After the prize in view! and, like a bird
That's hamper'd, struggles hard to get away!
Whilst the glad gates of sight are wide expanded
To let new glories in, the first fair fruits
Of the fast-coming harvest."—Blair's Grave.
"How blest the righteous when he dies!
When sinks the weary soul to rest!
How mildly beam the closing eyes!
How gently heaves the expiring breast!
"So fades the summer cloud away;