"But why, alas! the tender scene display! Could Damon's foot the pious path decline? Ah no! 'twas Damon first attun'd his lay,

And sure no sonnet was so dear as thine. "Thus was I bosom'd in the peaceful grave; My placid ghost no longer wept its doom; When savage robbers every sanction brave,

And with outrageous guilt defraud the tomb! "Shall my poor corse, from hostile realms convey'd, Lose the cheap portion of my native sands? Or, in my kindreds' dear embraces laid,

Mourn the vile ravage of barbarian hands? "Say, would thy breast no death-like torture feel, To see my limbs the felon's gripe obey? To see them gash'd beneath the daring steel? To crowds a spectre, and to dogs a prey? "If Pæan's sons these horrid rites require, If Health's fair science be by these refin'd, Let guilty convicts, for their use, expire;

And let their breathless corse avail mankind. "Yet hard it seems, when Guilt's last fine is paid, To see the victim's corse deny'd repose! Now, more severe! the poor offenceless maid Dreads the dire outrage of inhuman foes. "Where is the faith of ancient Pagans fled? Where the fond care the wandering manes claim? Nature, instinctive, cries, Protect the dead,

And sacred be their ashes, and their fame!' "Arise, dear youth! e'en now the danger calls; E'en now the villain snuffs his wonted prey; See! see! I lead thee to yon sacred wallsOh! fly to chase these human wolves away."

ELEGY XXIII.

Since Lyttelton has crown'd the sweet domain With softer pleasures, and with fairer fame. Where the rough bowman urg'djhis headlong steed, Immortal bards, a polish'd race, retire;

And where hoarse scream'd the strepent horn, succeed

The melting graces of no vulgar lyre. See Thomson loitering near some limpid well, For Britain's friend the verdant wreath prepare! Or, studious of revolving seasons, tell,

How peerless Lucia made all seasons fair! See ******* from civic garlands fly,

And in these groves indulge his tuneful vein! Or from yon summit, with a guardian's eye, Observe how Freedom's hand attires the plain! Here Pope! ah never must that towering mind To his lov'd haunts, or dearer friend, return› What art! what friendships! oh! what fame resign'd;

-In yonder glade I trace his mournful urn. Where is the breast can rage or hate retain,

And these glad streams and smiling lawns behold? Where is the breast can hear the woodland strain, And think fair Freedom well exchang'd for gold? Through these soft shades delighted let me stray, While o'er my head forgotten suns descend! Through these dear valleys bend my casual way, Till setting life a total shade extend! Here, far from courts, and void of pompous cares, I'll muse how much I owe mine humbler fate: Or shrink to find how much Ambition dares,

To shine in anguish, and to grieve in state! Canst thou, O Sun! that spotless throne disclose, Where her bold arm has left no sanguine stain? Where, show me where, the lineal sceptre glows, Pure, as the simple crook that rules the plain?

TION.

BORN near the scene for Kenelm's fate renown'd,
I take my plaintive reed and range the grove,
And raise my lay, and bid the rocks resound
The savage force of Empire, and of Love.
Fast by the centre of yon various wild,

Where spreading oaks embower a Gothic fane;
Kendrida's arts a brother's youth beguil'd;
There Nature urg'd her tenderest pleas in vain.
Soft o'er his birth, and o'er his infant hours,

Th' ambitious maid could every care employ ; Then with assiduous fondness cropt the flowers, To deck the cradle of the princely boy. But soon the bosom's pleasing calm is flown; Love fires her breast; the sultry passions rise; A favour'd lover seeks the Mercian throne,

And views her Kenelm with a rival's eyes. How kind were Fortune, ah! how just were Fate, Would Fate or Fortune Mercia's heir remove! How sweet to revel on the couch of state!

To crown at once her lover and her love! See, garnish'd for the chase, the fraudful maid To these lone hills direct his devious way; The youth all prone the sister guide obcy'd, Ill-fated youth, himself the destin'd prey. But now, nor shaggy hill, nor pathless plain, Forms the lone refuge of the sylvan game;

In kindred bosoms solve the social tie; There not the parent smile is half sincere;

Nor void of art the consort's melting eye. There with the friendly wish, the kindly flame, No face is brighten'd, and no bosoms beat; Youth, manhood, age, avow one sordid aim,

And e'en the beardless lip essays deceit.
There coward rumours walk their murderous round;
The glance, that more than rural blame instills;
Whispers, that ting'd with friendship doubly wound,
Pity that injures, and concern that kills.
Their anger whets, but love can ne'er engage;
Caressing brothers part but to revile;

There all men smile, and Prudence warns the wise,
To dread the fatal stroke of all that smile.
There all her rivals! sister, son, and sire,

With horrid purpose hug destructive arms;
There soft-ey'd maids in murderous plots conspire,
And scorn the gentler mischief of their charins.
Let servile minds one endless watch endure;
Day, night, nor hour, their anxious guard resign;
But, lay me, Fate! on flowery banks, secure,
Though my whole soul be, like my limbs, supine.
Yes, may my tongue disdain a vassal's care;
My lyre resound no prostituted lay:
More warm to merit, more elate to wear

The cap of Freedom, than the crown of bay.

Sooth'd by the murmurs of my pebbled flood,
I wish it not o'er golden sands to flow;
Cheer'd by the verdure of my spiral wood,

I scorn the quarry where no shrub can grow.
No midnight pangs the shepherd's peace pursue;
His tongue, his hand, attempts no secret wound;
He sings his Delia, and if she be true,

His love at once, and his ambition 's crown'd.

ELEGY XXIV.

He takes occasion, from the fate of Eleanor of Bretagne, to suggest the imperfect pleasures of a solitary life.

WHEN Beauty mourns, by Fate's injurious doom,

Hid from the cheerful glance of human eye; When Nature's pride inglorious waits the tomb, Hard is that heart which checks the rising righ. Fair Eleanora ! would no gallant mind,

The cause of love, the cause of justice own? Matchless thy charms, and was no life resign'd To see them sparkle from their native throne? Or had fair Freedom's hand unveil'd thy charms, Well might such brows the regal gem resign; Thy radiant mien might scorn the guilt of arms, Yet Albion's awful empire yield to thine. O shame of Britons! in one sullen tower

She wet with royal tears her daily cell; She found keen Anguish, every rose devour; [fell. They sprung, they shone, they faded, and they Through one dim lattice fring'd with ivy round, Successive suns a languid radiance threw ; To paint how fierce her angry guardian frown'd, To mark how fast her waning beauty flew. This, age might bear; then sated Fancy palls, Nor warmly hopes what splendour can supply; Fond youth incessant mourns, if rigid walls Restrain its listening ear, its curious eye. Believe me, ****, the pretence is vain! This boasted calm that smooths our early days; For never yet could youthful mind restrain Th' alternate pant for pleasure and for praise. E'en me, by shady oak or limpid spring,

Een me, the scenes of polish'd life allure; Some genius whispers, "Life is on the wing, And hard his lot that languishes obscure. "What though hy riper mind admire no moreThe shining cincture, and the broider'd fold, Can pierce like lightning through the figur'd ore, And melt to dress the radiant forms of gold. "Purs, ermines, rods, may well attract thy scorn; The futile presents of capricious power! But wit, but wort!!, the public sphere adorn, And who but envies then the social hour? "Can Virtue, careless of her pupil's meed, Forget how *** sustains the shepherd's cause? Content in shades to tune a lonely reed,

Nor join the sounding pæan of applause? "For public haunts, impell'd by Britain's weal, See Grenville quit the Muse's favourite ease; And shall not swains admire his noble zeal? Admiring praise, admiring strive to please? "Life,' says the sage, affords no bliss sincere; And courts and cells in vain our hopes renew:'

But ah! where Grenville charms the listening ear, "T is hard to think the cheerless maxim true. "The groves may smile; the rivers gently glide; Soft through the vale resound the lonesome lay: E'en thickets yield delight, if Taste preside;

But can they please, when Lyttelton's away? "Pure as the swain's the breast of *** glows, Ah! were the shepherd's praise, like his refin'd! But, how improv'd the generous dictate flows

Through the clear medium of a polish'd mind! "Happy the youths who, warm with Britain's love, Her inmost wish in ***'s periods hear! Happy that in the radiant circle move,

Attendant orbs, where Lonsdale gilds the sphere! "While rural faith, and every polish'd art,

Each friendly charm, in *** conspire, From public scenes all pensive must you part; All joyless to the greenest fields retire! "Go, plaintive youth! no more by fount or stream, Like some lone halcyon, social pleasure shun; Go dare the light, enjoy its cheerful beam,

And hail the bright procession of the Sun. "Then' cover'd by thy ripen'd shades, resume

The silent walk; no more by passion tost: Then seek thy rustic haunts; the dreary gloom, Where every art that colours life, is lost."In vain! the listening Muse attends in vain! Restraints in hostile bands her motions wait— Yet will I grieve, and sadden all my strain, When injur'd Beauty mourns the Muse's fate.

ELEGY XXV.

TO DELIA, With some fLOWERS; Complaining how much his benevolence suffers on account of his humble fortune. WHATE'ER Could Sculpture's curious art employ, Whate'er the lavish hand of Wealth can shower, These would I give-and every gift enjoy, That pleas'd my fair-but Fate denies the power. Blest were my lot to feed the social fires!

To learn the latent wishes of a friend! To give the boon his native taste admires, And, for my transport, on his smile depend! Blest too is be whose evening ramble strays Where droop the sons of Indigence and Care! His little gifts their gladden'd eyes amaze,

And win, at small expense, their fondest prayer! And oh the joy! to shun the conscious light,

To spare the modest blush; to give unseen! Like showers that fall behind the veil of night,

Yet deeply tinge the smiling vales with green. But happiest they, who drooping realms relieve! Whose virtues in our cultur'd vales appear! For whose sad fate a thousand shepherds grieve, And fading fields allow the grief sincere. To call lost Worth from its oppressive shade To fix its equal sphere, and see it shine; To hear it grateful own the generous aid; This, this is transport-but must ne'er be mine. Faint is my bounded bliss; nor I refuse To range where daisies open, rivers roll;

I left her-torn from every earthly friend;
Oh! my hard bosom, which could bear to leave!
"-Brief let me be; the fatal storm arose ;

The billows rag'd, the pilot's art was vain;
O'er the tall mast the circling surges close;
My Jessy-floats upon the watery plain!
"And see my youth's impetuous fires decay;
Seek not to stop Reflection's bitter tear;
But warn the frolic, and instruct the gay,
From Jessy floating on her watery bier!"

ODES, SONGS, BALLADS, &c.

RURAL ELEGANCE.

AN ODE TO THE LATE DUTCHESS OF SOMERSET.
Written 1750.

WHILE Orient skies restore the day,
And dew-drops catch the lucid ray;
Amid the sprightly scenes of morn,
Will aught the Muse inspire!
Oh! peace to yonder clamorous horn
That drowns the sacred lyre!

Ye rural thanes that o'er the mossy down
Some panting, timorous hare pursue;
Does Nature mean your joys alone to crown?
Say, does she smooth her lawns for you?
For you does Echo bid the rocks reply,

And urg'd by rude constraint resound the jovial cry?
See from the neighbouring hill, forlorn,

The wretched swain your sport survey;

He finds his faithful fences torn,

He finds his labour'd crops a prey;
He sees his flock-no more in circles feed;
Haply beneath your ravage bleed,

And with no random curses loads the deed.

Nor yet, ye swains, conclude

That Nature smiles for you alone;

Your bounded souls, and your conceptions crude, The proud, the selfish boast disown:

Yours be the produce of the soil:

O may it still reward your toil!
Nor ever the defenceless train

Of clinging infants ask support in vain!

But though the various harvest gild your plains,
Does the mere landscape feast your eye?
Or the warm hope of distant gains

Far other cause of glee supply?

Is not the red-streak's future juice
The source of your delight profound,
Where Ariconium pours her gem profuse,
Purpling a whole horizon round?

Athirst ye praise the limpid stream, 'tis true:

But though, the pebbled shores among, It mimic no unpleasing song, The limpid fountain murmurs not for you. Unpleas'd ye see the thickets bloom, Unpleas'd the Spring her flowery robe resume; Unmov'd the mountain's airy pile, The dappled mead without a smile. O let a rural conscious Muse,

For well she knows, your froward sense accuse : Forth to the solemn oak you bring the square, And span the massy trunk, before you cry, 't is fair.

Nor yet ye learn'd, nor yet ye courtly train,
If haply from your haunts ye stray
To waste with us a summer's day.
Exclude the taste of every swain,
Nor our untutor'd sense disdain:
'Tis Nature only gives exclusive right
To relish her supreme delight;
She, where she pleases kind or coy,
Who furnishes the scene, and forms us to enjoy.
Then hither bring the fair ingenuous mind,
By her auspicious aid refin'd;

Lo! not an hedge-row hawthorn blows,
Or humble harebell paints the plain
Or valley winds, or fountain flows,

Or purple heath is ting'd in vain :
For such the rivers dash the foaming tides,
The mountain swells, the dale subsides;

E'en thriftless furze detains their wandering sight, And the rough barren rock grows pregnant with delight.

With what suspicious fearful care

The sordid wretch secures his claim,

If haply some luxurious heir

Should alienate the fields that wear his name! What scruples lest some future birth

Should litigate a span of earth!

Bonds, contracts, feoffiments, names unmeet for

prose,

The towering Muse endures not to disclose;
Alas! her unrevers'd decree,

More comprehensive and more free,

Her lavish charter, taste, appropriates all we see.
Let gondolas their painted flags unfold,
And be the solemn day enroll'd,
When to confirm his lofty plea,

In nuptial sort, with bridal gold,
The grave Venetian weds the sea:
Each laughing Muse derides the vow;

E'en Adria scorns the mock embrace,
To some lone hermit on the mountain's brow,
Allotted, from his natal hour,
With all her myrtle shores in dower.
His breast to admiration prone
Enjoys the smile upon her face,
Enjoys triumphant every grace,
And finds her more his own.

Fatigu'd with Form's oppressive laws,
When Somerset avoids the great;
When, cloy'd with merited applause,
She seeks the rural calm retreat;
Does she not praise each mossy cell,
And feel the truth my numbers tell?
When deafen'd by the loud acclaim,

Which genius grac'd with rank obtains,
Could she not more delighted hear
Yon throstle chant the rising year?
Could she not spurn the wreaths of Fame,
To crop the primrose of the plains?
Does she not sweets in each fair valley find,
Lost to the sons of Power, unknown to half mankind?
Ah, can she covet there to see
The splendid slaves, the reptile race,

That oil the tongue, and bow the knee,
That slight her merit, but adore her place?
Far happier, if aright I deem,
When from gay throngs, and gilded spires,
To where the lonely halcyons play,
Her philosophic step retires:

While, studions of the moral theme,
She, to some smooth sequester'd stream

Likens the swain's inglorious day;
Pleas'd from the flowery margin to survey,
How cool, screne, and clear, the current glides away.

O blind to truth, to virtue blind,

Who slight the sweetly pensive mind!
On whose fair birth the Graces mild,
And every Muse prophetic smil'd,
Not that the poet's boasted fire
Should Fame's wide-echoing
Or, on the music of his lyre

trumpet swell;

Each future age with rapture dwell; The vaunted sweets of praise remove, Yet shall such bosoms claim a part In all that glads the human heart;

Yet these the spirits, form'd to judge and prove All Nature's charms immense, and Heaven's unbounded love.

And oh the transport, most ally'd to song,
In some fair villa's peaceful bound,
To catch soft hints from Nature's tongue,
And bid Arcadia bloom around :
Whether we fringe the sloping hill,

Or smooth below the verdant mead;
Whether we break the falling rill,

Or through meandering mazes lead;
Or in the horrid bramble's room
Bid careless groups of roses bloom;
Or let some shelter'd lake serene

Reflect flowers, woods, and spires, and brighten all

the scene.

[bower,

O sweet disposal of the rural hour!
O beauties never known to cloy!
While Worth and Genius haunt the favour'd
And every gentle breast partakes the joy!
While Charity at eve surveys the swain,
Enabled by these toils to cheer

A train of helpless infants dear,
Speed whistling home across the plain;
See vagrant Luxury, her handmaid grown,

For half her graceless deeds atone, [her own. And hails the bounteous work, and ranks it with

Why brand these pleasures with the name Of soft, unsocial toils, of Indolence and Shame ? Search but the garden, or the wood,

Let yon admir'd carnation own,

Not all was meant for raiment, or for food,

Not all for needful use alone;

There while the seeds of future blossoms dwell, 'T is colour'd for the sight, perfum'd to please the

smell.

Why knows the nightingale to sing?

Why flows the pine's nectareous juice?
Why shines with paint the linnet's wing?
For sustenance alone? For use?

For preservation? Every sphere

Shall bid fair Pleasure's rightful claim appear.
And sure there seem, of human kind,

Some born to shun the solemn strife;
Some for amusive tasks design'd,

To soothe the certain ills of life;
Grace its lone vales with many a budding rose,
New founts of bliss disclose,

Call forth refreshing shades, and decorate Repose. From plains and woodlands; from the view Of rural Nature's blooming face,

Smit by the glare of rank and place, To courts the sons of Fancy flew ; There long had Art ordain'd a rival seat; There had she lavish'd all her care To form a scene more dazzling fair, And call'd them from their green retreat To share her proud control; Had given the robe with grace to flow, Had taught exotic gems to glow;

And, emulous of Nature's power, Mimick'd the plume, the leaf, the flower; Chang'd the complexion's native hue, Moulded each rustic limb anew,

And warp'd the very soul.

A while her magic strikes the novel eye,
A while the fairy forms delight;
And now aloof we seem to fly
On purple pinions through a purer sky,
Where all is wondrous, all is bright:
Now landed on some spangled shore

A while each dazzled maniac roves
By sapphire lakes, through emerald groves.
Paternal acres please no more;

Adieu the simple, the sincere delight--
Th' habitual scene of hill and dale,
The rural herds, the vernal gale,
The tangled vetch's purple bloom,
The fragrance of the bean's perfume,

Be theirs alone who cultivate the soil,

[toil.

Yes, here alone did highest Heaven ordain
The lasting magazine of charms,
Whatever wins, whatever warms,
Whatever Fancy seeks to share,
The great, the various, and the fair,
For ever should remain!

Her impulse nothing may restrain-
Or whence the joy 'mid columns, towers,
'Midst all the city's artful trim,
To rear some breathless vapid flowers
Or shrubs fuliginously grim:
From rooms of silken foliage vain,
To trace the dun far distant grove,
Where, smit with undissembled pain,
The wood-lark mourns her absent love,
Borne to the dusty town from native air,
To mimic rural life, and soothe some vapour'd fair.
But how must faithless Art prevail,
Should all who taste our joy sincere,