O lov'd fimplicity! be thine the prize! Still may the mourner, lavish of his tears. Soft as the line of love-fick HAMMOND flows, 'Twas his fond heart effus'd the melting theme; Ah! never could AONIA's hill difclofe So fair a fountain, or fo lov'd a stream. Ye lovelefs bards! intent with artful pains But thou, my friend! while in thy youthful foul Pleafing when youth is long expir'd, to trace The forms our pencil, or our pen defign'd! "Such was our youthful air and shape and face! "Such the foft image of our youthful mind! Soft Soft whilst we fleep beneath the rural bow'rs, Curfe the fad fortune that detains thy fair; When hope exalts thee, or when doubt alarms. Where with CENONE thou halt worn the day, The faithful mufe fhall meet thee in the grove. ELEGY EL EGY II. On pofthumous reputation. To a friend. GRIEF of griefs! that envy's frantic ire Should rob the living virtue of its praise ! O foolish mufes! that with zeal aspire To deck the cold infenfate shrine with bays! When the free spirit quits her humble frame, Perhaps ev'n genius pours a flighted lay; Perhaps ev'n friendship sheds a fruitless tear; Tho' weeping virgins haunt his favour'd urn, The loit'ring fragrance will it reach the skies? No, fhou'd his DELIA Votive wreaths prepare, Once crown'd his pleasures, and difpell'd his pain. Yes Yes-the fair profpect of furviving praise Shall then our youths, who fame's bright fabric raise, Is it small transport, as with curious eye To mark the day, when, thro' the bulky tome, Led by that index where true genius fhines? Ah let not BRITONS doubt their social aim, VOL. I. C ELEGY ELE GY III. On the untimely death of a certain learned acquaintance. proud PYGMALION quit his cumbrous frame, Funereal pomp the fcanty tear supplies; Whilft heralds loud with venal voice proclaim, Lo! here the brave and the puiffant lies. When humbler ALCON leaves his drooping friends, He little knew the fly penurious art; That odious art which fortune's fav'rites know; Form'd to bestow, he felt the warmest heart, But envious fate forbade him to beftow. He little knew to ward the fecret wound; Ill was he fkill'd to guide his wand'ring sheep; And, for his friend, his very crook were fold. Ye |