Beneath that home I fcorn the wintry wind;
The fpring, to fhade me, robes her fairest tree;
And if a friend my grass-grown threshold find,
O how my lonely cot refounds with glee!
Yet, tho' averse to gold in heaps amass'd,
I wish to bless, I languish to bestow;
And tho' no friend to fame's obftreperous blast,
Still, to her dulcet murmurs not a foe.
Too proud with fervile tone to deign address;
Too mean to think that honours are my due,
Yet fhou'd fome patron yield my stores to bless,
I fure fhou'd deem my boundless thanks were few.
But tell me, thou! that, like a meteor's fire,
Shot'ft blazing forth; difdaining dull degrees;
Shou'd I to wealth, to fame, to pow'r afpire,
Muft I not pass more rugged paths than these?
Muft I not groan beneath a guilty load,
Praise him I scorn, and him I love betray? Does not felonious envy bar the road?
Or falfehood's treach'rous foot befet the way?
Say fhou'd I pass thro' favour's crowded gate,
Must not fair truth inglorious wait behind?
Whilft I approach the glitt'ring scenes of state,
My best companion no admittance find?
Nurs'd in the fhades by freedom's lenient care,
Shall I the rigid fway of fortune own?
Taught by the voice of pious truth, prepare
To fpurn an altar, and adore a throne?
And when proud fortune's ebbing tide recedes,
And when it leaves me no unfhaken friend,
Shall I not weep that e'er I left the meads,
Which oaks embofom, and which hills defend?
Oh! if thefe ills the price of pow'r advance,
Check not my speed where focial joys invite!
The troubled vifion caft a mournful glance,
And fighing vanifh'd in the fhades of night.
He defcribes his early love of poetry, and its confequences.
H me! what envious magic thins my
What mutter'd spell retards their late increase?
Such less'ning fleeces must the fwain behold,
That e'er with Doric pipe effays to please.
I saw my friends in ev'ning circles meet;
I took my vocal reed, and tun'd my lay
I heard them say my vocal reed was sweet;
Ah fool! to credit what I heard them say!
Ill-fated bard! that feeks his skill to show,
Then courts the judgment of a friendly ear! Not the poor veteran, that permits his foe
To guide his doubtful step, has more to fear.
Nor cou'd my G― mistake the critic's laws,
Till pious friendship mark'd the pleafing way.
Welcome fuch error! ever bleft the caufe!
Ev'n tho' it led me boundless leagues aftray!
N. B. Written after the death of Mr. POPE.
Couldst thou reprove me, when I nurs❜d the flame
On lift'ning CHERWELL'S ofier banks reclin'd?
While foe to fortune, unfeduc'd by fame,
I footh'd the biafs of a careless mind.
Youth's gentle kindred, health and love were met;
What tho' in ALMA's guardian arms I play'd?
How shall the muse those vacant hours forget?
Or deem that blifs by folid cares repaid?
Thou know'ft how tranfport thrills the tender breast,
Where love and fancy fix their op'ning reign;
How nature shines in livelier colours dreít,
To bless their union, and to grace their train.
So first when PHOEBUS met the Cyprian queen,
And favour'd RHODES beheld their paffion crown'd,
Unusual flow'rs enrich'd the painted green;
And swift fpontaneous roses blush'd around.
Now fadly lorn, from TWITNAM's widow'd bow'r,
The drooping muses take their cafual way;
And where they stop, a flood of tears they pour;
And where they weep, no more the fields are gay!
Where is the dappled pink, the sprightly rofe?
The cowflip's golden cup no more I fee :
Dark and difcolour'd ev'ry flow'r that blows,
To form the garland, Elegy! for thee!—
Enough of tears has wept the virtuous dead;
Ah might we now the pious rage controul!
Hufh'd be my grief ere ev'ry smile be fled,
Ere the deep fwelling figh fubvert the foul!
If near fome trophy fpring a stripling bay,
Pleas'd we behold the graceful umbrage rife;
But foon too deep it works its baneful way,
And, low on earth, the proftrate * ruin lies.
* Alludes to what is reported of the bay-tree, that if it is planted too near the walls of an edifice, its roots will work their way underneath, till they deftroy the foundation.
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