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Let me, ye wand'ring fpirits of the wind,

Who, as wild faitcy prompts you, touch the string, Smit with your theme, be in your chorus join'd,

For till you ceafe, my mule forgets to sing.

HTTJLETON,

A MONODY*

ON THE DEATH OF HIS LADY.

I

"Isise cava solans agrum tejludinc amorem, '* Te, dulcis tonjuxi te fuh in littore fecum, '"Te veniente die, te decedente canebat.''

At length efcap'd from ev'ry human eye,

From every duty, every care,
That in my mournful thoughts might claim a share,
Or force my tears their flowing streams to dry;
Beneath the gloom of this embow'ring shade,
This lone retreat for tender forrow made,
I now may give my burden'd heart relief,

And pour forth all my stores of grief;
Of grief furpasfmg ev'ry other woe,
Far as the purest blifs, the happiest love

Can on th' ennobled mi.id bestow,

Exceeds the vulgar joys that move
Our grofs desires, inelegant and low.
Ye tufud groves, ye gently falling rills,

Ye high o'erlhadowing hills,

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Ye lawns gay-fmiling with eternal green,

Oft have you my Lucy feen!
But never fhall you now behold her more:

Nor will ihe now, with fond delight,
And taste resin'd, your rural charms explore.
Clos'J are thofe beauteous eyes in endlefs night,
Thofe beauteous eyes, where beaming us'd to Ihinfi
Reafon's pure light, and Virtue's fpark divine.

Oft would the Dryads of thefe woods rejoice,

To hear her heav'nly voice;
For her defpifmg, when she deign'd to sing,

The fweetest fongsters of the fpring:
The woodlark and the linnet pleas'd no more:
The nightingale was mute,
And ev'ry lhepherd's flute
Was cast in silent fcorn away,
While all attended to her fweeter lay.
Ye larks and linnets now refumeyour fong:
And thou, melodious Philomel!
Again thy plaintive story tell;
For death hath stopp'd that tuneful tongue,
Whofe music could alone your warbling notes excel.

In vain I look around
O'er all the well-known ground,
My Lucy's wonted footsteps to defcry;
Where oft we us'd to walk;
Where oft in tender talk
We faw the fummer-fun go down the Iky;
Nor by yon mountain's side,
Nor where its waters glide

Along the valley, can flie now be found:

In all the wide stretch'd profpect's ample bound,

No more my mournful eye

Can aught of her efpy,
But the fad facred earth where her dear relics lie.

O Shades of Hagley, where is how your boast?

Your; bright inhabitant is lost.
You lhe preferr'd to all the gay reforts
Where female vanity might wifli to ihine,
The pomp of cities, and the pride of courts.
Her modest beauty Ihunn'd the public eye:

To your fequester'd dales

And flow'r embroider'd vales,
From an admiring world slie chofe to fly.
With Nature there retir'd, and Nature's God,

The silent paths of wisdom trod,
And banifl) ev'ry passion from her breast;

But thofe, the gentlest and the best,
Whofe holy flames, with energy divine
The virtuous heart enliven and improve,
The conjugal and the mate.nal love.

Sweet babes! who, like the little playful fawns. Were wont to trip along thefe verdant lawns, By your delighced mother's side, Who now your infant-steps Ihal! guide? Ah! where is now the hand, whofe tender care To ev'ry virtue would have form'd your youth, And strew'd with flow'rs the thorny way of truth .* O lofs beyond repair! O wretched father! left alone, To weep (hiir dire misfortune, and thy own!

i How shall thy weaken'd mind, opprefs'd with woe,

And drooping o'er thy Lucy's grave,
Perform the duties that you doubly owe,
Now lhe, alas! is gone, £
From folly and from vice their helplefs age to fave?

Where were ye, Mufes, when relentlefs Fate
From thefe fond arms your fair difciple tore;

From thefe fond arms, that vainly strove,

With haplefs, ineffectual love,
To guard her bofom from the mortal blow f

Could not your fav'ring pow'r, A'onian maids,
Could not, alas! your pow'r prolong her date;
For whom fo oft, in thefe infpiring lhades,
Or under Camden's mofs-clad mountain's hoar,
You open'd all your facred store;
Whate'er your ancient fages taught,
Your ancient bards fublimely thought,
And bade her raptur'd breast with all your fpirit glow?

Nor then did Pindus or Castalia's plain,
Or Aganippe's fount, your steps detain, .
Nor in the Thefpian valleys did you play;

Nor then on Mincio's bank

Befet with osiers dank, .
Nor where Clitumnus .[ rolls his gentle stream,

Nor where, through hanging woods,

Steep Anio J pours his Hoods,
Nor yet where Meles § or IlhTus|| stray.

+ The Clitumnus is a river in Umbria. t The Anio runs through Tibur, or Tivoli, where Horace had a villa.

5 The Meles is a river of Ionia.
|| The Uissus is a river at Athens*
111 does it now befeem,
That, of your guardian care bereft,

To dire difeafe and death your darling lhould be left.

Now what avails it, that in early bloom, When light fantastic toys Are all her fex's joys, With you she fearch'd the wit of Greece and Rome) And all that in her latter days; To emulate her ancient praife, Italia's happy genius could produce; Or what the Gallic sire Bright fparkling could infpire, By all the Graces temper'd and resin'd J Or what, in Britain's ifle, lVlost favour'd with your fmile, The pow'rs of Reafon and of Fancy join'J To full perfection have confpir'd to raife?

Ah! what is now the ufe Of all these treafures that enrich'd her mind, To black Oblivion's gloom for ever now confign'd!

At least, ye Nine, her fpotlefs name

'Tis your's from death to fave,
And in the temple of immortal Fame
With golden characters her worth engrave.

Come then, ye virgin sisters, come,
And strew with choicest flow'rs her hallow'd tomb;
But foremost thour in fable vestment clad,

With accents fweet and fad,
Thou plaintivi Muse, whom o'er his Laura's urB

Unhappy Petrarch call'd to mourn;

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