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Whofe peaceful path, and ever-open gate, No feet but thofe of harden'd guilt shall misi: There Death himfelf thy Lucy fhall restore; , There yield up all his pow'r, ne'er to divide you more.
IN PRAISE OF SIMPLICITY.
For rural virtues, and for native fkies,
I bade Augusta's venal fons farewel; Now, mid the trees, I fee roy fmoke arife,
Now hear the fountains bubbling round my celt.
O may that genius, which fecures my rest,
Ne'er may my vintage glad the fordid breast!
Far from thefe paths, ye faithlefs friends, depart!
Fly my plain board, and dread my hostile name? Hence! the faint verfe that flows not from the heart.
But mourns in labour'd strains the price of fame'
O lov'd Simplicity I be thine the prize!
Assiduous art correct her page in vain? His he the palm, who, guiltlefs of difguife,
Contemns the pow'r, the dull refource to feign.
JiHill may the mourner, lavilh of his tears for lucre's venal mede, invite my fcorn!
Stilt may ttie hard, dissemhling douhts and fears, For praife, for flatt'ry sighing, sigh forlorn!
Soft as the line of love-sick Hammond flows,
'Twai his fond heart essus'd th' melting themes
^.h! never could Aonia's hill fliiclofe
Ye lovelefs hards! intent with artful pains
Forego your Pindus, and on . 's plains
Survey Camilla's charms, and grow sincere.
But thou, my Friend! while in thy youthful foul
Write from thy hofom; let not art controul
Pleasing, when youth is long expir'd, to trace
** Snch was our youthful air, and shape, and face! u Such the foft image of our youthful mind 1"
Sost whilst we fleep heneath the rural how'rs,
And where the turf distWd its pomp of flow'rs.
Curie the Tad fortune that detains thy fair;
Praife the foft hours that gave thee to her arms; Paint thy proud fcorn of ev'ry vulgar care,
When hope exalts thee, or when douht alarms.
Where with Oenone thou hast worn the day
If in the grove Oenone lov' d to stray,
TO A FRIEND,
ON SOME SLIGHT OCCASION ESTRANGED FROM HIM.
ALTH to my friend, and many a cheerful day Around his feat may peaceful fhades abide! Smooth flow the minutes, fraught with fmiles, away, And, till they crown our union, gently glide.
Ah me! too fwiftly fleets our vernal bloom!
Lost; to our wonted friendfhip, lost to joy! Soon may thy breast the cordial wifh refume,
Ere wint'ry doubt its tender warmth destroy.
Say, were it our's, by Fortune's wild command,
Wouldst thou reject thy Damon's plighted hand; Wouldst thou with scorn thy once-lcVd friend difown?
Life is that stranger land, that alien clime:
Launch'd in th' vast abyfs of fpace and time,
Myriads of fouls, that knew one parent mould,
Myriads, in time's perennial list enroll'd,
Forbid by Fate to change one tranfient glance!
But we have met—where ills of ev'ry form,
Say, ihall we nurfe the rage, assist the storm?
Yes, we have met—through rapine, fraud, and wrong;
Might our joint aid the paths of peace explore! Why leave thy friend amid the boift'rous throng,
Ere death divide us, and we part no more.
For oh, pale sicknefs warns thy friend away 1
I fee stern Fate his ebon wand difplay,
And point the wither'd regions of the tomb.
Then the keen anguifh from thine eye fhall start,
"Fool that 1 was, (if friends fo foon must part,)
Comparing his humble Fortune with that of others, he expatiates on the miserable Servitude of an African Slave.
HY droops this heart, with fancy'd woes forlorn? Why sinks my foul beneath each wint'ry fky r What pensive crowds by ceaselefs labours vorn, What myriads wilh to be as blefs'd as I?
What though my roofs, devoid of pomp, arife,
Nor tempt the proud to quit his dellin'd way? Nor costly art my flow'ry dales difguife,
Where only simple friendfliip deigns to stray? See the wild fons of Lapland's chill domain,
That fcoop their couch beneath the drifted fnows, How void of hope they ken the frozen plain.
Where the sharp east for ever, ever blows! Slave though 1 be, to Delia's eyes a flave,
My Delia's eyes endear the bands I wear; The sigh fhe caufes well becomes the brave,
The pang flie caufes, 'tts even blifs to bear.
See the poor native quit the Lybian fliores,
No radiant fmile his dying peace restores,
Nor love, nor'fame, nor friendfhip heals his wound*
Lt* vacant Bards difplay their boasted woes,
Shall I the mockery of grief difplay?
Who bleeds and weeps his fum of life away!
On the w ild beach in mournful guife he stood,
He dropt a tear unfeen into the flood;
Yet the Mufe liflen'd to the plaints he made;
Such moving plaints as Nature could infpire: To me the Mase his lender plea conveyM,
But frnooth'd, and fuited to the founding lyre.
'f Why am I ravifh'd from my native strand?
"What favage race protects this impious gain? "Shall foreign plagues infest this teeming land,
"And more than fea-born monsters plough themain?
"Here the dire locusts horrid fwarms prevail;
"Here the blue afps with livid poifon fwell; "Here the dry dipfa writhes his sinuous mail;
".Can we not here, fecure from envy, dwell?
*f When the grim lion urg'd his cruel chafe,
"When the stern panther fought his mid night-prity,