Ye thunders, burst with awful voice To him who bids you roll; His praise in softer notes declare, To him, yc graceful cedars, bow; |