left.

Now what avails it, that in early bloom,
When light fantastic toys

Are all her fex's joys,

With you the fearch'd the wit of Greece
and Rome;

And all that in her latter days,
To emulate her ancient praile,
Italia's happy genius could produce;
Or what the Gallic fire

Bright fparkling could infpire,

By all the Graces temper'd and refin'd;
Or what, in Britain's ifle,

Moft favour'd with your fmile,
The pow'rs of Reason and of Fancy join'd
To fill perfection have confpir'd to raise?
Ah! what is now the ufe

Of all those treasures that enrich'd her mind, To black Oblivion's gloom for ever now con

fign'd!

At least, ye Nine, her spotlefs name

'Tis yours from death to fave,
And in the temple of immortal Fame
With golden characters her worth engrave.
Come then, ye virgin fifters, come,

And ftrew with choicest flow'rs her hallow'd
tomb;

But foremost thou, in sable vestment clad,
With accents fweet and fad,
Thou plaintive Mufe, whom o'er his Laura's
Unhappy Petrarch call'd to mourn; [urn
O come, and to this fairer Laura pay
A more impaffion'd tear, a more pathetic lay!
Tell how each beauty of her mind and face
Was brighten'd by fome fweet peculiar grace!
How eloquent in ev'ry look
Thro' her expreffive eyes her foul distinctly
fpoke!

Tell how her manners, by the world refin'd,
Left all the taint of modifh vice behind,
And made each charm of polish'd courts agree
With candid Truth's fimplicity,
And uncorrupted Innocence!
Tell how to more than manly fense
She join'd the foft'ning influence
Of more than female tenderness:

How, in the thoughtless days of wealth and joy,
Which oft the care of others' good destroy,
Her kindly-melting heart,

Not only good and kind,

But ftrong and elevated was her mind:
A fpirit that with noble pride
Could look fuperior down

On Fortune's imile or frown;
That could, without regret or pain,
To Virtue's loweft duty facrifice
Or Intereft or Ambition's highest prize;
That, injur'd or offended, never tried
Its dignity by vengeance to maintain,
But by magnanimous difdain.
A wit that, temperately bright,
With inoffenfive light

All pleafing thone; nor ever pafs'd
The decent bounds that Wifdom's fober hand,
And fweet Benevolence's mild command,
And bathful Modely, before it caft.
A prudence undeceiving, undeceiv'd,
That nor too little nor too much believ'd;
That fcorn'd unjuft Sufpicion's coward fear,
And, without weakness, knew to be fincere.
Such Lucy was, when in her fairest days,
Amidft th' acclaim of univerfal praife.

Deathcame remorfelefs on,andfunk her to the tomb.
In life's and glory's fresheft bloom,

So, where the filent ftreams of Liris glide,
In the foft bofom of Campania's vale,
When now the wint'ry tempefts all are fled,
And genial fummer breathes her gentle gale,
The verdant orange lifts its beauteous head;
From ev'ry branch the balmy flow'rets rifc,
On ev'ry bough the golden fruits are seen;
With odours fweet it fills the imiling fkies,
The wood-nymphs tend it, and th` Idalian
queen :

But, in the midft of all its blooming pride,
A fudden blast from Apenninus blows,

Cold with perpetual fnows; [and dies.
The tender blighted plant shrinks up its leaves,
Arife, O Petrarch! from th' Elyfian bow'rs,
With never-fading myrtles twin'd,
And fragrant with ambrofial flow'rs,
Where to thy Laura thou again art join'd;
Arife, and hither bring the filver lyre,
Tun'd by thy fkilful hand,

To the foft notes of elegant defire,
With which o'er many a land

Was fpread the fame of thy difaftrous love;
To me refign the vocal shell,

And

And teach my forrows to relate
Their melancholy tale fo well,
As may e'en things inanimate, [move.
Rough mountain çaks, and defert rocks, to pity
What were, alas! thy woes, compar'd to mine?
To thee thy miftrefs in the blifsful band
Of Hymen never gave her hand;

The joys of wedded love were never thine.
In thy domeftic care

She never bere a fhare,
Nor with endearing art
Would hea! thy wounded heart

Of every fecret grief that fefter'd there:
Nor did her fond affection on the bed

Of fickness watch thee, and thy languid head
Whole nights on her unwearied arm sustain,
And charm away the fenfe of pain :
Nor did the crown your mutual flame
With pledges dear, and with a father's tender name
O best of wives! O dearer far to me

Than when thy virgin charms
Were yielded to my arms;

How can my foul endure the lofs of thee?
How in the world, to me a defert grown,
Abandon'd and alone,

Without my sweet companion can I live ?
Without thy lovely finile,

The dear reward of ev'ry virtuous toil,

What pleafures now can pall'd Ambition give? E'en the delightful fenfe of well-earn'd praife, Unfhar'd by thee, no more my lifeless thoughts could raife.

For my distracted mind
What fuccour can I find?

On whom for confolation fhall I call?
Support me, ev'ry friend;
Your kind atliftance lend,
To bear the weight of this oppreffive woe.
Alas! cach friend of mine,

My dear departed love, so much was thine,
That none has any.comfort to bestow.

My books, the best relief
In every other grief,

Are now with your idea fadden'd all :
Each favourite author we together read
My tortur'd memory wounds, and fpeaks of Lucy

dead.

Yet, O my foul! thy rifing inurmurs stay;
Nor dare th' all-wife Difpofer to arraigu,
Or against his fupreme decree
With impious grief complain.

That all thy full-blown joys at once should fade, Was his molt righteous will-and be that will obey 'd.

Would thy fond love his grace to her controul;
And, in thefe low abodes of fin and pain,
Her pure exalted foul,

Unjustly, for thy partial good, detain?
No-rather strive thy grovelling mind to raise
Up to that unclouded blaze,

That heavenly radiance of eternal light,
In which enthron'd the now with pity fees,
How frail, how infecure, how flight,

Is every mortal blifs;

Even Love itself, if rifing by degrees
Beyond the bounds of this imperfect state,
Whofe fleeting joys fo foon muft end,
It does not to its fovereign good ascend.

Rife then, my foul, with hope elate,
And feek thofe regions of ferene delight,
Whofe peaceful path, and ever-open gate,
No feet but thofe of harden'd Guilt shall mifs:
There Death himfelf thy Lucy fhall reftere;
There yield up all his pow'r ne'er to divide you

Cold, cold, my dearest jewel! thy little life is gone:

Oh let my tears revive thee, fo warm that trickle down: [they fail : My tears that gufh fo warm, oh they freeze before Ah wretched, wretched mother! thou 'rt now bereft of all."

Then down fhe funk despairing upon the drifted fnow; [her woe: And, wrung with killing anguifh, lamented loud She kifs'd her baby's pale lips, and laid it by her fide;

Then caft her eyes to heaven, then bow'd her head, and died.

$97. The School Miftrefs. In Imitation of Spenfer. SHENSTONE.

Audi ae voces, vagitus et ingens,

Infantumque animae fentes in limine primo. VIRG.

AH me! full forely is my heart forlorn,

To think how modeft worth neglected lies, While partial Fame doth with her blafts adorn Such deeds alone as pride and pomp difguife; Deeds of ill fort, and mifchievous emprize:

Lend me thy clarion, Goddefs! let me try To found the praife of merit ere it dies;

Such as I oft have chanced to efpy, Loft in the dreary shades of dull obscurity. In ev'ry village, mark'd with little fpire, [fame, Embower'd in trees, and hardly known to There dwells, in lowly fhade and mean attire, A matron old, whom we School-mistress

name;

Who boafts unruly brats with birch to tame: They, grieven fore, in piteous durance pent, Aw'd by the pow'r of this relenticfs dame,

And oft-times, on vagaries idly bent, For unkempt hair,or task unconn'd, are forelyfhent. And all in fight doth rife a birchen tree,

Which Learning near her little dome did stow, Whilome a twig of finall regard to fee,

Tho' now fo wide its waving branches flow, And work the fimple vaffals mickle woe; For not a wind might curl the leaves that blew, flow;

But their limbs fhudder'd, and their pulfe beat And, as they look'd, they found their horror

grew,

And fhap'd it into rods, and tingled at the view.
So have I feen (who has not, may conceive)
A lifeless phantom near a garden plac`d;
So doth it wanton birds of peace bercave,

Of fport, of fong, of pleasure, of repaft: They start, they ftare, they wheel, they look aghaft;

Sad fervitude! Such comfortless annoy May no bold Briton's riper age e'er taste ! Ne fuperftition clog his dance of joy, Ne vifion empty, vain, his native blifs deftroy! Near to this dome is found a patch fo green,

On which the tribe their gan bols do display; And at the door impris'ning board is feen,

Left weakly wights of smaller fize should stray, Eager, perdie, to balk in funny day!

The noifes intermix'd,which thence refound, Do Learning's little tenement betray; Where fits the dame, difguis'd in look profound, [around. And eyes her Fairy throng, and turns her wheel Her cap, far whiter than the driven fnow, Emblem right meet of decency does yield; Her apron dyed in grain, as blue, I trowe,

As is the hare-bell that adorns the field: And in her hand, for fceptre, fhe does wield Tway birchen fprays, with anxious fear entwin'd,

With dark diftruft, and fad repentance fill'd,

And ftedfaft hate, and fharp affliction join'd, And fury uncontroul'd, and chaftifement unkind. Few but have kenn'd, in femblance meet pourtray'd,

The childish faces of old ol's train,
Libs, Notus, Aufter: these in frowns array'd,
How then would fare or earth, or fky,or main,
Were the ftern god to give his flaves the rein?
And were not the rebellious breafts to quell,
And were not the her ftatutes to maintain,

The cot no more, I ween, were deem'd the cell Where comely peace of mind and decent order dwell.

A ruffet ftole was o'er her fhoulders thrown;
A ruffet kirtle fenc'd the nipping air;
'Twas fimple ruffet, but it was her own,

'Twas her own country bred the flock fo fair; 'Twas her own labour did the fleece prepare; And, footh to fay, her pupils, rang'd around, Thro' pious awe did term it pafling rare;

For they in gaping wonderment abound, And think, to doubt, the been the greateft wight on ground.

Albeit, ne flutt'ry did corrupt her truth;

Ne pompous title did debauch her ear; Goody, good-woman, goilip, n'aunt, forfooth,

Or dame, the fole additions fhe did hear; Yet thefe fhe challeng'd, thefe fhe held right dear:

Ne would cfteem him act as mought behove,
Who fhould not honour'd eld with thefe revere;
For never title yet fo mean could prove,
But there was cke a mind which did that title love.
One ancient hen he took delight to feed,

The plodding pattern of the bufy dame,
Which ever and anon, impell'd by need,

Into her school, begirt with chickens, came;
Such favour did her paft deportment claim:

And if negle&t had lavifh'd on the ground Fragment of bread, fhe would collect the fame; For well he knew, and quaintly could ex

pound,

What fin it were to wafte the fmalleft crumb fhe found.

Herbs too fhe knew, and well of each could fpeak,

That in her garden fipp'd the filv'ry dew, Where no vain flow'r difclos'd a gaudy freak, Put herbs for ufe and phyfic not a few, Of grey renown, within thefe borders grew; The tufted bafil, pun-provoking thyme, Fresh baum, and marygold of cheerful hue,

The lowly gill, that never dares to climb, And more I fain would fing, difdaining here to rhyme.

Yet euphrafy may not be left unfung,

That gives dim eyes to wander leagues around; And pungent radith, biting infant's tongue; And plantain ribb'd, that heals the reaper's wound;

And

And marj'ram fweet, in thepherd's pofie found; And lavender, whofe foikes of azure bloom Shall be, crewhile, in arid bundles bound,

To lurk amidst the labours of her loom, And crown her kerchiefs clean with mickle rare perfume.

And here trim rofemarine, that whilom crown'd The daintiest garden of the proudest peer, Ere, driven from its envied fite, it found

A facred thelter for its branches here, Where edg'd with gold its glitt'ring fkirts ap

pear.

O waffel days! O cuftoms meet and well! Ere this was banish'd from its lofty sphere;

Simplicity then fought this humble cell, Nor ever would fhe more with thane and lordling dwell.

Here oft the dame, on Sabbath's decent eve, Hymned fuch pfalms as Sternhold forth did

mete.

If winter 'twere, fhe to her hearth did cleave: But in her garden found a fummer feat: Sweet melody! to hear her then repeat

How Ifrael's fons, beneath a foreign king, While taunting foe-men did a fong entreat, All for the nonce untuning every ftring, Uphung their useless lyres-small heart had they to fing.

For fhe was juft, and friend to virtuous lore,

And pafs'd much time in truly virtuous deed; And in thofe elfins' ears would oft deplore The times when Truth by Popifh rage did bleed,

And tortious death was true Devotion's meed; And fimple Faith in iron chains did mourn. That nould on wooden image place her creed; And lawny faints in fmould'ring flames did [return. Ah! dearest Lord! forefend thilk days fhould e'er In elbow-chair, like that of Scottish stem,

burn:

By the fharp tooth of cank'ring Eld defac'd, In which, when he receives his diadem,

Our fov'reign prince and liefeft liege is plac'd. The matron fate: and fome with rank the grac'd,

The fource of children's and of courtier's pride!

Redrefs'd affronts (for vile affronts there pafs'd),

And warn'd them not the fretful to deride. But love each other dear, whatever them betide. Right well the knew each temper to defery, To thwart the proud,and the fubmifs to raife; Some with vile copper prize exalt on high, And fome entice with pittance fmall of praife: And other fome with baleful fprig the 'frays: E'en abfent, fhe the reins of pow'r doth hold, While with quaint arts the giddy crowd she fways;

Lo! now with state the utters the command!
Eftfoons the urchins to their tasks repair;
Their books, of ftature small, they take in hand,
Which with peliucid horn fecured are,
To fave from finger wet the letters fair.

The work fo gay that on their back is seen St. George's high achievements does declare, On which thilk wight that has vgazing been, Kens the forth-coming rod; unpleating fight, I

ween!

Ah! luckless he, and born beneath the beam
Of evil ftar! it irks me whilst I write !
As erft the bard * by Mulla's filver stream,.
Oft as he told of deadly dolorcus pight,
Sigh'd as he fung, and did in tears indite;
For, brandishing the rod, fhe doth begin
To loose the brogues, the ftripling's late de-
light!

And down they drop; appears his dainty skin,
Fair as the furry coat of whiteft ermilin.
O ruthful scene! when from a nook obscure
His little fifter doth his peril fee;
All playful as the fate, the grows demure,
She finds full foon her wonted fpirits flee;
She meditates a pray'r to fet him free:

Nor gentle pardon could this dame deny (If gentle pardon could with dames agree)

To her fad grief that fwells in either eye, And wrings her fo, that all for pity the could die. No longer can the now her fhrieks commandi

And hardly the forbears, thro' awful fear, Torufhen forth, and, with prefumptuous hand, To ftay harsh juftice in its mid career. On thee the calls, on thee, her parent dear! (Ah! too remote to ward the shameful blow!) She fees no kind domeftic vifage near,

And foon a flood of tears begins to flow, And gives a loose at last to unavailing woc. But, ah! what pen his piteous plight may trace!

Or what device his loud laments explain ? The form uncouth of his difguifed face?

The pallid hue that dyes his looks amain? The plenteous fhow'r that does his cheek diftain! When he in abject wife implores the dame, Ne hopeth aught of fweet reprieve to gain;

Or when from high the levels well her aim, And, thro' the thatch, his cries each falling stroke proclaim.

The other tribe, aghast, with fore difmay

Attend,and conn their tasks with mickle care; By turns, aftonied, ev'ry twig furvey, And from their fellow's hateful wounds beware,

Knowing I wift, how each the fame may share; Till fear has taught them a performance

meet,

And to the well-known cheft the dame repair, Whence oft with fugar'd cates the doth 'em

See, to their feats they hye with merry glce,
And in befeemly order fitten there,
All but the wight of bum y-galled; he
Abhorreth bench, and tool, and form, and
chair
[hair);
(This hand in mouth y-fix'd, that rends his
And eke with fnubs profound, and heaving.
breast,

Convulfions intermitting! does declare

His grievous wrong, his dance's unjust beheft, And fcorns her offer'd love, and fhuns to be carefs'd. His face befprent with liquid crystal fhines;

His blooming face, that feems a purple flow'r,.
Which low to earth its drooping head declines,
All fmear'd and fullied by a vernal fhow'r.
Oh the hard bofoms of defpotic pow'r !

All, all but fhe, the author of his shame,
All, all but the, regret this mournful hour:

Yet hence the youth, and hence the flow'r
fhall claim,

If fo I deem aright, transcending worth and fame. Behind fome door in melancholy thought,

Mindlefs of food, he, dreary caitiff! pines; Ne for his fellows joyaunce careth ought,

But to the wind all merriment refigns, And deems it fhame if he to peace inclines; And many a fullen look afkaunce is fent, Which for his dame's annoyance he defigns;

And still the more to pleasure him the 's bent, The more doth he, perverfe, her 'haviour paft refent.

Ah me! how much I fear left pride it be!

But if that pride it be which thus inspires,
Beware, ye dames! with nice difcernment fee,
Ye quench not too the fparks of nobler fires:
Ah! better far than all the Mufes' Ivres
(All coward arts) is valour's gen'rous heat;
The firm fix'd breaft which fit and right re-

And many a poet quit th'Aönian field:
And, four'd by age, profound he fhall appear,
As he who now, with 'fdainful fury thrill'd,
Surveys mine work, and levels many a ineer,
And furls his wrinkly front, and cries, What
ftuff is here!'

But now Dan Phoebus gains the middle sky,
And Liberty unbars her prifon-door;
And like a rushing torrent out they fly,

And now the grally cirque han cover'd o'er
With boift'rous revel-rout and wild uproar.
A thoufand ways in wanton rings they run;
Heaven fhield their fhort-liv'd paftimes, I im-
plore !

For well may Freedom, erft fo dearly won, Appear to British elf more gladfome than the fun. Enjoy, poor imps! enjoy your fportive trade, And chafe gay flies, and cull the fairest flow'rs; For when my bones in grafs-green fods are laid; For never may ye tafte more careless hours In knightly caftles, or in ladies' bow'rs.

O vain, to feck delight in earthly things! But most in courts, where proud Ambition tow'rs;

Deluded wight! who weens fair peace can fpring

Beneath the pompous dome of kefar or of king. See in each fprite fome various bent appear!

In

Thefe rudely carol moft incondite lay; Thofe faunt' ring on the green, with jocund leer, Salute the ftranger patling on his way: Some builden fragile tenements of clay;

Some to the ftanding lake their courfes bend, With pebbles fmooth, at duck and drake to play;

Thilk to the huxter's fav'ry cottage tend, paftry kings and queens th'alloted mite to spend. Here, as cach feafon yields a different store, Each feafon's ftores in order ranged been; Apples with cabbage-net y-cover'd o'er,

Galling full fore th'unmonied wight, are feen; And goofeb'rie, clad in liv'ry red or : green And here of lovely dye thie Cath'rine pear; Fine pear! as lovely for thy juice I ween;

O may no wight e'er pennylefs come there, Left, finit with ardent love, he pine with hopeless

care!