Letter from a Departed Spirit, A; To the Author of a Lady's Character, Lately Publish'd
Stript, to the naked soul , escap'd, from clay ,
From doubts , unfetter'd, and dissolv'd, in day:
Unwarm'd, by vanity , unreach'd, by strife ,
And all my hopes , and fears , thrown off, with life:
Why am I charm'd , by Friendship 's fond essays,
And, tho' unbody'd , conscious of thy praise?
Has pride a portion, in the parted soul?
Does passion still, the formless mind controul?
Can gratitude out-pant the silent breath?
Or, a friend's sorrow pierce the glooms of death?
No — 'tis a spirit's NOBLER taste of bliss!
That feels the worth, it left , in proofs, like this:
That, not its own applause, but thine , approves,
Whose practice praises, and whose virtue loves!
Who liv'st , to crown departed friends, with fame ,
Then dying late , shall all, thou gav'st, reclaim .
From doubts , unfetter'd, and dissolv'd, in day:
Unwarm'd, by vanity , unreach'd, by strife ,
And all my hopes , and fears , thrown off, with life:
Why am I charm'd , by Friendship 's fond essays,
And, tho' unbody'd , conscious of thy praise?
Has pride a portion, in the parted soul?
Does passion still, the formless mind controul?
Can gratitude out-pant the silent breath?
Or, a friend's sorrow pierce the glooms of death?
No — 'tis a spirit's NOBLER taste of bliss!
That feels the worth, it left , in proofs, like this:
That, not its own applause, but thine , approves,
Whose practice praises, and whose virtue loves!
Who liv'st , to crown departed friends, with fame ,
Then dying late , shall all, thou gav'st, reclaim .
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