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For which the choicest joys of life are giv'n;
The peace of Conscience, and the hope of Heav'n!
View yon pale wretch, who late, with haughty
pride,

Like you,

his Saviour and his God deny'd : Mark how his fiery eyes, that glaring roll, Disclose the anguish of his tortur'd soul! Hear him, when griding pains his frame assail, His num'rous crimes, his blasphemies bewail; And, with heart-rending sighs, and tears, implore That sov'reign mercy which he scorn'd before! While conscious guilt and unalloy'd despair Still on his lips arrest th' half-utter'd pray'r! See where around his dying couch, a band Of anxicus colleagues take their watchful stand, Intent, with all their wisdom can suggest, To soothe his agitated soul to rest :

With horrid imprecations fierce he cries,

(Reproach and fury flashing from his eyes,)

"

Avaunt, ye wretches! hence! nor aggravate "The cruel torments of my dreadful state! ""Twas ye, accurs'd, who help'd me to procure "Those unexampled miseries I endure; "To those atrocious crimes how justly due, "So much applauded and admir'd by you! "Begone! and with you all remembrance fly "Of our infernal, damn'd conspiracy!"

Struck by his poignant suff'rings with affright,
His late associates fly th' horrific sight:
Such pangs from those deserv'd reproaches feel
As rack the culprit on the tort'ring wheel;
And while a moment Conscience holds her sway,
Forget their doctrines, half inclin❜d to pray;
But soon, asham'd their errors to confess,
With care each soul-awak'ning thought repress;
And, to conviction sedulously blind,

Impute his terrors to his weaken'd mind!
Nor heed what sages fam'd, with wisdom fraught,
In every clime, through every age, have taught;
"That when the subtile ties of life give way,

"

The soul, half-loosen'd from this mass of clay, (Her earthly prison,) darts her piercing eye "Through the dark precincts of futurity,

"And reads, with prescient skill, her awful doom "Of pain or bliss for countless years to come!"

Meanwhile, (all hopes of life or mercy lost!)
By various, fierce, contending passions tost,
Curse chasing curse, and groan succeeding groan,
Till Nature fails, and Reason quits her throne,
VOLTAIRE, in stupor sunk, resigns his breath,
A dreadful victim to remorseless Death!

Unhappy wretch! what mortal can deny
For woes like thine to heave a pitying sigh!

If in our passage through this vale of strife,
Amidst the numerous ills that chequer life,
One scene of more than common pow'r be found,
With thrilling grief the feeling heart to wound,
Sure 'tis, when Death, in all his terrors drest,
Relentless strikes some unprepared breast,
To mark the guilty soul, confus'd, forlorn,
By keen remorse and harpy conscience torn,
Back from the dread, irremeable brink

Of endless time, congeal'd with horror, shrink;
And with prophetic fears anticipate

The unknown torments of a future state!

Her great distress to witness; and, aghast,
View hell commencing ere the world be past!

From sights like these, which solemn thoughts inspire

To check the current of deprav'd desire,
Taught to appreciate Virtue, let us turn
Where o'er their ADDISON her vot'ries mourn;
While he, sustain'd by more than mortal pow'r,
Awaits with tranquil soul his dying hour.
Crown'd with the meed of well-deserved fame,
What Briton fails to venerate his name!
Fraught with all fancy could, or sense, impart,
To charm, adorn, or meliorate the heart;

Chaste, unaffected, pleasing, and refin'd;
The rich effusions of a vig'rous mind,
Intent the cause of virtue to befriend,
And sage instruction with delight to blend;
To curb the ardour of impetuous youth,
"And set the passions on the side of truth”-
Such are his writings; which shall ever please,
Till all esteem for wit or wisdom cease!

Smit with Religion's sacred charms, his breast
In life's gay spring receiv'd the heavenly guest:
Long, by her cheering influence warm'd, he strove
To shew the Almighty's goodness and his love;
His pow'r, his wisdom, in his works to scan,
And vindicate his ways to erring man.
When by disease at length he sinks opprest,
In th' approbation of his conscience blest,
Devoutly calm he hears the summons giv'n,
And bows submissive to the will of Heav'n.

See where, upon yon couch serenely laid,
The Christian hero rests his drooping head!
Tho' racking pains his frame unceasing tear,
A placid smile his languid features wear :
Mark where RELIGION near him takes her stand,
And waves the olive sceptre in her hand!

His bed of sickness she with roses strews,
Illumes his prospects, elevates his views;
Bids scenes of soul-enchanting pleasure rise;
And, while yet breathing, wafts him to the skies!
'Tis she that takes away (what sin first gave)
The sting from death, and vict'ry from the grave!
Tho' o'er his breast that shaft the spectre shakes,
At sight of which the harden'd sinner quakes,
To his firm soul, unaw'd by guilty fears,
No frightful shape the ghastly phantom wears;
He deems that stroke which human life destroys,
The welcome passport to celestial joys.

When the convulsive throb, and swimming eye,
Proclaim the hour of dissolution nigh,

Ere yet the glimm'ring lamp of life expires,
For WARWICK he, with fault' ring tongue, inquires.
See where the noble youth, with awe impress'd,
Attends, obedient to his friend's request:
Soon as that well-known face the sufferer spies,
What mixt emotions in his bosom rise!
View where, pourtray'd in yon expressive mien,
Meek resignation, faith and hope are seen;
With all that warm solicitude combin'd

For human weal, which marks the gen'rous mind;

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