He little knew the fly penurious art;

That odious art which fortune's favourites know; Form'd to beftow, he felt the warmest heart,

But envious Fate forbade him to bestow.

He little knew to ward the fecret wound;

He little knew that mortals could enfnare; Virtue he knew; the nobleft joy he found,

To fing her glories, and to paint her fair!
Ill was he skill'd to guide his wandering sheep;
And unforeseen difafter thinn'd his fold;
Yet at another's lofs the fwain would weep;
And, for his friend, his very crook were fold.
Ye fons of wealth! protect the Muse's train;
From winds protect them, and with food supply;
Ah! helplefs they, to ward the threaten'd pain!
The meagre famine, and the wintery sky?

He lov'd a nymph: amidst his slender store,
He dar'd to love; and Cynthia was his theme;
He breath'd his plaints along the rocky shore,
They only echo'd o'er the winding stream;
His nymph was fair! the fweetest bud that blows
Revives lefs lovely from the recent shower;

So Philomel enamour'd eyes the rose;

Sweet bird! enamour'd of the sweetest flower! He lov'd the Muse; she taught him to complain; He faw his timorous loves on her depend; He lov'd the Mufe; although fhe taught in vain ; He lov'd the Mufe, for fhe was virtue's friend.

1

She guides the foot that treads on Parian floors
She wins the ear when formal pleas are vain;
She tempts patricians from the fatal doors

Of vice's brothel, forth to virtue's fane.

He wish'd for wealth, for much he wish'd to give;
He griev'd that virtue might not wealth obtain ;
Piteous of woes, and hopeless to relieve,

The penfive prospect fadden'd all his ftrain.

I faw him faint! I faw him fink to reft!

Like one ordain'd to fwell the vulgar throng;
As though the virtues had not warm'd his breast,
As though the Mufes not infpir'd his tongue.
I saw his bier ignobly cross the plain;
Saw peafant hands the pious rite fupply:
The generous ruftics mourn'd the friendly swain,
But power and wealth's unvarying cheek was dry!
Such Alcon fell; in meagre want forlorn!

Where were ye then, ye powerful patrons, where?
Would ye the purple fhould your limbs adorn,
Go wash the confcious blemish with a tear.

ELEGY

IV.

OPHELIA'S URN. To Mr. GRAVES.

THROUGH the dim veil of evening's dufky shade,
Near fome lone fane, or yew's funereal green,
What dreary forms has magic fear survey'd !
What shrouded spectres fuperftition seen!

But you fecure fhall pour your fad complaint,

Nor dread the meagre phantoms wan array; What none but fear's officious hand can paint, What none, but fuperftition's eye, furvey. The glimmering twilight and the doubtful dawn Shall fee your step to these fad scenes return: Constant, as crystal dews impearl the dawn, Shall Strephon's tear bedew Ophelia's urn! Sure nought unhallow'd shall presume to stray Where fleep the reliques of that virtuous maid: Nor aught unlovely bend its devious way, Where foft Ophelia's dear remains are laid. Haply thy Mufe, as with unceafing fighs

She keeps late vigils o er urn reclin'd, May fee light groups of pleafing visions rife; And phantoms glide, but of celestial kind. There fame, her clarion pendant at her fide, . Shall feek forgiveness of Ophelia's fhade; "Why has fuch worth, without distinction, dy'd, Why, like the defert's lily, bloom'd to fade?"

Then young fimplicity, averfe to feign,

Shall unmolefted breathe her foftest figh:
And candour with unwonted warmth complain,
And innocence indulge a wailful cry.

Then elegance, with coy judicious hand,
Shall cull fresh flowrets for Ophelia's tomb :
And beauty chide the Fates' fevere command,
That fhew'd the frailty of fo fair a bloom!

And fancy then, with wild ungovern'd woe,
Shall her lov'd pupil's native taste explain;
For mournful fable all her hues forego,

And ask fweet folace of the Muse in vain!
Ah, gentle forms, expect no fond relief;

Too much the facred Nine their loss deplore: Well may ye grieve, nor find an end of grief— Your beft, your brightest favourite is no more.

He compares the turbulence of love with the tranquillity of friendship. To MELISSA his Friend.

ROM love, from angry love's inclement reign

FROM

I pafs a while to friendship's equal skies; Thou, generous maid, reliev'st my partial pain,

And chear'ft the victim of another's eyes.

'Tis thou, Meliffa, thou deserv'st my care:

How can my will and reafon disagree?
How can my paffion live beneath despair!
How can my bosom sigh for aught but thee?
Ah dear Meliffa! pleas'd with thee to rove,
My foul has yet furviv'd its dreariest time;
Ill can I bear the various clime of love!

Love is a pleafing, but a various clime!
So fmiles immortal Maro's favourite shore,

Parthenope, with every verdure crown'd! When strait Vefuvio's horrid cauldrons roar, And the dry vapour blasts the regions round.

Oh

Oh blissful 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;

Ev'n hope fubfide amid the billows toft; Hope, ftill emergent, ftill contemns the wave, And not a feature's wonted fmile is loft.

C

ELE GY VI.

To a lady on the language of birds.

OME then, Dione, let us range

the grove,

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 fong,

Nor fenfelefs ditty, chears the vernal tree :
Ah! who, that hears Dione's tuneful tongue,
Shall doubt that music may with fenfe agree?
And come, my Mufe! that lov'ft the fylvan fhade;
Evolve the mazes, and the mist dispel :
Tranflate the fong; convince my doubting maid,
No folemn dervife can can explain fo well.--