This is the favour'd moment heaven approves, Sound the fhrill trump: this inftant, found to arms." Theirs was the fcience of a martial race, To fhape the lance, or decorate the shield; Nor virtue's call, nor fame's imperial prize. If freedom's awful clarion breath'd to war, Now the fleek courtier, indolent, and vain, Thron'd in the fplendid carriage glides fupine; To taint his virtue with a foreign ftain, Or at a favourite's board his faith refign. Leave them, O luxury! this happy foil! Chafe her, Britannia, to fome hoftile fhore ! Or fleece the baneful pest with annual spoil, And let thy virtuous offspring weep no more! eyes Intomb'd beneath the grafs-green fod was laid. No more her their wonted radiance caft; No more her breast infpir'd the lover's flame, No more her cheek the Pæftan rose surpast? Yet feem'd her lip's etherial fmile the fame. Nor fuch her drefs as heighten'd every grace; * Alludes to a tax upon luxury. "Damon, fhe faid, mine hour allotted flies; Faft by the reliques of fome happier maid! There my fond parents honoured reliques lio. Though now debarr'd of each domestic tear; Unkkown, forgot, I meet the fatal blow; There many a friend fhall grace my woeful bier, And many a figh fhall rife, and tear fhall flow, I fpoke, nor fate forbore his trembling spoil; Some vernal mourner lent his careless aid; And foon they bore me to my native foil, Where my fond Parents dear remains were laid. 'Twas then the youths, from every plain and grove, Adorn'd with mournful verfe thy Silvia's bier; 'Twas then the nymph their votive garlands wove, And firew'd the fragrance of the youthful year, But why, alas! the tender fcene display? Could Damon's foot the pious path decline? Ah no! 'twas Damon first attun'd his lay, And fure no fonnet was fo dear as thine. Thus was I bofom'd in the peaceful grave; My placid ghoft no longer wept its doom; When favage robbers every fanclion brave, And with outpageous guilt defraud the tomb ! Shall my poor corfe, from hoftile realms con vey'd, Lofe the cheap portion of my native fands? Or, in my kindred's dear embraces laid, Mourn the wild ravage of barbarian hands? Say, would thy breaft no death-like torture feel, To fee my limbs the felon's gripe obey? To fee them gafh'd beneath the daring steel? To crowds a spectre, and to dogs a prey? If Paan's fons thefe horrid rites require, If health's fair fcience be by thefe refin'd, Let guilty convicts, for their use, expire; And let their breathlefs corfe avail mankind. Yet hard it seems, when guilt's last fine is paid, To fee the victim's corfe deny'd repose! Nature, inftinctive, cries, Protect the dead, Arife Arife, dear youth! ev'n now the danger calls; ELEGY XXIII. Reflections fuggefted by his fituation. ORN near the fcene for Kenelm's fate re Bonown'd, Itake my plaintive reed and range the grove, And raife my lay, and bid the rocks refound The favage force of empire, and of love. Faft by the centre of yon' various wild, Where fpreading oaks embower a Gothic fane; Kendrida's arts a brother's youth beguil'd; There nature urg'd her tendereft pleas in vain. Soft o'er his birth, and o'er his infant hours, Th' ambitious maid could every care employ; Then with affiduous fondnefs cropt the flowers, To deck the cradle of the princely boy? But foon the bofom's pleafing calm is flown; Love fires her breaft; the fultry paffions rife; A favour'd lower feeks the Mercian throne, And views her Kenelm with a rival's eyes.. How kind were fortune, ah! how just were fate, Would fate or fortune Mercia's heir, remove How fweet to revel on the couch of ftate ! To crown at once her lover and her love! See garnish'd for the chace, the fraudful maid Ill-fated youth! himself the deftin'd prey. Forms the lone refuge o the fylvan game; Since Lyttleton has crown'd the sweet domain With fofter pleafures, and with fairer fame. Where the rough howman urg'd his headlong fteed, Immortal bards, a polifh'd race, retire; Through the feft fhades delighted let me ftray, While o'er my head forgotten funs defcend! Through thefe dear valleys bend my cafual way, Till fetting life a total fhade-extend! Here far from courts, and void of pompous cares I'll mufe how much I owe mine humbler fate: Or fhrink to find, how much ambition dares, To fhine in anguifh, and to grieve in fate! Can't thou, O fun! that spotlefs throne difclofe, Where her bold arm has left no fanguine ftain? Where, fhew me where, the lineal fceptre glows, Pure, as the fimple crook that rules the plain? Tremendous pomp! where hate, distrust, and fear, In kindred bofoms folve the focial tie; There not the parent fmile is half fincere; Nor void of art the confort's melting eye. There with the friendly with, the kindly flame, No face is brighten'd, and no bofoms beat; Youth, manhood, age, avow one fordid aim, And ev'n the beardlefs lip affays deceit. There coward rumours walk their murderous round; 1 The glance, that more than rural blame inftills; Whisper's, that ting'd with friendship doubly wound, Pity that injures, and concern that kills. Their anger whets, but love can ne'er engage; Careffing brothers part but to revile; There all men imile, and prudence warns the wife, To dread the fatal ftroke of all that fmile. There all her rivals! fifter, fen, andûre, With horrid put pofe hng dekructive arms; There foft-ey'd maids in murderous plots confpire, And forn the gentler mifchief of their charms. And where hoarfe fcream'd the ftrepent horn, Let fervile minds one endless watch endure; fucceed The melting graces of no vulgar lyre. See Thompfon loitering near some limpid well, For Britain's friend the verdant wreath prepare! Or, ftudious of revolving feafons, tell, How peerless Lucia made all feafons fair! Day, night, nor hour, their anxious guard refign; But lay me, fate! on flowery banks, fecure, Though my whole foul be, like my limbs, fupinc. Yes, may my tongue difdain a vaffal's care; The cap of freedom, than the crown of bay.. 1 fcorn the quarry, where no fhrub can grow. X No No midnight panga the shepherd's peace pursue; His tongue, his hand, attempts no fecret wound; He fines his Delia, and if fhe be true, His love at once, and his ambition's crown'd. ELEGY XXIV. He takes occafion, from the fate of ELEANOR OF BRETAGNE, to fuggeft the imperfect pleasures of a folitary life. WH HEN beauty mourns, by fate's injurious doom, Hid from the chearful glance of human eye; When nature's pride inglorious waits the tomb, Hard is that heart which checks the rifing figh. Fair Eleonora ! would no gallant mind, The cause of love, the cause of juftice own? Matchless thy charms, and was no life refign'd To fee them fparkle from their native throne? Or had fair freedom's hand unveil'd thy charms Well might fuch brows the regal gem refign; Thy radient mien might fcorn the guilt of arms; Yet Albion's awful empire yield to thine. O fhame of Britons! in one fullen tower She wet with royal tears her daily cell; Through one dim lattice fring'd with ivy round, Nor warmly hopes what fplendour can fupply; Fond youth inceffant mourns, if rigid walls Restrain its liftening ear, its curious eye. Believe ****, the pretence is vain! me, This boafted calm that imooths our early days, For never yet could youthful mind reftrain Th' alternate pant for peafure and for praise. Ev'n me by fhady oak or limpid fpring, Ev'n me, the fcenes of polifh'd lite allure; Content in fhades to tune a lonely reed, For public haunts, impell'd by Britain's weal, See Grenville quit the Mufe's favourite ease; And shall not fwains admire his noble zeal? Admiring praife, admiring ftrive to please? Life, fays the fage, affords no blifs fincere; And courts and cells in vain our hopes renew: But ah where Grenville charms the listening ear, "Tis hard to think the chearless maxim true. The groves may fmile, the rivers gently glide; Soft through the vale refound the lonesome lay. Ev'n thickets yield delight, if taste prefide; But can they pleafe, when Lyttletons away? Pure as the fwain's the breast of *** glows, Ah! were the fhepherd's phrase, like his, refin'd But, how improves the generous dictate flows Through the clear medium of a polish'd mind. Happy the youths who, warm with Britain's love, Her inmoft wifh in *** period's hear! Happy that in the radiant circle move, Attendant orbs, where Lonfdale gilds the sphere ! While rural faith, and every polish'd art, * Each friendly charm, in ** confpire, From public fcenes all penfive muft you part; All joylefs to the greeneft fields retire! Go, plaintive youth! no more by fount or ftream, Like fome lone halcyon, focial pleasure shun; Go dare the light, enjoy its chearful beam, Aud hail the bright proceffion of the fun. Then cover'd by thy ripen'd fhades, refume The filent walk; no more by paffion teft:* Then feek thy ruftic haunts; the dreary gloom, Where every art, that colours life, is left."In vain! the listening Muse attends in vain ! Reftraints in hoftile bands her motions waitYet will I grieve, and fadden all my ftrain, When injur'd beauty mourns the Mufe's fate. Bleft too is he, whofe evening ramble strays, And win, at fmall expence, their fondeft And oh the joy i to fhun the conscious light, To fpare the modifh blush; to give unfeen! To range where daizies open, rivers roll; A while I'll prune my grove, protect my flow ers, Then, unlamented, prefs an early bier! Of thofe lov'd flowers the lifelefs corfe may fhare; Some hireling hand a fading wreath beftow: The reft will breathe as fweet, will glow as fair, As when their master smil'd to fee them glow. The fequent morn fhall wake the fylvan quire; O Delia chear'd by thy fuperior praife, I blefs the filent path the fates decree; Thy chearful meads reprove that fwelling figh That wins the friend, or that enchants the Damon, faid he, thy partial praise restrain; And my poor wounded bofom bleeds the more. And rashly hallow'd all her queen insp:r'd. Ah vices! gilded by the rich and gay! Expence, and art, and toil, united strove; Suftain'd by virtue, but betray'd by love. And, feigning, left her anxious and forlorn, Feels not the fharpness of a pang like mine. I find, I find this rifing fob renew'd: Amid the dreary gloom of night, I cry, Yet what can morn's returning ray fupply, That led the tranquil hours of fpotlefs fame; The vocal birds that raise their matin strain, All All feem to chafe me from the chearful plain, If through the garden's flowery tribes tray, Where bloom the Jafmines that could once allure, Hope not to find delight in us, they say, For we are spotlefs, Jeffy; we are pure. Ye flowers! that well reproach a nymph fo frail; Say, could ye with my virgin fame compare? The brightest bud that fcents the vernal gale Was not fo fragant, and was not so fair. Now the grave old alarm the gentler young; And all my fame's abhorr'd contagion flee; Trembles each lip, and faulters every tongue, That bids the morn propitious fmile on me. Thus for your fake thun each human eye; I bid the fear blooming youth adieu; To die languih, but I dread to die. Left my fad fate fhould nourish pangs for you. Raife me from earth; the pains of want remove And let me filent feek fome friendly fhore; There only, banith'd from the form I love, My weeping virtue fhall relapfe no more. Be but my friend; I afk no dearer name; Be fuch the meed of fome more artful fair; Nor could it heal my peace, or chafe my fhame, That pity gave, what love refus'd to fhare. Force not my tongue to afk ita fcanty bread; And pity, welcome, to my native foil." I faw her foot the lofty bark afcend; I faw her breaft with every paffion heave; I left her-torn from every earthly friend Oh my hard bofom, which could bear to leave! Brief let me be; the fatal ftorm arofe; The billows rag'd, the pilot's art was vain; O'er the tall maft the circling furges clofe; My Jeffy-floats upon the watery plain! And fee my youth's impetuous fires decay; Seek not to ftop reflection's bitter tear; But warn the frolic, and inftruct the gay, From Jeffy floating on her watery bier! ODES, SONGS, BALLADS,&c. RURAL ELEGANCE. An ODE to the late Duchefs of Somerfet, written 1750. WH "HILE orient fkies reftore the day, And dew-drops catch the lucid ray; Amid the fprightly fcenes of morn, Will aught the Mufe inspire! Oh! Peace to yonder clamorous horn That drowns the facred lyre! Ye rural thanes that o'er the moffy down Some panting, timorous hare purfue; Does nature mean your joys alone to crown? Say, does the fmooth her lawns for you? For you does echo bid the rocks reply, A nd urg'd by rude conftraint refound the jovia! cry ? See from the neighbouring hill, forlorn He finds his faithful fences torn, He finds his labour'd crops a prey; |