Sooth'd by the murmurs of my pebbled flood, I fcorn the quarry, where no fhrub can grow. No midnight pangs the fhepherd's peace purfue; His tongue, his hand, attempts no fecret wound; He fings his DELIA, and if fhe be true, His love at once, and his ambition's crown'd. A ELEGY ELE GY XXIV. He takes occafion from the fate of ELEANOR of BRETAGNE *, to fuggeft the imperfect pleasures of a folitary life. Hen beauty mourns, by fate's injurious doom, WH 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! wou'd no gallant mind The cause of love, 'the cause of justice own? Matchlefs 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, O fhame of BRITONS! in one fullen tow'r She found keen anguish ev'ry rofe devour; They fprung, they fhone, they faded, and they fell ELEANOR of BRETAGNE, the lawful heirefs of the English crown, upon the death of ARTHUR, in the reign of king JOHN. She was esteemed the beauty of her time; was imprisoned forty years (till the time of her death) in Bristol castle. Thro' Thro' one dim lattice fring'd with ivy round, This, age might bear; then fated fancy palls, Believe me * * * * the pretence is vain! This boasted calm that smooths our early days, For never yet could youthful mind restrain Th' alternate pant for pleasure and for praise. Ev'n me, by fhady oak or limpid spring, What tho' thy riper mind admire no more The fhining cincture, and the broider'd fold Can pierce like light'ning thro' the figur'd ore, And melt to drofs the radiant forms of gold. Furs, ermins, rods may well attract thy scorn; And who but envies then the focial hour? Can Can virtue, careless of her pupil's meed, For public haunts, impell'd by BRITAIN'S weal, Life, fays the fage, affords no blifs fincere ; The groves may fmile; the rivers gently glide; Pure as the fwain's the breast of * * glows, ? Ah! were the fhepherd's phrafe, like his, refin'd! But, how improv'd the generous dictate flows Thro' the clear medium of a polish'd mind! Happy the youths who warm with BRITAIN's love, Attendant orbs, where LONSDALE gilds the sphere! While rural faith, and every polish'd art, Go, plaintive youth! no more by fount or stream, Then cover'd by thy ripen'd fhades, resume In vain! the lift'ning muse attends in vain! ELEGY |