But happiest they, who drooping realms relieve!
Whofe virtues in our cultur'd vales appear!
For whofe fad fate a thousand fhepherds grieve,
And fading fields allow the grief fincere.
To call loft worth from its oppreffive shade;
To fix its equal fphere, and fee it shine;
To hear it grateful own the generous aid;
This, this is transport-but must ne'er be mine.
Faint is my bounded blifs; nor I refuse
To range where daizies open, rivers roll; While profe or fong the languid hours amufe, And foothe the fond impatience of my foul.
Awhile I'll weave the roofs of jasmin bow'rs,
And urge with trivial cares the loit'ring year; Awhile I'll prune my grove, protect my flow'rs, Then, unlamented, prefs an early bier!
Of thofe lov'd flow'rs the lifeless corfe may fhare;
Some hireling hand a fading wreath beftow;
The reft will breathe as sweet, will glow as fair,
As when their master fmil'd to see them glow.
The fequent morn fhall wake the filvan quire ;
The kid again fhall wanton ere 'tis noon;
Nature will fmile, will wear her best attire;
O! let not gentle DELIA fmile fo foon!
G 4
To thee, my DAMON, dare I paint the reft ?
Will yet thy love a candid ear incline?
Affur'd that virtue, by misfortune preft,
Feels not the fharpness of a pang like mine.
Nine envious moons matur'd her growing fhame;
Ere while to flaunt it in the face of day;
When fcorn'd of virtue, ftigmatiz'd by fame,
Low at my feet defponding JESSY lay.
HENRY, fhe faid, by thy dear form fubdu'd,
See the fad reliques of a nymph undone !
I find, I find this rifing fob renew'd :
I figh in fhades, and ficken at the fun.
Amid the dreary gloom of night, I cry,
When will the morn's once pleafing scenes return? Yet what can morn's returning ray supply,
But foes that triumph, or but friends that mourn!
Alas! no more that joyous morn appears
That led the tranquil hours of spotless fame;
For I have fteep'd a father's couch in tears,
And ting'd a mother's glowing cheek with shame.
The vocal birds that raife their matin strain,
The sportive lambs, increase my penfive moan;
All seem to chafe me from the chearful plain,
And talk of truth and innocence alone,
If thro' the garden's flow'ry tribes I ftray,
Where bloom the jasmins that could once allure,
Hope not to find delight in us, they fay,
For we are spotlefs, JESSY; we are pure.
Ye flow'rs! that well reproach a nymph fo frail,
Say, could ye with my virgin fame compare?
The brightest bud that scents the vernal gale
Was not fo fragrant, and was not so fair.
Now the grave old alarm the gentler young;
And all my fame's abhorr'd contagion flee; Trembles each lip, and faulters every tongue,
That bids the morn propitious smile on me.
Thus for your fake I fhun each human eye;
I bid the fweets of blooming youth adieu;
To die I languish, but I dread to die,
Left my fad fate fhou'd nourish pangs for you.
Raife me from earth; the pains of want remove,
And let me filent feek fome friendly shore ;
There only, banish'd from the form I love,
My weeping virtue shall relapfe no more.
Be but my friend; I ask no dearer name;
Be fuch the meed of fome more artful fair;
Nor could it heal my peace, or chase my shame,
That pity gave, what love refus'd to share.
Force not my tongue to ask its scanty bread;
Nor hurl thy JESSY to the vulgar crew;
Not fuch the parent's board at which I fed !
Not fuch the precept from his lips I drew !
Haply, when age has filver'd o'er my hair,
Malice may learn to fcorn fo mean a spoil;
Envy may flight a face no longer fair;
And pity, welcome, to my native soil.”
She spoke-nor was I born of favage race;
Nor could these hands a niggard boon affign;
Grateful the clafp'd me in a last embrace,
And vow'd to wafte her life in pray'rs for mine.
I faw her foot the lofty bark ascend;
I saw her breast with every paffion heave;
I left her-torn from every earthly friend;
Oh! my hard bofom, which could bear to leave!
Brief let me be; the fatal storm arose;
The billows rag'd, the pilot's art was vain ; O'er the tall maft the circling furges clofe; My JESSY-floats upon the wat'ry plain!
And-fee my youth's impetuous fires decay;
Seek not to stop reflection's bitter tear;
But warn the frolic, and instruct the gay,
From JESSY floating on her wat'ry bier!
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