He defcribes his early love of poetry, and its consequences.

A

H me! what envious magic thins my fold?

What mutter'd spell retards their late increase? Such lefs'ning fleeces must the fwain behold, That e'er with Doric pipe effays to please.

I saw my friends in ev'ning circles meet;
I took my vocal reed, and tun'd my lay;
I heard them fay my vocal reed was sweet;
Ah fool! to credit what I heard them fay!

Ill-fated bard! that feeks his skill to show,
Then courts the judgment of a friendly ear!
Not the poor veteran, that permits his foe
To guide his doubtful step, has more to fear.

Nor cou'd my G

mistake the critic's laws,
Till pious friendship mark'd the pleasing way.
Welcome fuch error! ever bleft the caufe!
Ev'n tho' it led me boundless leagues aftray!

N. B. Written after the death of Mr. PoPE.

Couldft

Couldst thou reprove me, when I nurs'd the flame
On lift'ning CHERWELL'S ofier banks reclin'd?
While foe to fortune, unfeduc'd by fame,

I footh'd the biafs of a careless mind.

Youth's gentle kindred, health and love were met;
What tho' in ALMA's guardian arms I play'd?
How shall the muse those vacant hours forget?
Or deem that blifs by folid cares repaid?

Thou know'ft how transport thrills the tender breast,
Where love and fancy fix their op'ning reign;

How nature shines in livelier colours drest,
To bless their union, and to grace their train.

So first when PHOEBUS met the Cyprian queen,
And favour'd RHODES beheld their paffion crown'd,
Unusual flow'rs enrich'd the painted green;

And swift fpontaneous rofes blufh'd around.

Now fadly lorn, from TWITNAM's widow'd bow'r,
The drooping mufes take their cafual way;
And where they ftop, a flood of tears they pour;
And where they weep, no more the fields are gay]

Where is the dappled pink, the sprightly rose?
The cowflip's golden cup no more I fee:
Dark and difcolour'd ev'ry flow'r that blows,
To form the garland, Elegy! for thee !—

Enough

Enough of tears has wept the virtuous dead;
Ah might we now the pious rage controul!
Hufh'd be my grief ere ev'ry smile be fled,
Ere the deep swelling figh fubvert the soul !

If near fome trophy fpring a stripling bay,
Pleas'd we behold the graceful umbrage rife;
But foon too deep it works its baneful way,

And, low on earth, the proftrate* ruin lies.

* Alludes to what is reported of the bay-tree, that if it is planted too near the walls of an edifice, its roots will work their way underneath, till they destroy the foundation.

VOL. I.

D

ELEGY

I

ELE GY IX.

He defcribes his difinterestedness to a friend.

NE'ER must tinge my lip with Celtic wines;
The pomp of INDIA must I ne'er display;
Nor boast the produce of Peruvian mines,
Nor, with Italian founds, deceive the day.

Down yonder brook my crystal bev'rage flows;
My grateful sheep their annual fleeces bring;
Fair in my garden buds the damask rose,

And, from my grove, I hear the throstle fing.

My fellow fwains! avert your dazled eyes;

In vain allur'd by glitt'ring spoils they rove; The fates ne'er meant them for the shepherd's prize, Yet gave them ample recompence, in love.

They gave you vigour from your parent's veins; They gave you toils; but toils your finews brace; They gave you nymphs, that own their amorous pains, And fhades, the refuge of the gentle race.

To carve your loves, to paint your mutual flames,
See! polish'd fair, the beech's friendly rind!

To fing foft carrols to your lovely dames,
See vocal grotts, and echoing vales affign'd!

Wou'dft

Wou'dft thou, my STREPHON, love's delighted flave!
Tho' fure the wreaths of chivalry to share,
Forego the ribbon thy MATILDA gave ?

And giving, bade thee in remembrance wear.

Ill fare my peace, but ev'ry idle toy,

If to my mind my DELIA's form it brings, Has truer worth, imparts fincerer joy,

Than all that bears the radiant ftamp of kings.

O my

foul weeps, my breast with anguish bleeds,

When love deplores the tyrant pow'r of gain! Difdaining riches as the futile weeds,

I rise superior, and the rich disdain.

Oft from the stream, flow-wandering down the glade, Penfive I hear the nuptial peal rebound; "Some mifer weds, I cry, the captive maid, "And fome fond lover fickens at the found."

Not SOMERVILLE, the mufe's friend of old,
Tho' now exalted to yon ambient sky,
So fhun'd a foul diftain'd with earth and gold,
So lov'd the pure, the generous breast, as I.

Scorn'd be the wretch that quits his genial bowl, His loves, his friendships, ev'n his self, resigns; Perverts the facred inftinct of his foul,

And to a ducate's dirty fphere confines.