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Vet, when the rage of battle ceas'd,
The victors fouls were not appeas'd;
The naked and forlorn must seel
Devouring flames, and murd'ring steel!


The pious mother, doom'd to death,
Forfaken, wanders o'er the heath.
The bleak wind whistles round her head;
Her helpless orphans cry for bread;
Jtereft of shelter, food, and friend,
She views the shades of night descend,
And, stretch'd beneath inclement skies,
Weeps o'er her tender babes, and dies.


Whilst the warm blood bedews my veins
And unimpair'd remembrance reigns;
Resentment of my country's fate,
Within my silial breast shall beat;
And, spite of her insulting foe,
My sympathizing verse shall flow,
"Mourn, hapless Caledonia, mourn
"Thy banish'd peace, thy laurels torn."

Love as we have already observed, is likewife one of the proper subjects for this kind of poem. An example of which we shall give from the love Elegies lately publilh'd by Mr. Hammond.

us Love Eiegv.

Let others boast their heaps of shining gold,

And view their sields with waving plenty crown'd,

Whom neighb'ring foes in constant terror hold,
And trumpets break their slumbers, never suund:


While, calmly poor, I trifle lise away,
Enjoy sweet leifure by my chearsul sire,

No wanton hope my quiet shall betray,
But cheaply bless'd i'll scorn each vain desire.


With timely care 1*11 fow my little sield,

And plant my orchard with its master's hand,

Nor blush to spread the hay, the hook to wield,
Or range the sheaves along the sunny land.


If late at dusk, while carelessly I roam,
I meet a strolling kid, or bleating lamb,

Under my arm I'll bring the wand'rer home,
And not a little chide its thoughtless dam.


What joy to hear the tempest howl in vain,
And clasp a searsul mistress to my breast?

Or lull'd to slumber by the beating rain,
Secure and happy sink at last to rest.

VI. _

Or if the sun in flaming Leo ride,

By shady rivers indolently shay,
And with my Delia walking side by side,

Hear how they murmur, as they glide away,


What joy to wind along the cool retreat,

To stop and gaze on Delia as I go!
To mingle sweet difcourse with kisses sweet,

And teach my lovely scholar all I know!


Thus pleas'd at heart, and not with fancy's dream,

In silent happiness I rest unknown; Content with what I am, not what I seem,

I live for Delia, and myself alone.


Ah foolifh man! who thus of her possess'd,
Ceiild float and wander with ambition's wind,

And if. his outward trappings spoke him blest,
Not heed the sickness of his conscious mind.


With her I scorn the idle breath of praife,
Nor trust to happiness that's not our own,

The smile of fortune might suspicion raife,
But here I know that I am lov'd alone.


Stanhope, in wisdom as in wit divine,

May rise, and plead Britannia's glorious cause,

With steady rein his eager wit consine,

While manly sense the deep attention draws.


Let Stanhope speak his list'ning country's wrong,
My humble voice shall please one partial maid;

For her alone, I pen my tender fong,
Securely sitting in his friendly shade.


Stanhope shall come, and grace his rural ftiend,.

Delia shall wonder at her noble guest, With blushing awe the riper fruit commend,

And for her husband's patron cull the best..


Hei's be the care of all my little train*
While I with tender indolence am blest,

The favourite subject of her gentle reign,
By love alone distinguifh'd from the rest.


For her I'll yoke my oxen to the plow,
In gloomy forests tend my lonely stock,

For her a goat-herd climb the mountain's brow,.
And sleep extended on the naked rock.


Ah! what avails to press the stately bed,

And far from her 'midst tasteless grandeur weep*.

By warbling fountains lay the pensive head, t

And, while they murmur, strive in vain to sleep h XVII.

Delia alone can please and never tire,
Exceed the paint of thought in true delight,

With her, enjoyment wakens new desire,
And equal rapture glows thro' every night.

Beauty and worth, alone in her, contend,

To charm the fancy, and to six the mind;
In her, my wise, my mistress, and my friend,

I taste the joys of fense, and reafon join'd.


On her I'll gaze when others loves are o'er,

And dying, press her with my clay-cold hand .

Thou weep'st already, as I were no more,

Nor can that gentle breast the thought withstand.


Oh! when I die, my latest moments spare,
Nor let thy grief with sharper torments kill;

Wound not thy cheeks, nor hurt that flowing hair,
Thov I am dead, my foul shall love thee still.


Oh quit the room, oh quit the deathsul bed,
Or thou wilt die, fo tender is thy heart!

Oh leave me, Delia! ere thou see me dead,
These weeping friends will do thy mournsul part.

Let them, extended on the decent bier,

Convey the corse in melancholy state,
Thro' all the village spread the tender tear,

While pitying maids our wond'rous loves relate.

But every species of poetry, however serious, may admit of humour and burlesque. Examples of which we have given in the Epigram, and Epitaph, and we shalt conclude this chapter with a burlesque elegy, written by Dr. Swift.

An Elegy on the supposed death of Mr. Partridge, the

"Well; 'tis as BicterstaJ has guess'd,
Tho' we all took it for a jest i
Partridge is dead; nay more, he dy'd
E're he cou'd prove the good 'Squire ly'd.
Strange, an astrologer shou'd die
Without one wonder in the sley!
Not one of all his crony stars
To pay their duty at his herse!
No meteor, no eclipse appear'd!
No comet with a flaming beard!
The sun has rose, and gone to bed,
Just as if Partridge were not dead:
Nor hid himself behind the moon
To make a dreadsul night at noon.
He at sit periods walks thro' Aries,
Howe'er our earthly motion varies:
And twice a year he'll cut th' Equator,
As if there had been no such matter.

Some Wits have wonder'd, what analogy,
There is 'twixt * cabling and astrology:
How Partridge made his optics rise,
From zshoesole, to reach the skies.

A list the coblers temples ties
To keep the hair out of their eyes;
From whence 'tis plain the diadem,
That princes wear, derives from them.
And therefore crowns are now-a-days
Adorn'd with galdenstars and rays,
Which plainly shews the near alliance
'Twixt cabling and the planets science.

Besides, that slow-pae'd sign Bootes,
(As 'tis miscall'd) we know not who 'tis:
But Partridge ended all difputes;
He knew his trade, and call'd it -f- Boots.

The horned moon, which heretofore,
Upon their shoes the Romans wore,
Whose wideness kept their toes from corns,
And whence we claim ourshooing-borns,

* partridge was a Cobler, f See his Almanack*

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