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They fpoke of fortune, as fome doubtful dame, That fway'd the natives of a diftant sphere; From lucre's vagrant fons had learnt her fame, But never wish'd to place her banners here. Here youth's free fpirit, innocently gay,

Enjoy'd the most that innocence can give, Thofe whole fome fweets that border virtue's way;

Thofe cooling fruits, that we may taste and live.

Their board no ftrange ambiguous viand bore; From their own ftreams their choicer fare they drew,

To lure the fcaly glutton to the fshore,

The fole deceit their artlefs bofom knew! Sincere themselves, ah too fecure to find

The common bofom, like their own, fincere! 'Tis its own guilt alarms the jealous mind;

'Tis her own poifon bids the viper fear. Sketch'd on the lattice of th' adjacent fane, Their fuppliant bufts implore the reader's prayer:

Ah gentle fouls, enjoy your blissful reign,

And let frail mortals claim your guardian care. For fure, to b'ifsful realms the fouls are flown, That never fatter'd, injur'd, cenfur'd ftrove; The friends of fcience! mufic, all their own; Mufic the voice of virtue and of love!

The journeying peafant, through the fecret fhade,

Heard their foft lyres engage his liftening ear; And haply deem'd fome courteous angel play'd, No angel play'd—but might with transport hear.

For these the founds that chafe unholy ftrife Solve envy's charm, ambitious wretch releafe! Raife him to fpurn the radiant ills of life

To pity pomp, to be content with peace. Farewel, pure fpirits! vain the praise we give, The praise you fought from lips angelic flows; Farewel! the virtues which deferve to live, Deferve an ampler blifs than life bestows. Laft of his race, Palemon, now no more The modeft merit of his line difplay'd; Then pious Hough Vige.nia's mitre wore-Soft fleep the dust of each deserving shade.

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Then learn, ye fair, to foften splendour's ray;
Endure the twain, the youth of low degree;
Let meeknefs join'd its temp'rate beam difplay;
'Tis the mild verdure that endears the tree.
Pity the fandal d fwain, the fhepherd's boy;
He fighs to brighten a neglected name;
Foe to the dull applaufe of vulgar joy,

He mourns his lot; he wifhes, merits fame.
In vain to groves and pathlefs vales we fly;
Ambition there the bow'ry haunt invades;
Fame's awful rays fatigue the courtier's eye,
But gleam ftill lovely thro' the chequer'd
fh des.

Vainly, to guard from love's unequal chain,

Has fortune rear'd us in the rural groves; Should ****'s eyes illume the defart plain, Ev'n I may wonder, and ev'n I must love. Nor unregarded fighs the lowly hind; Though you contemn, the gods refpect bis

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Vindictive rage awaits the fcornful mind,
And vengeance, too fevere! the gods allow.
On Sarum's plain I met a wand'ring fair,

The look of forrow, lovely fill the bare:
Loofe flow'd the foft redundance of her hair,

And, on her brow, a flow'ry wreath fhe wore. Oft ftooping as fhe ftray'd fhe cull'd the pride Of ev'ry plain; fhe pillag'd ev'ry grove! The fading chaplet daily fhe fupply'd,

And ftill her hand fome various garland wove. Erroneous fancy fhap'd her wild attire;

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From Bethlem's walls the poor lymphatic
ftray'd

Seem'd with her air her accent to confpire,
When, as wild fancy taught her, thus fhe faid:
'Hear me, dear youth! oh hear an hapless maid,
Sprung from the feepter'd line of ancient kings!
Scorn'd by the world, I ask thy tender aid;

Thy gentle voice thall whitper kinder things.
The world is frantic-fly the race profane-
Nor I, nor you, fhall its compaffion move;
Come friendly let us wander, and complain,
And tell me, shepherd! haft thou feen my love;
My love is young-but other loves are young;
And other loves are fair and fo is mine;
An air divine difclofes whence he sprung;
He is my love, who boats that air divine.
No vulgar Damon robs me of my reft,

Ianthe liftens to no vulgar vow;

A prince, from gods defcended, fires her breaft;
A brilliant crown diftinguishes his brow.
What fhall ftain the glories of my race?

More clear, more lovely bright than Hefper's
beam?

The porcelain pure with vulgar dirt debase?
Or mix with puddle the pellucid ftream?
See through thefe veins the fappire current fhine!
'Twas Jove's own nectar gave th' etherial hue:
Can bafe plebeian forms contend with mine!
Difplay the lovely white, or match the blue?
The

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The painter ftrove to trace its azure ray;

He chang'd his colours and in vain he ftrove; He frown'd-1 fmiling view'd the faint effay; Poor youth! he little knew it flow'd from Jove.

Pitying his toil, the wondrous truth I told;

How amorous Jove trepan'd a mortal fair; How through the race the enerous current roll'd, And mocks the poet's art, and painter's care. Yes, from the gods, from earlieft Saturn fprung Our facred race; through demigods, convey'd; And he, ally'd to Phoebus, ever young,

My god-like boy, muft wed their duteous maid.

Oft when a mortal vow profanes my ears,

My fire's dread fury murmurs through the sky; And fhould I yield--his inftant rage appears,

He darts th' up-lifted vengeance-and I die. Have you not heard unwonted thunders roll! Have you not feen more horrid lightnings glare! 'Twas then a vulgar love enfnar'd my foul:

'Twas then-I hardly fcap'd the fatal fnare. 'Twas then a peafent pour'd his amorous vow, All as liften'd to his vulgar ftrain;Yet fuch his beauty-would my birth allow, Dear were the youth, and blissful were the plain.

But oh! I faint! why walles my vernal bloom,
In fruitless fearches ever doom'd to rove?
My nightly dreams the toilfome path refume,
And I fhall die-before I find my lave.
When last I flept, methought my ravished eye,
On diftant heights his radiant form furveyed;
Though night's thick clouds encampaffed all the
iky,

The gems that bound his brow, difpell'd the
fhade.

O how this bofom kindled at the fight!

Led by their beams I urg'd the pleasing chase! Till, on a fudden, thefe with-held their lightAll, all things envy the fublime embrace. But now no more-behind the diftant grove, Wanders my deftin'd youth and chides my ftay:

See, fee, he grafps the fteel-forbear, my lovelanthe comes; thy princess haftes away." Scornful-fhe fpoke, and heedlefs of reply

The lovely maniac bounded o'er the plain ;~
The pitious victim of an angry fky,
Ah me! the victim of her, proud difdain!

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No trivial blaft impells the paffive air;
But brews a tempeft in a breast like mine.
What bands of black ideas fpread their wings!
The peaceful regions of content-invade!
With deadly poifon taint the crystal springs!
With noifome vapour blaft the verdant shade!
I know their leader, fpleen; and dread the sway
Of rigid Euru, his detefted fire;

Through one my bloffoms and my fruits decay; Through one my pleasures and my hopes ex. pire.

Like fome pale ftripling, when his icy way
Relenting yields beneath the noontide beam,
I ftand aghaft; and chill'd with fear furvey

How far I've tempted life's deceitful stream!
Where, by remorfe impell'd, repuls'd by fears,
Shall wretched fancy a retreat explore?
She flies the fad prefage of coming years,
And forrowing dwells on pleafures now no
more!

Again with patrons and with friends she roves;
But friends and patrons never to return!
She fees the nymphs, the graces, and the loves,
But fees them, weeping o'er Lucinda's urn.
She vifits, Ifis! thy forfaken ftream,

Oh ill forfaken for Baotian air!
She deems no flood reflects to bright a beam,
No reed fo verdant, and no flowers fo fair.
She dreams beneath thy facred fhades were peace,
Thy bays might ev'n the civil ftorm repel;
Reviews thy focial blifs, thy learned cafe,

And with no chearful accent cries, farewel! Farewel, with whom to these retreats I stray'd! By youthful fports, by youthful toils ally'd! Joyous we fojourn'd in thy circling shade,

And wept to find the paths of life divide. She paints the progrefs of my rival's vow;

Sees every Mufe a partial ear incline; Binds with luxuriant bays his favour'd brow,

Nor yields the refufe of his wreath to mine. She bids the flattering mirror, form'd to please, Now blast my hope, now vindicate despair; Bids my fond verfe the love-fick parley cease; Accufe my rigid fate, acquit my fair. Where circling rocks defend fome pathlefs vale, Superfluous mortal, let me ever rove! Alas there echo will repeat the tale

Where fhall I find the filent fcenes I love? Fain would I mourn my lucklefs fate alone;

Forbid to pleafe, yet fated to admire; Away my friends! my forrows are my own! Why should I breathe around my fick defire? Bear me, ye winds, indulgent to my pains, Near fome fad ruin's ghaftly fhade to dwell!. There let me fondly eye the rude remains,

And from the mouldering refufe, build my cell! Genius of Rome! thy proftrate pomp display! Trace every difmal proof of fortune's power; Let me the wreck of theatres furvey,

Or penfive fit beneath fome nodding tower.

Or

Or where fome duct, by rolling feafons worn,
Convey'd pure ftreams to Rome's imperial wall,
Near the wide breach in filence let me mourn;
Or tune my dirges to the water's fall.
Genius of Carthage! paint thy ruin'd pride;
Towers, arches, fanes, in wild confusion ftrewn,
Let banish'd Marius, lowering by thy fide,

Compare thy fickle fortunes with his own.
Ah no! thou monarch of the ftorms! forbear!
My trembling nerves abhor thy rude controul;
And fcarce a pleafing twilight fooths my care,
Ere one vaft death like darknefs fhocks
my
foul.
Forbear thy rage-on no perennial base

Is built frail fear, or hopes deceitful pile; My pains are filed-my joy resumes its place, fhould the fky brighten or Meliffa smile.

ELEGY XVIII.

He repeats the fong of COLLIN, a difcerning fhepherd; lamenting the fate of the woollen manufactory,

Ah! what avails the timorous lambs to guard, Though nightly cares, with daily labours, join? If foreign floth obtain the rich reward,

If Gallia's craft the ponderous fleece purloin. Was it for this, by conftant vigils worn,

I met the terrors of an early grave; For this I led them from the pointed thorn? For this I bath'd them in the Lucid wave? Ah heedlefs Albion! too benignly prone Thy blood to lavish, and thy wealth refign! Shall every other virtue grace thy throne, But quick-ey'd prudence never yet be thine? From the fair natives of this peerless hill

Thou gav'ft the sheep that browze Iberian plains:

Their plaintive cries the faithlefs region fill,

Their fleece adorns an haughty foe's domains. Ill-fated flocks! from cliff to cliff they stray;

Far from their dams their native guardians far! Where the foft fhepherd, all the livelong day, Chaunts his proud mittrefs to his hoarfe guittar.

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But Albion's youth her native fleece defpife; Unmov'd they hear the pining shepherd's

moan;

"Ergo omni fludio glaciem ventofque nivales, | In filky folds each nervous limb disguse, "Quo minus eft illis curæ mortalis egestas, "Avertes victumque feres."

N

VIRG.

EAR Avon's bank, on Arden's flowery plain,

A tuneful fhepherd charm'd the liftening

wave;

And funny Cotfol' fondly lov'd the strain;
Yet not a garland crowns the fhepherd's grave!
Oh! loft Ophelia! fmoothly flow'd the day,
To feel his mufic with my flames agree!
To taste the beauties of his melting lay,

To tafte, and fancy it was dear to thee.
When, for his tomb, with each revolving year,

I fteal the musk-rose from the fcented brake, I ftrew my cowflips, and I pay my tear, I'll add the myrtle for Ophelia's fake, Shivering beneath a leaflefs thorn he lay, When death's chill rigour seiz'd his flowing tongue,

The more I found his faultering notes decay,

The more prophetic truth fublim'd the fong. "Adieu my flocks, he faid! my wonted care

By funny mountain, or by verdant fhore! May fome more happy hand your fold prepare, And may you need your Collin's crook no more! And you, ye fhepherds! lead my gentle sheep; To breezy hills or leafy fhelters lead; But if the sky with fhowers inceffant weep, Avoid the putrid moisture of the mead. Where the wild thyme perfumes the purpled heath, Long loitering there your fleecy tribes xtendBut what avail the maxims I bequeath? The fruitless gift of an officious friend!

* Mr. Somervile.

Allur'd by every treasure but their own.. Oft have I hurry'd down the rocky steep,

Anxious, to fee the wintry tempest drive; Preferve, faid I, preferve your fleece, my sheep! Ere long will Phillis, will my love arrive. Ere long she came: ah! woe is me fhe came!

Rob'd in the Gallic loom's extraneous twine: For gifts like these they give their spotlefs fame, Refign their bloom, their innocence refign. Will no bright maid, by worth, by titles known, Give the rich growth of British hills to fame? And let her charms, and her example, own

That virtue's drefs, and beauty's are the

fame ?

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Once more the patriot's arduous path resume ?
And, comely from his native plains array'd,
Speak future glory to the British loom?
What power unfeen my ravifh'd fancy fires?
I pierce the dreary fhade of future days;
Sure 'tis the genius of the land inspires,
To breath my latest breath in * ***
*'s praise.
O might my breath for ***'s praise fuffice,
How gently fhould my dying limbs repofe!
O might his future glory blefs mine eyes,
My ravish'd eyes! how calmly would they
clofe !

*** was born to spread the general joy;
By virtue rapt, by party uncontroul'd ;
Britons for Britain fhall the crook employ;
Britons for Britain's glory fhear the fold."

ELEGY

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Another spring renews the foldier's toil,

-And finds me vacant in the rural cave.

As the foft lyre difplay'd my wonted loves,

The penfive pleasure and the tender pain, The fordid Alpheus hurried through my groves; Yet flop'd' to vent the dictates of difdain. He glanc'd contemptuous o'er my ruin'd fold; He blam'd the graces of my favourite bower, My breaft, unfully'd by the luft of gold;

My time, unlavifh'd in pursuit of power.
Yes, Alpheus! fly the purer paths of fate;
Abjure thefe fcenes from venal paffions free;
Know, in this grove, I vowed perpetual hate,
War, endless war, with lucre and with thee.
Here nobly zealous, in my youthful hours,
I dreft an altar to Thalia's name:

Here, as I crown'd the verdant fhrine with flowers,
Soft on my labours flole the fmiling dame.
Damon, fhe cry'd, if pleas'd with honest praise,
Thou court fuccefs by virtue or by fong,
Fly the falfe dictates of the venal race;

Fly the grofs accents of the venal tongue.
Swear that no lucre fhall thy zeal betray;
Swerve not thy foot with fortune's votaries

more;

Brand thou their lives and brand their lifeless day, The winning phantom urg'd me, and I fwere. Forth from the ruftic alter fwift I ftray'd,

"Aid my firm purpose, ye celestial powers! Aid me to quell the fordid breast, I faid; And threw my javelin tow'rds their hoftile towers*

Think not regretful I furvey the deed;

Or added years no more the zeal allow ; Still, ftill obfervant to the grove 1 speed,

The thrine embellish, and repeat the vow. Sworn from his cradle Rome's relentless foe, Such generous hate the Punic champion + bore; Thy lake, O Thrafimene! beheld it glow,

And Canna's walls, and Thebia's crimson fhore. But let grave annals paint the warrior's fame; Fair fhine his arms in hiftory euroll'd; Whilst humbler lyres his civil worth proclaim, His nobler hate of avarice and gold.Now Punic pride its final eve furvey'd;

its hofts exhaufted, and its fleets on fire: Patient the victor's lurid frown obey'd,

And faw th' unwilling elephants retire.
But when their gold deprefs'd the yielding scale,
Their gold in pyramidic plenty pil'd,

He faw th' unutterable grief prevail;
He faw their tears, and in his fury fmil'd.

* A Roman ceremony in declaring war.
+ Hannibal.

Think not, he cry'd, ye view the fmiles of safe,
Or this firm breaft difclaims a patriot's pain;
1 fmile, but from a foul eftrang'd to peace,
Frantic with grief, delirious with disdain !
But were it cordial, this detefted smile,
Seems it lefs timely than the grief ye fhow?
O fons of Carthage! grant me to revile

The fordid source of your indecent woe! Why weep you now! ye faw with tearless eye When your fleet perifh'd on the Punic wave; Where rk'd the coward tear, the lazy figh, Wh Tyre's imperial state commenc'd a flave? 'Tis på Carthage! vanquished! honour'd fhade,

Go, the mean forrows of thy fons deplore; Had freedom fhar'd the vow to fortune paid.

She ne'er, like fortune, had forfook thy fhore." He ceafed-abafh'd the conscious audience hear; Their pallid cheeks a crimson blush unfold; Yet oe'r that virtuous blufh diftreams a tear, And falling moistens their abandon'd gold.

ELEGY XX.

He compares his bumble fortune with the difrefs of others; and bis fubjection to DELIA, with the miferable fervitude of an African flave.

W

HY droops this heart, with fancy'd woes forlorn, Why finks my foul beneath each wintry fky? What penfive crowds, by ceafelefs labours worn, What myriads wifh to be as bleft as I ! What though my roofs devoid of pomp arise,

Nor tempt the proud to quit his destined way? Nor coftly art my flowery dales disguife,

Where only fimple friendship deigns to ftray? See the wild fons of Lapland's chill domain, That fcoop their couch beneath the drifted fnows!

How void of hope they ken the frozen plain,
Where the sharp eaft for ever, ever blows!
Slave though I be, to Delia's eyes a slave,

My Delia's eyes endear the bands I wear;
The figh fhe caufes well becomes the brave,
The
pang the caufes, 'tis ev'n blifs to bear:
See the poor native quit the Libyan fhores,

Ah! not in love's delightful fetters bound!
No radiant fmile his dying peace restores;
Nor love, nor fame, nor friendship, heals his

wound.

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Yet the mufe liften'd to the plaints he made;
Such moving plaints as nature could inspire;
To me the Mufe his tender play convey'd,

But smooth'd, and suited to the founding lyre. "Why am I ravished from my native strand? What favage race protects the impious gain? Shall foreign plagues infeft this teeming land, And more than fea-born monsters plough the main?

Here the dire locufts horrid fwarms prevail;

Here the blue afps with livid poifon fwell; Here the dry dipfa with his finuous mail;

Can we not here fecure from envy dwell? When the grim lion urg'd his cruel chace, When the ftern panther fought his midnight prey,

What fate referv'd me for the chriftian race?

O race more polish'a more severe than they! Ye prouling wolves, pursue my latest eries! Thou hungry tiger leave thy reeking den? Ye fandy waftes, in rapid eddies rife !

O tear me from the whips and scorn of men! Yet in their face fuperior beauty glows;

Are fmiles the mien of rapine and of wrong? Yet from their lip the voice of mercy flows,

And ev❜n religion dwells upon their tongue. Of blissful haunts they tell, and brighter climes, Where gentle minds conveyed by death repair, But ftain'd with blood and crimfon'd o'er with crimes,

Say, fhall they merit what they paint so fair? No, careless, hopeless of those fertile plains,

Rich by our toils, and by our forrows gay, They ply our labours, and enhance our pains, And feign these distant regions to repay. For them our tusky elephant expires;

For them we drain the mine's embowel'd gold; Where rove the brutal nations wild defires ?Our limbs are purchas'd, and our life is fold! Yet fhores there are, bleft fhores for us remain, And favour'd ifles with golden fruitage crown'd, Where tufted flowrets paint the verdant plain, Where every breeze fhall med'cine every

wound.

There the ftern tyrant that embitters life

Shall, vainly fuppliant, spread his afking hand; There fhall we view the billows raging ftrife, Aid the kind breaft, and waft his boat to land."

ELEGY XXI.

Toking a view of the country from his retirement, he is led to meditate on the character of the ancient Britons. Written at the time of a rumoured tax upen luxury, 1746.

THUS THUS Damon fung-What though unknown to praise

Umbrageous coverts hide my Muse and me ;

Or 'mid the rural fhepherds, flow my days,
Amid the rural fhepherds, I am free.
To view fleek vaffals crowd a stately hall,

Say, fhould I grow myself a folemn flave! To find thy tints, O Titian! grace my wall, Forego the flowery fields my fortune gave? Lord of my time my devious path I bend, Through fringy woodland, or smooth-fhaven lawn;

Or penfile grove, or airy cliff afcend,

And hail the scene by nature's pencil drawn. Thanks be to fate-though nor the racy vine, Nor fattening olive cloath the fields I rove, Sequefter'd fhades and gurgling founts are mine, And every filvan grott the Mufes love. Here if my vista point the mouldering pile,

Where hood and cowl devotion's afpect wore,

I trace the tottering reliques with a smile,
To think the mental bondage is no more!
Pleas'd if the glowing landscape wave with corn;
Or the tall oaks, my country's bulwark, rife;
Pleaf'd, if mine eye, o'er thousand vallies born,
Difcern the Cambria hills fupport the fkies.
And fee Plinlimmon! ev'n the youthful fight
Scales the proud hills etherial cliffs with pain!
Such Caer-caradoc! thy ftupendous height,
Whofe ample shade obfcures th' Iernian main.
Bleak, joylefs regions! where, by science fir'd,

Some prying fage his lonely step may bend;
There, by the love of novel plaints inspir'd,

Invidious view the clambering goats afcend. Yet for thofe mountains, clad with lafting fnow, The freeborn Briton left his greeneft mead, Receding fullen from his mightier foe, For here he faw fair liberty recede. Then if a chief perform'd a patriot's part, Sustained her drooping fons, repell'd her foes, Above all Perfian luxe, or Attic art, The rude majestic monument arose. Progreffive ages caroll'd forth his fame; Sires, to his praife, attun'd their children's tongue;

The hoary druid fed the generous flame,

While in fuch strains the reverend vizard fung. "Go forth, my fons !-for what is vital breath, Your gods expell'd, your liberty refign'd? Go forth, my fons! for what is inftant death To fouls fecure perennial joys to find? For fcenes there are, unknown to war or pain, Where drops the balm that heals a tyrant's wound;

Where Patriots, bleft with boundless freedom, reign,

With milletoe's myfterious garlands crown'd. Such are the names that grace your myftic fongs; Your folemn woods refound their martial fire; To you, my fons, the ritual meed belongs,

If in the cause you vanquish or expire.

Hark! from the facred oak that crowns the

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