As from the Wing no Scar the Sky retains ;
The parted Wave no Furrow from the Keel;
So dies in human Hearts the Thought of Death.
Ev'n with the tender Tear which Nature sheds
O'er those we love, we drop it in their Grave.
Can I forget PHILANDER? That were strange;
my full Heart! -But fhould I give it vent,
The longest Night, tho' longer far, would fail,
And the Lark liften to my Midnight Song.

The fpritely Lark's fhrill Matin wakes the Morn; Grief's fharpeft Thorn hard-preffing on my Breaft, I ftrive, with wakeful Melody to chear The fullen Gloom, fweet Philomel! like Thee, And call the Stars to liften: Ev'ry Star Is deaf to mine, enamour'd of thy Lay. Yet be not vain; there are, who thine excell, And charm thro' diftant Ages: Wrapt in Shade, Pris'ner of Darkness! to the filent Hours, How often I repeat their Rage divine,

To lull my Griefs, and fteal my Heart from Woe! I roll their Raptures, but not catch their Flames. Dark, tho' not blind, like thee Mæonides!

Or, Milton! thee; ah could I reach your Strain!
Or His, who made Maonides our Own.

Man too He fung: Immortal Man I fing;
Oft burfts my Song beyond the Bounds of Life;
What, now, but Immortality can please?
O had He prefs'd his Theme, purfu'd the Track,
Which opens out of Darkness into Day!
O had he mounted on his Wing of Fire,
Soar'd, where I fink, and fung Immortal Man!
How had it bleft Mankind, and rescu'd me t

NIGHT THE SECOND.

ON

Time, Death, Friendship.

HUMBLY INSCRIB'D

To the RIGHT HONOURABLE

The Earl of WILMINGTON.

THE

COMPLAINT.

NIGHT the SECOND.

W

HEN the Cock crew he wept"-Smote by
that Eye,

Which looks on me, on All: That Pow'r,
who bids

This Midnight Centinel with Clarion shrill,
Emblem of that which fhall awake the Dead,
Rouse Souls from Slumber, into Thoughts of Heaven.
Shall I too weep? Where then is Fortitude?
And Fortitude abandon'd, where is Man?

I know the Terms on which he sees the Light;
He that is born, is lifted; Life is War;
Eternal War with Woe. Who bears it beft,
Deferves it least,- -On other Themes I'll dwell.
LORENZO! letme turn my Thoughts on Thee,
And Thine, on Themes may profit; profit there,
Where most thy Need. Themes, too, the genuine Growth
Of dear PHILANDER'S Duft. He, thus, tho'dead,
May ftill befriend-What Themes? Time's wondrous Price,
Death, Friendship, and PHILANDER's final Scene.

Sa