By what his glowing passions can engage; And glowing passions, bent on aught below, On its sharp point peace bleeds, and hope expires. Turn, hopeless thought! turn from her:-Thought repell'd Resenting rallies, and wakes ev'ry woe. Snatch'd ere thy prime! and in thy bridal hour! Eng by P.Roter all. That mournd the dead, and this denyd a grave. Page 46. London: Pub Jan! L180:. by Vernor & Hood, and the other Proprietors. For Oh! the curst ungodliness of zeal! What could I do? What succour? What resource? skies. Presumptuous fear! How durst I dread her foes, The dead how sacred! Sacred is the dust He deign'd to wear, who hung the vast expanse Far less than This is shocking in a race And, but for love divine, this moment, lost, What then his vengeance? Hear it not, ye stars! A previous blast foretells the rising storm; |