(seq. 68)

63

The horrid jargon would the deafend ear,

To awful gratings rouse, & instantly,

Would wish itself a stone; that naught can rouse

Or make its sensibility awake~

Aspatius, pay attention to my song,

Thy heart still knows the subtle spark of life

With youthful vigor urging on the stream

That stings thy nerves with active worth,

And bid thee give thy reason vent to rouse

From lethargy thy soul, that sleeps in death,

Aspatius ponders, what? his brutish creed

Begot in hell & by a demon nourish'd up

To say the soul of immortality,

And hand damnations pondrous weight of woe

To souls immortal, born for better fate ~

Would you Aspatius turn your thots within,

And view the ceaseless thirst of essence pure

That makes thy better part near half divine

Which startles at destructions dreary waste

And would not dare to sleep the endless round