All else excluded from the blest abode.

If error thine, not GOLDSMID! thine the fault,
Since first thy infant years instruction drew;
From youth's gradations up to manhood taught
That faith to reverence which thy fathers knew.

In Retribution's last tremendous hour,
When its pale captives, long in dust declined,
The grave shall yield, and time shall death devour,
When He who saved, shall come to judge mankind.

While Christian-infidels shall tremble round,
Who call'd HIM Master! whom their acts denied:
Imputed faith may in _thy_ deeds be found,
And thy eternal doom those deeds decide.



SONNET.

ON THE DEATH OF MRS. CHARLOTTE SMITH.


Sweet songstress! whom the melancholy Muse
With more than fondness loved, for thee she strung
The lyre, on which herself enraptured hung,
And bade thee through the world its sweets diffuse.
Oft hath my childhood's tributary tear
Paid homage to the sad harmonious strain,