T ELE G Y IV. OPHELIA's urn. To Mr. G HRO' the dim veil of ev'ning's dusky shade, Near fome lone fane, or yew's funereal green, What dreary forms has magic fear survey'd ! What shrouded spectres fuperftition feen! But you fecure shall pour your fad complaint, Nor dread the meagre phantom's wan array; What none but fear's officious hand can paint, What none, but fuperftition's eye, survey. The glim'ring twilight and the doubtful dawn Shall fee your step to these fad fcenes return: Conftant, as crystal dews impearl the lawn, Shall STREPHON's tear bedew OPHELIA's urn! Sure nought unhallow'd shall presume to stray Haply thy muse, as with unceasing sighs Then fame, her clarion pendent at her fide, Then young fimplicity, averfe to feign, Then elegance with coy judicious hand, And fancy then with wild ungovern'd woe, And ask sweet folace of the muse in vain ! Ah gentle forms expect no fond relief; Too much the facred nine their lofs deplore: Well may ye grieve, nor find an end of grief— Your beft, your brighteft fav'rite is no more. ELEGY EL EGY V. He compares the turbulence of love with the tranquillity of friendship. To MELISSA his friend. ROM love, from angry love's inclement reign FR I pass awhile to friendship's equal skies Thou, gen'rous maid, reliev'ft my partial pain, And chear'ft the victim of another's eyes. 'Tis thou, MELISSA, thou deferv'ft my care: Ah dear MELISSA! pleas'd with thee to rove, Love is a pleafing, but a various clime! So fmiles immortal MARO's fav'rite fhore, PARTHENOPE, with ev'ry verdure crown'd!. When ftrait VESUVIO's horrid cauldrons roar, And the dry vapour blasts the regions round, Oh blisful regions! oh unrival'd plains! When MARO to these fragrant haunts retir'd! Oh fatal realms! and oh accurst domains! When PLINY, 'mid fulphureous clouds, expir'd! So fmiles the furface of the treacherous main, As o'er its waves the peaceful halcyons play; When foon rude winds their wonted rule regain, And sky and ocean mingle in the fray. But let or air contend, or ocean rave; ELEGY ELE GY VI. To a lady on the language of birds. OME then, DIONE, let us range the grove, COM The science of the feather'd choirs explore; Hear linnets argue, larks defcant of love, And blame the gloom of folitude no more. My doubt fubfides-'tis no Italian song, Nor fenfeless ditty, chears the vernal tree : may And come, my mufe! that lov'ft the filvan fhade; Penfive beneath the twilight fhades I fate, "Sing on, my bird-the liquid notes prolong, At ev'ry note a lover fheds his tear; Sing on, my bird-'tis DAMON hears thy fong; Nor doubt to gain applause, when lovers hear. He |