So fpake Afpafio, firm poffefs'd
Of Faith's fupporting rod,

Then breath'd his foul into its reft,

The bofom of his God.

He was a man, among the few,
Sincere on Virtue's fide;

And all his ftrength from Scripture drew,
To hourly ufe apply'd.

That rule he priz'd, by what he fear'd,
He hated, hop'd, and lov'd;
Nor ever frown'd, or fad appear'd,
But when his heart had roy'd.

For he was frail as thou or I,
And evil felt within;

But when he felt it, heav'd a figh,
And loath'd the thought of Sin.

Such liv'd Afpafio; and, at laft,
Call'd up from Earth to Heav'n,
The gulph of Death triumphant pafs'd,
By gales of blefing driven.

His joys be MINE, each reader cries,
When my last hour arrives!

They shall be yours my Verse replies,
Such ONLY be your lives.

1790.

BUCHANAN.

Ne commonentem recta sperne.

Defpife not my good counsel.

He who fits from day to day,
Where the prifon'd lark is hung,
Heedlefs of his loudest lay,

Hardly knows that he has fung.

Where the watchman in his round
Nightly lifts his voice on high,

None, accuftom'd to the found,
Wakes the fooner for his cry.

So your Verfe-man I, and Clerk,

Yearly in my fong proclaim

Death at hand-yourselves his mark

And the foe's unerring aim.

Duly at my time I come,
Publishing to all aloud-

Soon the grave must be

your home,

And your only fuit, a fhrowd.

But the monitory ftrain,

Oft repeated in your ears, Seems to found too much in vain, Wins no notice, wakes no fears.

Can a truth, by all confefs'd

Of fuch magnitude and weight, Grow, by being oft comprefs'd, Trivial as a parrot's prate?

Pleafure's call attention wins,
Hear it often as we may;
New as ever feem our fins,
Though committed ev'ry day.

Death and Judgment, Heav'n and Hell
Thefe alone, fo often heard,

No more move us than the bell
When fome stranger is interr'd.

Oh then, ere the turf or tomb
Cover us from ev'ry eye,
Spirit of inftruction, come,

Make us learn that we must die!

1792.

Felix qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas,
Quiq: metus omnes et inexorabil fatum
Subjecit pedibus, strepitumq; Acherontis avari!

Happy the mortal, who has trac'd effects
To their First Cause, cast fear beneath his feet,
And Death, and roaring Hell's voracious fires!

THANKLESS for favours from on high
Man thinks he fades too foon;

Tho' 'tis his privilege to die,

4

Would he improve the boon.

But he, not wife enough to fcan
His beft concerns aright,

Would gladly ftretch life's little fpan
To ages, if he might.

To ages in a world of pain

To where he goes,
ages

Gall'd by affliction's heavy chain,

And hopeless of repofe.

Strange fondness of the human heart,

Enamour'd of its harm!

Strange world, that cofts it so much smart, And still has pow'r to charm.

Whence has the world her magic pow'r?

Why deem we death a foe? Recoil from weary life's best hour, And covet longer woe?

The caufe is Confcience-Confcience oft

Her tale of guilt renews; Her voice is terrible, though foft

And dread of death enfues.