« ZurückWeiter »
Vet, when the rage of battle ceas'd,
The pious mother, doom'd to death,
Whilst the warm blood bedews my veins
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,
While, calmly poor, I trifle lise away,
No wanton hope my quiet shall betray,
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,
If late at dusk, while carelessly I roam,
Under my arm I'll bring the wand'rer home,
What joy to hear the tempest howl in vain,
Or lull'd to slumber by the beating rain,
Or if the sun in flaming Leo ride,
By shady rivers indolently shay,
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!
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,
And if. his outward trappings spoke him blest,
With her I scorn the idle breath of praife,
The smile of fortune might suspicion raife,
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,
For her alone, I pen my tender fong,
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*
The favourite subject of her gentle reign,
For her I'll yoke my oxen to the plow,
For her a goat-herd climb the mountain's brow,.
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,
With her, enjoyment wakens new desire,
To charm the fancy, and to six the mind;
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,
Wound not thy cheeks, nor hurt that flowing hair,
Oh quit the room, oh quit the deathsul bed,
Oh leave me, Delia! ere thou see me dead,
Convey the corse in melancholy state,
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,
Some Wits have wonder'd, what analogy,
A list the coblers temples ties
Besides, that slow-pae'd sign Bootes,
The horned moon, which heretofore,
* partridge was a Cobler, f See his Almanack*