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Along with Pleafure clofe ally'd,
Ever by each other'a side;
And often, by the murm'ring rill,
Hears the thrufh while all is still,
Within the groves of Grongar Hill.

CUNNINGHAM^

ELEGY,

ON A PILE OF RUINS.

In the full profpect yonder hil! commands,
O'er forest, sields, and vernal-coated plains,
The vestige of an ancient Abbey stands,
Clofe by a ruin'J Castle's rude remains.

Half bury'd there lie many a broken bust,
And obelilk, and urn, o'erthrownby Time;
And many a cherub there defcends in dust
From the rent roof and portico fublime.

The rivulets, oft' frighted at the found
Of fragments tumbling from the tow'rs on high,
Plunge to their fource in fecret caves profound,
Leaving their banks and pebbly bottoms dry.

Where rev'rend fhrines in Gothic grandeur stood,
The nettle or the noxious nightlhade fpreads;
And afhlings, wafted from the neighboring wood,
Thro' the worn turrets wave their trembling heads.

There Cor.tompljtion, to the crowd unknown, Kcr attitude compos'd, and afpect fweet,

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Sits musing on a monumental stone,
And points to the memento at her feet.

Soon as fage Ev'ning check'd Day's funny pride, I left the mantling fhade in moral mood, \ And, feated hy the maid's fequester'd side, ''ving!**, as the mould'ring monuments I view'd.

Inexorahly calm, with silent p.icc,
Here trme has pafs'd—What ruin marks his way!
This Pile, now crumhling o'er its hallow'd hafe,
Turn'd not his step, nor could his courfe delay.

Religion rais'd her fupplicating eyes
In vain, and Melody her fong fuhlime;
In vain Philofophy, with maxims wife,
Would touch the cold unfeeling heart of Time.

Yet the hoar tyrant, tho' not mcv'd to fpare,
Relented when he struck its sini.Vd pride;
And partly the rude ravage to repair,
The tott'ring towr's with twisted ivy ty'd.

How folemn is the cell, o'ergrown with mofs,
That terminates the view yon' cloister'd way!
In the crusiVd wall a time-corroded crofs,
Religion like, stands mould'ring in decay.

Where the mild fun through faint-encypher'd glafi,
lllum'd with mellow light you dusky aifle,
Many rapt hours might Meditation pafs,
Slow moving 'twjxt the pillars of the Pile.

And Piety, with mystic-meaning heads,
Bowing to faints on ev'ry side inurn'd,
Trod oft' the folitary path that leads
Where now the facred altar lies o'erturn'd!

Thro' the grey grove, between thofe with'rmg trees,
*Mongst a rude group of monuments, appears
A marble-imag'd matron on her knees,
Half-wasted, like a Niobe, in tears:

Low level'd in the dust her darling's laid!
Death pity'd nor the pride of youthful bloom;
Nor could maternal piety dilfuade
Or foften the fell tyrant of the tomb.

The ielics of a mitred fiint may rest:
'Where mould'ring in the niche his statue stands,
Now namelefs as the crowd that kifs'd his vest,
And crav'd the benediction of his hands.

Near the brown arch, redoubling yonder gloom,
The bones of an illustrious chieftain lie;
As trae'd among the fragments of his tomb,
The trophies of a broken Fame imply.

Ah t what avails that o'er the vaiTal-plain
Hh rights and rich demefnes extended wide?
That Honour and her knights compos'd his train,
And Chivalry stood marlhallM by his fide?

Tho' to the clouds his castle feem'd to climb,
And frown'd desiance on the defp'rate foe;
Tho' deem'd invincible, the cono/ror Time
Levell'd the fabric .is the founder low.

Where the light lyre gave many a foft'ning found,
Ravens and rooks, the birds of Dif-.ord, dwell $
And where Society fat fweetly crown'd
Eternal So'kude ha.s six'd her cell.

The lizard and the lazy lurking bst Inhabit now, perhaps, the painted room,

Where the fage matron and her maidens fat,
Sweet singing at the silver-working loom.

The trav'ller is hewilder'd on a waste;
And the rude winds incessant feem to roar,
Where in his groves, with arching arhours grac'd,
Young lovers often sigh'd in days of yore.

His aqueducts, that led the limpid tide To pure canals, a crystal cool fupply! In the deep dust their harren heauties hide: Time's thirst, unquenchahle, has drain'd them dry.

Tho' his rich hours in revelry were fpent
With Comus and the laughter, loving crew,
And the fweet hrow of Beauty, still,unhent,
Brighten'd his fleecy moments as they flew:

Fleet are the fleecy moments! fly they must;
Not to he stay'd hy mask or midnight roar;
Nor shall a pulfe among that mould'ring dust
Beat wanton at the fmiles of Beauty more.

Can the deep Statefman, skill'd in great design,
Protract hut for a day precarious hreath?
Or the tun'd foll'wer of the facred Nine
Soothe with his melody infatiate Death?

No.—Tho' the palace har her golden gate,
Or monarchs plant ten thoufand guards around,
Unerring and unfeen, the fhaft of Fate
Strikes the devoted victim to the ground.

What then avails, Amhition's wide stretch'd winf, The Schoolman's page, or pride cf Beauty's hloom f The crape-clad hermit, and-the rich roh'd king, Levell'd, lie mix'd promifc'ous in the tomh.

The Micedonian monarch, wift: and good, Bad, when the Morning's rofy reign began, Courtiers ihould call, as round his couch they flood, "Philip! remember thou'rt no more than man!

"Tho' Glory fpread thy name from pole to pole; "Tho' thou art merciful, and brave, and just; "Philip! reflect thou'rt posting to the goal ,t Where mortals mix in undistinguifhed dust:!" •

So Saladin, for arts and arms renown'd,
(Egypt and Syria's wide domains fubdu'd,)
Returning with imperial tiiumphs crown'd,
Sigh'd when the perilhable pomp he view'di

And as he rode high in his regal car,
In all the purple pride of conquest drest,
Confpicuous o'er the trophies ga'm'd in war,
Plac'd pendent on a fpear his burial vest;

While thus the herald cry'di—" This fon of Pow'r, "This Saladin to whom the nations bow'd, '* May in the fpace of one revolving hour, "Boast of no other fpoil but yonder ihroud!"

Search where Ambition rag'd, with rigour steel'd, Where Slaughter like the rapid lightning ran, And fay, while Mem'ry weeps the blood-stain'd sields Where lies the chief, and where the common man?

Vain then are pyramids and motto'd stones, And monumental trophies rais'd on high; For Time confounds them with the crumbling bones ihac mix'd in hasty graves unnotie'd lie.

Rc{'s not beneath the turf the peafant's head Soft ds the lord's beneath the labour'd tomb?

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