ELE GY XIV. Declining an invitation to vifit foreign countries, be takes occafion to intimate the advantages of his own. WH To lord TEMPLE. ILE others loft to friendship, loft to love, Waste their best minutes on a foreign ftrand, Be mine, with British nymph or swain to rove, And court the genius of my native land. Deluded youth! that quits these verdant plains, In vain he boasts of his detefted prize; Th' exotic foily knows its native clime; I covet I covet not the pride of foreign looms; In fearch of foreign modes I fcorn to rove; Nor, for the worthless bird of brighter plumes, Wou'd change the meaneft warbler of my grove. No diftant clime shall servile airs impart, Or form these limbs with pliant ease to play; 'Tis long fince freedom fled th' Hesperian clime; Her citron groves, her flow'r-embroider'd shore ; She saw the British oak aspire fublime, And foft CAMPANIA'S olive charms no more. Let partial funs mature the western mine, Let CEYLON'S envy'd plant perfume the feas, The cinnamon. Let Let the proud Soldan wound th' Arcadian groves, Tell not of realms by ruthlefs war difmay'd; If AUSTRIA bleed beneath her boasted steel. Beneath her palm IDUME vents her moan; No crefcent here displays its baneful horns Boaft, favour'd MEDIA, boaft thy flow'ry stores; 'Tis the rich beauties of BRITANNIA's mind. While * GREENVILLE's breast cou'dvirtue's stores afford, What envy'd flota bore fo fair a freight? The mine compared in vain its latent hoard, The gem its luftre, and the gold its weight. * Written about the time of captain GREENVILLE's death. VOL. I. E Thee Thee GREENVILLE, thee with calmeft courage fraught, Prefumptuous war, which could thy life destroy, Bid me no more a fervile realm compare, ELEGY In ELEGY XV. * memory of a private family in WORCESTERSHIRE. ROM a lone tow'r with rev'rend ivy crown'd, FRO The pealing bell awak'd a tender figh; Still, as the village caught the waving found, A fwelling tear diftream'd from ev'ry eye. So droop'd, I ween, each BRITON's breast of old, When the dull curfew spoke their freedom fled; For fighing as the mournful accent roll'd, Our hope, they cry'd, our kind fupport, is dead! 'Twas good PALEMON-near a fhaded pool, A few small spires, to Gothic fancy fair, 'Twas here his age breath'd out its laft adieu. *The penns of HARBOROUGH; a place whose name in the SAXON language, alludes to an arm. And there is a tradition that there was a battle fought, on the Downs adjoining, betwixt the BRITONS and the ROMANS. |