Imatges de pàgina

Olofs beyond repair! O wretched Father left alone To weep their dire misfortune, and thy own! How Thall thy weaken'd mind, oppress’d with woe,

And drooping o'er thy Lucy's grave, Perform the duties that you doubly owe, Now the, alas! is

gone, From folly, and from vice, their helpless age to fave?


Where were ye, Muses, when relentless Fate
From these fond arms your fair disciple tore,

From these fond arms that vainly Atrove

With hapless ineffectual Love
To guard her bosom from the mortal blow?

Could not your fav’rite pow'r, Aonion maids, Could not, alas! your pow'r prolong her date,

For whom so oft in these inspiring shades,
Or under Campden's moss-clad mountains hoar,

You open'd all your sacred store,
Whâte'er your ancient sages taught,

Your ancient bards sublimely thought,
And bade her raptur'd breast with all your spirit glow?


Nor then did Pindus' or Castalia's plain,
Or Aganippe's fount your steps detain,
Nor in the Thespain vallies did you play!

Nor then on * Mincio's bank
Befet with osiers dank,

* The Mincio runs by Mantua, the birth-place of Virgil.

Nor where * Clitumnus rolls his gentle stream,

Nor where through hanging woods

Steep + Anio pours his foods,
Nor yet where $ Meles, or || Ilissus fray,

Ill does it now beseem,
That, of your guardian care bereft,
To dire disease and death your darling should be left.


Now what avails it that in early bloom,

When light fantafic toys

Are all her sex's joys, With you

she search'd the wit of Greece and Rome : And all that in her latter days

To emulate her ancient praise Italia's happy genius could produce ;

Or what the gallic fire

Bright sparkling could inšpire ;
By all the Graces temper'd and refind;

Or what in Britain's ille
Most favour'd with


smile The pow'rs of reason and of fancy join'd To full perfection have conspir’d to raise ?

* The Clitumnus is a river of Umbria, the residence of Propertius.

+ The Anio runs through Tibur or Tivoli, where Horace had a villa.

# The Meles is a river of Ionia, from whence Homer, supposed to be born on its banks, is called


1 The Ilissus is a river at Athens.


Ah! what is now the use Of all those treasures that enrich'd her mind; To black oblivion's gloom for ever now consign'd?

At least ye Nine, her spotless name

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

Come then, ye virgin filters, come, And Itrew with choifeft flow'rs her hallow'd tomb. But foremost thou, in sable vestments clad,

With accents sweet and sad, Thou, plaintive Mufe, whom o'er his Laura's urn Unhappy Petrarch call'd to mourn.

and to this fairer Laura pay A more impafion'd tear, a more pathetic lay.

O come,

Tell how each beanty of her mind and face
Was brighten’d by some sweeet peculiar grace!

How eloquent in every look
Through her expreslive eyes her soul diftin&tly spoke!

Tell how her manners by the world relin'd
Left all the taint of modih vice behind.
And made each charm of polith'd courts agree

With candid Truth's simplicity,
And uncorrupted Innocence !
Tell how to more than manly sense
She join'd the soft'ning influence

Of more than female tenderness :
How in the thoughtless days of wealth and joy,
Which of the care of others' good deitroy,

Her kindly-melting heart,
To every want and every woe,
To guilt itself when in ditress,

The balm of pity would impart,
And all relief that bounty could bestow!

Ev’n for the kid or lamb that pour'd its life

Beneath the bloody knife,

Her genile tears would fall, Tears from fwect Virtue's source, benevolent to all.

Not only good and kind,
But strong and elevated was her mind :
A spirit that with noble pride

Could look fuperior down

On Fortune's smiles or frown ;
That could without regret or pain
To Virtue's lowest duty facrifice
Or intrest or ambition's highest prize :
That injured or offended never try'd
dignity by vengeance to maintain
But by magnanimous disdain.
A wit that temperately bright,

With inoffensive light
All pleasing shone, nor ever past
The decent bounds that Wisdom's sober hand,
And sweet Benevolence's mild command,
And bashful Modesty before it cast.
A prudence undeceiving, undeceiv’d,
That nor too little nor too much believ'd,
That scorn'd unjust Suspicion's coward fear,
And without weakness knew to be fincere.
Such Lucy was, when in her fairett days,
Amidst the acclaim of universal praise,

'In life's and glory's freshest bloom Death came remorseless on and funk her to the tomb.

So where the filent streams of Liris glide,
In the soft bosom of Campania's vale,
When now the wintry tempests all are fled,
And genial Summer breathes her gentle gale,
'The verdant orange lifts its beauteous head :

From every branch the balmy flow'rets rife,
On every bough the golden fruits are seen ;
With odours sweet it fills the smiling skies,
The wood-nymphs tend it, and th' Idalian queen;
But in the midit of all its blooming pride
A sudden blaft from Appeninus blows,

Cold with perpetual snows :
The tender blighted plant Ihrinks up his leaves, and


Arile o Petrarch, from th' Elysian bow'rs,

With never-fading myrtles twin'd,

And fragrant with amhrofial flowers, Where to thy Laura thou again art join'd; Arise, and hither bring the filver lyre,

Tun’d by thy skilful hand, To the foft notes of elegant desire, With which o'er


Was spread the fame of thy disastrous love ;

To me resign the vocal shell ;
And teach my sorrows to relate
Their melancholy tale fo well,

As may ev'n things inanimate,
Rough mountain oaks, and desart rocks, to pity more.


What were, alas! thy woes compar'd to mine?
'l'o thee thy mistress in the blissful band

Of Hymen never gave her hand ;
The joys of wedded love were never thine.

In thy domestic care
She never bore a share,
Nor with endearing art,

Would heal thy wounded heart
Of every secret grief that fefter'd there :
Nor did her fond affection on the bed


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