"These, for Oblivion, I forego, with these Foregoing pain eternal. Why then strive From off Life's galling Load to elbow Care, 460 When Life and Care may be remov'd together?-- If I were not a very Coward Wretch, A very Shadow of the Man, a thing Made to feel Burdens of my Fear, and drag A hated Being on--'twere but to leap From this rough [Eminence], and all is done-- All that is done on this Side of the Bier. But there, surrounded with impervious Fog, Sits Doubt and Questions of the Scenes to come; Oh! Death, what moves beyond thee? Fears and Hopes, 470 Dread and Confusion, Envy and Disease, Sleeping and waking Lusts, War-moving Pride, Windy Ambition, and slow Avarice, Slay in thy path; within thy Sepulchre Mould Dead Men's Bones, feed worms, rust Epitaphs, Sleep brainless Skulls in blest Vacuity! But what comes then? O for a Seraph's Eye That, piercing thro' the Mask of Mortal Things, Might scale the cloudless Battlements of Light, And in its Immaterial Robe detect 480 The Spirit, stript of the encumbring Clay."-- Alas, Eugenio! Life, Deception's Child, Gives us her fairer Side, and gives no more; The rest we seek in our reflecting View Of Self, and Guilt's o'erheard Soliloquy. How smiles the World in pain, and smiles believ'd! Yon Wretch who, muffled in the Garb of Night, Gave her the Tortures of a weary Soul, Meets--may he not?--the jovial Eye of Day, With a depictur'd Laughter in his Cheek, 490 Or the smoothe Visage of habitual Ease? How have I mourn'd my Lot, as if the Fates Cull'd me, the vilest from their pitchy Stores That ere in Mortal Bosom planted Woe, And pain'd the Care-fraught Soul! I'll grieve no more, But, take it patient with a sober hope, That soon Distress may vary his assault, Or soon the Welcome Tomb exclude Distress.-- But see another Son of Night and Care, A Shepherd watching o'er his frozen Fold, 500 Himself benumb'd and murmuring at his Fate. Sigh not, fond Man; thy bosom only feels The gentler Blows of Nature, and receives The Common Visit of Calamity. JUVENILIA [A FAREWELL.] [1779?] The hour arrived! I sigh'd and said, How soon the happiest hours are fled! On wings of down they lately flew, But then their moments pass'd with you; And still with you could I but be, On downy wings they'd always flee. Say, did you not, the way you went, Feel the soft balm of gay content? Say, did you not all pleasures find, Of which you left so few behind? 10 I think you did: for well I know My parting prayer would make it so.