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Far from thefe paths, ye faithlefs friends, depart!
Fly my plain board, abhor my hostile name!

Hence! the faint verfe that flows not from the heart,
But mourns in labour'd ftrains, the price of fame!

Olov'd fimplicity! be thine the prize!

Affiduous art correct her page in vain!
His be the palm who, guiltless of difguife,
Contemns the pow'r, the dull refource to feign!

Still

may the mourner, lavish of his tears
For lucre's venal meed, invite my fcorn!
Still may the bard diffembling doubts and fears,
For praile, for flatt'ry fighing, figh forlorn!

Soft as the line of love-fick HAMMOND flows,
"Twas his fond heart effus'd the melting theme;
Ah!. never could AONIA's hill difclofe

So fair a fountain, or fo lov'd a ftream.

Ye lovelefs bards! intent with artful pains
To form a figh, or to contrive a tear!
Forgo your Pindus, and on-plains

Survey CAMILLA's charms, and grow fincere,

But thou, my friend! while in thy youthful foul
Love's gentle tyrant feats his aweful throne,"
Write from thy bofom-let not art controul
The ready pen, that makes his edicts known.

Pleafing

Fleafing when youth is long expir'd, to trace
The forms our pencil, or our pen defign'd!
Such was our youthful air and fhape and face!
"Such the foft image of our youthful mind!

Soft whilft we fleep beneath the rural bow'rs,
The loves and graces fteal unfeen away;
And where the turf diffus'd its pomp of flow'rs,
We wake to wintry fcenes of chill decay!!

Curfe the fad fortune that detains thy fair;

Praise the foft hours that gave thee to her arms; Paint thy proud fcorn of ev'ry vulgar care,

When hope exalts thee, or when doubt alarms.

Where with NONE thou haft worn the day,
Near fount or ftream, in meditation, rove;

If in the grove CENONE lov'd to ftray,

The faithful mufe fhall meet thee in the

*******

ELEGY II.

On pofthumous reputation.

OGR

grove,

****

To a FRIEND

GRIEF of griefs! that envy's frantic ire
Should rob the living virtue of its praife;

✪foolish muses! that with zeal afpire

To deck the cold infenfate fhrine with bays!

When the free fpirit quits her humble frame,
To tread the skies with radiant garlands crown'd,
Say, will the hear the distant voice of fame ?
Or hearing, fancy fweetnefs in the found?

Perhaps ev'n genius pours a flighted lay;

Perhaps ev❜n friendship sheds a fruitless tear
Ev'n LYTTELTON but vainly trims the bay,
And fondly graces HAMMOND's mournful bier.

Tho' weeping virgins haunt his favour'd urn,
Renew their chaplets, and repeat their highs;
Tho' near his tomb, Sabean odours burn,

The loit'ring fragrance will it reach the skies?

No, fhou'd his DELIA Votive wreaths prepare,
DELIA might place the votive wreaths in vain :
Yet the dear hope of DELIA's future care

Once crown'd his pleasures, and difpell'd his pain.

Yes the fair profpect of furviving praise

Can ev'ry fenfe of préfent joys excel:
For this, great HADRIAN chofe laborious days;
Thro' this, expiring, bade a gay farewel.

Shall then our youths, who fame's bright fabric raife,
To life's precarious date confine their care?
O teach them you, to spread the facred bafe,
To plan a work, thro' lateft ages fair!

Is it small tranfport, as with curious eye
You trace the ftory of each attic fage,

To think your blooming praise shall time defy?
Shall waft like odours thro' the pleasing page?

To mark the day, when, thro' the bulky tome,
Around your name the varying style refines ?
And readers call their loft attention home,

Led by that index where true genius shines ?

Ah let not B R IT ON S doubt their focial aim,
Whofe ardent bofoms catch this ancient fire!
Cold intereft melts before the vivid flame,
And patriot ardours, but with life, expire!

ELEGY

III.

On the untimely death of a certain learned

acquaintance.

IF proud PYGMALION quit his cambrous frame,

Funereal pomp the fcanty tear fupplies;

Whilft heralds loud with venal voice proclaim,
Lo! here the brave and the puiffant lies.

When humbler AL CON leaves his drooping friends,
Pageant nor plume distinguish AL CON's bier;

The faithful mufe with votive fong attends,
And blots the mournful numbers with a tear.
VOL. I.
C

He

He little knew the fly penurious art;

That odious art which fortune's fav'rites know ;
Form'd to bestow, 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 wand'ring fheep;
And unforeseen difafter thin'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! helpless they, toward the threaten'd pain!
The meagre famine, and the wintry 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 fhore,
They only echo'd o'er the winding stream.

His nymph was fair! the sweetest, bud that blows,
Revives lefs lovely from the recent show'r;

So PHILOM E L enamour'd eyes the rofe;

Sweet bird! enamour'd of the fweeteft flow'r!

He