Till, from out the hollow ground,

Slowly breath'd a fullen found.

PROPHETESS.

What call unknown, what charms prefume
To break the quiet of the tomb?

Who thus afflicts my troubled sprite,
And drags me from the realms of night?
Long on these mould'ring bones have beat
The winter's fnow, the fummer's heat,
The drenching dews, and driving rain!
Let me, let me fleep again.

Who is he, with voice unblefs'd,

That calls me from the bed of reft?

ODIN.

A traveller, to thee unknown,

Is he that calls, a warrior's fon.

Thou the deeds of light fhalt know:
Tell me what is done below;

For whom yon glitt'ring board is spread,
Drefs'd for whom yon golden bed?

Art thou, nor prophetess of good;
But mother of the giant brood!

PROPHETESS.

Hie thee hence, and boast at home,

That never shall enquirer come

To break my iron fleep again,

Till Lok has burft his tenfold chain:

Never, till fubftantial Night

Has reaffum'd her ancient right;

Till, wrapp'd in flames, in ruin hurl'd,
Sinks the fabrick of the world.

IMMORTALITY;

OR, THE CONSOLATION OF HUMAN LIFE.

A MONODY.

BY MR. DENTON.

Animi natura videtur

Atque animæ claranda meis jam verfibus effe :
Et metus ille foras præceps Acheruntis agendus
Funditus, humanam qui vitam turbat ab imo,
Omnia fuffundus mortis nigrere.

W

LUCR.

HEN black-brow'd night her dufky mantle fpread,
And wrapp'd in folemn gloom the fable fky;

When foothing fleep her opiate dews had shed,
And feal'd in filken flumbers ev'ry eye :

Lok is the evil being, who continues in chains till the twilight of the gods approaches, when he fhall break his bonds; the human race, the stars, and fun, fhall disappear; the earth fink in the feas, and fire confume the skies: even Odin himself and his kindred deities fhall perish. For a farther expla nation of this mythology, fee MALLET'S INTRODUCTION TO THE HisTORY OF DENMARK, 1755, 4to.

My

My wakeful thoughts admit no balmy rest,

Nor the sweet blifs of soft oblivion fhare;
But watchful woe diftracts my aching breast,
My heart the fubject of corroding care.

From haunts of men, with wand'ring fteps and flow,
I folitary steal, and foothe my pensive woe.

Yet no fell paffion's rough difcordant rage
Untun'd the mufick of my tranquil mind;
Ambition's tinfell'd charms could ne'er engage,
No harbour there could fordid av'rice find:
From Luft's foul fpring my grief disdains to flow;
No fighs of envy from my bofom break;
But foft compaffion melts my foul to woe,

And focial tears faft trickle down my cheek.
Ah, me! when nature gives one gen'ral groan,
Each heart must beat with woe, each voice responsive moan.

Where'er I caft my moisten'd eyes around,

Or ftretch my prospect o'er the distant land, There foul Corruption's tainted steps are found, And Death, grim visag'd, waves his iron hand. Tho' now foft Pleasure gild the fmiling scene,

And fportive Joy call forth her festive train,
Sinking in night each vital form is feen,

Like air-blown bubbles on the watʼry plain;
Fell Death, like brooding Harpy, the repast
Will snatch with talons foul, or four it's grateful taste.

Ye fmiling glories of the youthful year,

That ope your fragrant bofoms to the day,

That, clad in all the pride of spring, appear,
And, steep'd in dew, your filken leaves display :
In Nature's richest robes, tho' thus bedight,
Tho' her foft pencil trace your various dye,
Tho' lures your roseate hue the charmed fight,
Tho' odours fweet your net'rous breath fupply;

Soon on your leaves Time's cank'rous tooth fhall prey,
Your dulcet dews exhale, your beauteous bloom decay.

Ye hedge-row elms, beneath whofe fpreading fhade
The grazing herds defy the ratt'ling show'r;
Ye lofty oaks, in whose wide arms display'd,

The clam'rous rook builds high his airy bow'r;
Stripp'd by hoar Winter's rough inclement rage,
In mournful heaps your leafy honours lie;
E'en your hard ribs fhall feel the force of age,
And your bare trunks the friendly shade deny :
No more by chearful vegetation green,

Your faplefs bolls fhall fink, and quit th' evanid scene.

Ye feather'd warblers of the vernal year,

That careless fing, nor fear the frowns of Fate,
Tune your fad notes to death and winter drear!

Ill fuit these mirthful strains your transient state.
No more, with chearful fong, nor sprightly air,
Salute the blushes of the rifing day;
With doleful ditties, drooping wings, repair
To the lone covert of the nightly fpray;
Where love-lorn Philomela ftrains her throat,
Surround the budding thorn, and fwell the mournful note.

Come, fighing Elegy, with fweetest airs

Of melting mufick teach my grief to flow:
I too muft mix my fad complaint with theirs ;
Our fates are equal, equal be our woe.
Come, Melancholy, fpread thy raven wing,
And in thy ebon car, by Fancy led,
To the dark charnel vault thy vot'ry bring,

The murky manfions of the mould'ring dead;
Where dank dews breathe, and taint the fickly skies,
Where, in fad loathfome heaps, all human glory lies.

Wrapp'd