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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;
Ev'n the fair virgin ftain'd her native grace,
To give new horrors to the tented field.
Now, for fome cheek where guilty blushes glow,
For fome faife Florimel's impure disguise,
The lifted youth, nor war's loud fignal know,

Nor virtue's call, nor fame's imperial prize.
Then if foft concord lull'd their fears to fleep,
Inert and filent flept the manly car;
But rufh'd horrific o'er the fearful fteep,

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!

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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 hair as deck'd her living face;
Nor fuch her voice as charm'd the liftening
crowd;

Nor fuch her drefs as heighten'd every grace;
Alas! all vanifh'd for the mournful shroud!
Yet feem'd her lip's etherial charm the fame;
That dear diftinction every doubt removed;
Perish the lover, whofe imperfect flame
Forgets one feature of the nymph he lov'd.

* Alludes to a tax upon luxury.

"Damon, fhe faid, mine hour allotted flies;
Oh! do not wafte it with a fruitlefs tear!
Though griev'd to fee thy Silvia's pale disguise,
Sufpend thy forrow, and attentive hear.
So may thy Mufe with virtuous flame be bleft!
So be thy love with mutual love repaid!
So may thy bones in facred filence reft,

Faft by the reliques of fome happier maid!
Thou know'ft how lingering on a distant fhors
Disease invidious nipt my flowery prime;
And oh what pangs my tender bofom tore,.
To think I ne'er muft view my native clime!
No friend was near to raise my drooping head;
No dear companion wept to see me die;
Lodge me within my native foil, I said;

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!
Now, more fevere ! the poor offencelefs maid
Dreads the dire outrage of inhuman foes.
Where is the faith of ancient pagans fled?
Where the fond çare the wandering manes
claim?

Nature, inftinctive, cries, Protect the dead,
And facred be their afhes, and their fame;

Arife

Arife, dear youth! ev'n now the danger calls;
Ev'n now the villain fnuffs his wonted prey;
See fee I lead thee to yon' facred walls.
Oh! fly to chafe thefe human wolves away."

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
To thefe lone hills direct his devious way;
The youth all prone the fifter guide obey'd,

Ill-fated youth! himself the deftin'd prey.
But now, nor fhaggy hill, nor pathless plain,

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;

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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!
See **** *.** from civic garlands fir,
And in these groves indulge his tuneful vein!
Or from yon' fummit, with a guardian's eye,
Obferve how freedom's hand attires the plain!
Here Pope! ah never must that towering mied
To his lov'd haunts, or dearer friend, return?
VOL. VII.

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;
My lyre rofound no proftituted lay;
More werm to merit, more elate to wear

The cap of freedom, than the crown of bay..
Sooth'd by the murmurs of my pebbled flood,
I with it not o'er golden fands to flow;
Chear'd by the verdure of my fpiral wood,

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;
She found keen anguish every rofe devour;
They fprung, they fhone, they faded, and
they fell.

Through one dim lattice fring'd with ivy round,
Succeffive funs a languid radiance threw;
To paint how fierce her angry guardian frown'd,
To mark how faft her waning beauty flew.
This age might bear; then fated fancy palls,

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;
Some genius whispers, "Lif is one the wing,
And hard his lot that languishes obfcure.
What though thy riper mind admire no more-
The fhining cinture, and the broader'd fold,
Can pierce like lightning through the figur'd ore,
And melt to drofs the radiant forms of gold.
Furs, ermins, rods, may well attract thy fcorn;
he futile prefents of capricious power!
But wit, but worth, the public fphere adorn,
And who but envies then the focial hour?
Can virtue, carelefs o hér pupil's meed,
Forget how *** fuftains the shepherd's
caufe?

Content in fhades to tune a lonely reed,
Nor join the founding pean of app laufe?

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.

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Bleft too is he, whofe evening ramble strays,
Where droop the fons of indi ence and care!
His little gifts their gladden'd eyes amaze,

And win, at fmall expence, their fondeft
prayer!

And oh the joy i to fhun the conscious light,

To fpare the modifh blush; to give unfeen!
Like fhowers that fall behind the veil of night,
Yet deeply tinge the fmiling vales with green.
But happiest they, who drooping realms relieve!
Whofe virtue cultur'd in our vales appear!
For whofe fad fate a thousand shepherd's grieve,
And fading fields allow the grief fincere.
To call loft worth from its oppreffive shade;
To fix its equal sphere, and fee it shine ;
To hear it grateful own the generous aid;
This, this is transport-but must ne'er be mine.
Faint is my bounded bliss; nor I refuse

To range where daizies open, rivers roll;
Wh le profe or fong he languid hours amufe,
And footh the fond impatience of my foul.
A while I'll weave the roofs of Jasmine bowers,
And urge with trivial cares the loitering
year;

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;
The kid again fhall wanton ere 'tis noon;
Nature will smile, will wear her best attire;
O! let not gentle Delia smile so soon!
While the rude hearfe conveys me flow away,
And careless cyes my vulgar fate proclaim,
Let thy kind tear my utmoft worth o'erpay;
And, foftly fighing, vindicate my fame.-

O Delia chear'd by thy fuperior praife,

I blefs the filent path the fates decree;
Pleas'd, from the lift of my inglorious days,
To raise the moments crown d with blifs and
thee.

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Thy chearful meads reprove that fwelling figh
Spring ne'er enamel'd fairer meads than thine.
Art thou not lodg'd in fortune's warm embrace?
Wert thou not form'd by nature's partial care
Bleft in thy fong, and bleft in every grace

That wins the friend, or that enchants the
fair?

Damon, faid he, thy partial praise restrain;
Not Damon's friendship can my peace restore;
Alas! his very praife awakes my pain,

And my poor wounded bofom bleeds the more.
For oh that nature on my birth had frown'd,
Or fortune fix'd me to fome lowly cell:
Then had my bofom 'fcap'd this fatal wound,
Nor had I bid thefe vernal fweets, farewel.
But led by fortune's hand, her darling child,
My youth her vain licentious blifs admir'd;
In fortune's train the fyren flattery fmil'd,

And rashly hallow'd all her queen insp:r'd.
Of folly ftudious, ev'n of vices vain,

Ah vices! gilded by the rich and gay!
I chas'd the guilelefs daughters of the plain,
Nor dropt the chafe, till Jeffy was my prey.
Poor artless maid! to ftain thy fpotlefs name,

Expence, and art, and toil, united strove;
To lure a breast that felt the purest flame,

Suftain'd by virtue, but betray'd by love.
School'd in the fcience of love's mazy wiles,
I cloath'd each feature with affected fcorn;
I spoke of jealous doubts, and fickle fmiles,

And, feigning, left her anxious and forlorn,
Then, while the fancy'd rage alarm'd her care,
Warm to deny, and zealous to difprove;
I bade my words the wonted foftness wear,
And feiz'd the minute of returning love.
To thee, my Damon, dare I paint the reft?
Will yet thy love a candid ear incline?
Affur'd that virtue, by misfortune preft,

Feels not the fharpness of a pang like mine.
Nine envious moons matur'd her growing shame;
Ere-while to flaunt it in the face of day;
When, fcorn'd of virtue, ftigmatiz'd by fame,
Low at my feet defponding Jeffy lay.
"Henry, the faid, by thy dear form fubdued,
See the fad reliques of a nymph undone !

I find, I find this rifing fob renew'd:
I figh in fhades, and ficken at the fun.

Amid the dreary gloom of night, I cry,
When will the morn's once pleafing fcenes re-
turn?

Yet what can morn's returning ray fupply,
But foes that triumph, or but friends that mourn!
Alas! no more that joyous morn appears

That led the tranquil hours of fpotlefs fame;
For I have steep'd a father's couch in tears,
And ting'd a mother's glowing cheek with
fhame.

The vocal birds that raise their matin strain,
The fportive lambs, increase my pensive moan;
X 2

All

All feem to chafe me from the chearful plain,
And talk of truth and innocence alone.

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;
Nor hurl thy Jeffy to the vulgar crew:
Not fuch the parent's board at which I fed!
Not fuch the precept from his lips I drew!
Haply, when age has filver'd o'er my hair,
Malice may learn to fcorn fo mean a spoil;
Envy may flight a face no longer fair;

And pity, welcome, to my native foil."
She fpoke-nor was I born of favage race;
Nor could thefe hands a niggard boon affigu;
Grateful the clafp'd me in a laft embrace,
And vow'd to waste her life in prayers for
mine.

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
The wretched Twain your fport furvey;

He finds his faithful fences torn,

He finds his labour'd crops a prey;

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