A fudden blaft from Apenninus blows,

Cold with perpetual snows:

The tender, blighted plant fhrinks up its leaves, and dies.
XIV.

Arife, O Petrarch, from th' Elyfian bowers,
With never-fading myrtles twin'd,

And fragrant with ambrofial flowers,
Where to thy Laura thou again art join'd;
Arife, and hither bring the filver lyre,
Tun'd by thy fkilful hand,

To the foft notes of elegant defire,

With which o'er many a land

Was fpread the fame of thy difaftrous love;

To me refign the vocal shell,

And teach my forrows to relate
Their melancholy tale fo well,
As may ev'n things inanimate,

Rough mountain oaks, and defart rocks, to pity move.

XV.

What were, alas! thy woes compar'd to mine ?

To thee thy miftrefs in the blissful band

Of Hymen never gave her hand :

The joys of wedded love were never thine.

In thy domeftick care

She never bore a share,

Nor with endearing art

Would heal thy wounded heart
Of ev'ry fecret grief that fefter'd there:

Nor

Nor did her fond affection on the bed
Of fickness watch thee, and thy languid head
Whole nights on her unwearied arm sustain,
And charm away the sense of pain :

Nor did fhe crown your mutual flame

With pledges dear, and with a father's tender name.
XVI.

O best of wives! O dearer far to me

Than when thy virgin charms

Were yielded to my arms,

How can my foul endure the loss of thee?
How in the world to me a defart grown,

Abandon'd, and alone,

Without my fweet companion can I live?
Without thy lovely smile,

The dear reward of ev'ry virtuous toil,
What pleasures now can pall'd Ambition give?
Ev'n the delightful fenfe of well-earn'd praise,
Unfhar'd by thee, no more my lifeless thoughts could raise.
XVII.

For my distracted mind

What fuccour can I find?

Or whom for confolation fhall I call?

Support me, ev'ry friend,

Your kind affiftance lend

To bear the weight of this oppreffive woe.

Alas! each friend of mine,

My dear departed love, fo much was thine,
That none has any comfort to bestow.

My

My books, the best relief

In ev'ry other grief,

Are now with your idea fadden'd all :

Each fav'rite author we together read

My tortur'd mem'ry wounds, and speaks of Lucy dead.
XVIII.

We were the happiest pair of human kind!
The rolling year its varying course perform'd,
And back return'd again,
Another and another smiling came,

And faw our happiness unchang'd remain :
Still in her golden chain

Harmonious Concord did our wishes bind :
Our studies, pleasures, tafte, the fame.
O fatal, fatal ftroke,

That all this pleafing fabrick Love had rais'd
Of rare felicity,

On which ev'n wanton Vice with envy gaz'd,
And ev'ry scheme of bliss our hearts had form'd,
With foothing hope, for many a future day,
In one fad moment broke !

Yet, O my foul, thy rifing murmurs stay,
Nor dare th' all-wife Difpofer to arraign,
Or against his supreme decree

With impious grief complain.

That all thy full-blown joys at once should fade

Was his most righteous will, and be that will obey'd.

XIX. Would

XIX.

Would thy fond love his grace to her controul,
And in these low abodes of fin and pain
Her pure, exalted foul
Unjustly for thy partial good detain ?
No-rather strive thy grov'ling mind to raise
Up to that unclouded blaze,

That heav'nly radiance of eternal light,
In which enthron'd she now with pity fees
How frail, how infecure, how flight
Is ev'ry mortal bliss,

Ev'n love itself, if rifing by degrees
Beyond the bounds of this imperfe&t state,
Whofe fleeting joys fo foon muft end,
It does not to its fov'reign Good afcend.
Rife then, my foul, with hope elate,
And feek thofe regions of ferene delight,
Whofe peaceful path and ever-open gate
No feet but thofe of harden'd Guilt fhall mifs.

There Death himfelf thy Lucy fhall reftore,

There yield up all his pow'r e'er to divide you more,

VERSES

Making PART of an

EPITAPH on the fame LADY.

By the Same.

MADE to engage all hearts, and charm all eyes;

Tho' meek, magnanimous; tho' witty, wife;

Polite, as all her life in courts had been;

Yet good, as the the world had never feen;
The noble fire of an exalted mind,

With gentle female tenderness combin'd.
Her Speech was the melodious voice of Love,
Her Song the warbling of the vernal grove ;
Her Eloquence was fweeter than her Song,
Soft as her Heart, and as her Reafon ftrong;
Her Form each beauty of her Mind express'd,
Her Mind was Virtue by the Graces drefs'd.

ON