« 前へ次へ »
E L EGY XIV.
Declining an invitation to visit foreign countries, be takes occafion to intimate the advantages of his own.
Deluded youth! that quits these verdant plains,
To catch the follies of an alien foil !
Return exultant, and import the fpoil !
I covet not the pride of foreign looms *,
Nor, for the worthless bird of brighter plumes,
No distant clime shall servile airs impart.
Or form these limbs with pliant ease to play;
Trembling I view the Gaul's illusive art,
'Tis long since freedom fled th' Hesperian clime;
Her citron groves, her flow'r-embroider'd shore; She saw the British oak aspire sublime,
And soft Campania's olive charms no more.
Let partial suns mature the western mine,
Mien, beauty, shape, O native soil, are thine;
Let * Ceylon's envy'd plant perfume the seas,
Ours is the breast whose genuine ardours please*
* The cinnamon.
Let the proud Soldan wound th' Arcadian groves,
The muse no more by flow'ry Ladon roves,
Tell not of realms by ruthless war dismay'd;
As hapless realms that war's oppression feel! In vain may Austria boast herNoric blade,
If Austria bleed beneath her boasted steel.
Beneath her palm Idume vents her moan;
And hoary Memphis boasts her tombs alone,
No crescent here displays its baneful horns;
No turban'd host the voice of truth reproves; Learning's free source the sage's breast adorns,
And poets, not inglorious, chaunt their loves,
Boast, favour'd Media, boast thy flow'ry stores;
'Tis not the dress or mien my soul adores,
While*G Re En v i L Le's breast cou'd virtue's stores asford,
What envy'd flota bore so fair a freight? The mine compared in vain its latent hoard,
The gem its lustre, and the gold its weight.
* Written about the time of captain Greenville's death.
Vol, I. E Thee
ThceGREENviLLE, thecwith calmest courage fraught,
Thee by the virtues arm'd, the graces taught,
Presumptuous war, which couid thy life destroy,
While friends that merit every earthly joy,
Bid me no more a servile realm compare,
Britannia sees no foreign breast so fair,
ELEGY ELEGY XV.
In memory of a * private family in Worcestershire.
FROM a lone tow'r with rev'rend ivy crown'd,
So droop'd, I ween, each Briton's breast of old,
For sighing as the mournful accent rolPd,
'Twas good Palemon—near a shaded pool,
The flocking rooks, by instinct's native rule,
A few small spires, to Gothic fancy fair,
'Twas'here his youth respir'd its earliest air
* The penns. of Harborouch; a psace whose name in tha Saxon sanguage, assudes to an arm. And there is a tradition that there was a battle fought, on the Downs adjoining, betwixt the Britons and the Romans.