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Where by remorse impell'd, repuls'd by fears,
She flies the sad presage of coming years,
And sorr'wing dwells on pleasures now no more!
Again with patrons, and with friends she roves;
She sees the nymphs; the graces, and the loves,
She visits, Is is! thy forsaken stream,
Oh ill forsaken for Bœotian air!
No reed so verdant, and no flow'rs so fair.
She dreams beneath thy sacred shades where, peace^
Reviews thy social bliss, thy learned ease,
Farewel, with whom to these retreats I stray'd!
By youthful sports, by youthful toils ally'd! Joyous we sojourn'd in thy circling shade,
And wept to find the paths of life divide.
She paints the progress of my rival's vow;
Sees ev'ry muse a partial ear incline; Binds with luxuriant bays his favour'd brow,
Nor yields the refuse of his wreath to mine.
Where circling rocks defend some pathlefs vale,
Superfluous mortal, let me ever rove!
Where shall I find the silent fcenes I love ?
Or where fome duct, by rohing feafons worn,
Convey'd pure streams to Rome's imperial wall, Near the wide breach in silence let me mourn ; Or tune my dirges to the water's fall.
Genius of Carthage! paint thy ruin'd pride';
Tow'rs, arches, fanes in wild confusion strewn % r
Let banish'd * Marius, low'ring by thy fide,
Compare thy fickle fortunes with his own.
Ah no! thou monarch of the storms! forbear;
And scarce, a pleasing twilight soothes my care,
Forbear thy rage—on no perennial base
My pains are fled—my joy resumes its place,
* Inopemque vitam in tugurio ruinarum Carthaginensium toseravit, cum Marius inspiciens Carthaginem, ilia intuens Marium, alter alteri poffent esse sosatio. Liv.
He repeats the song of Collin, a discerning shepherd; lamenting the slate of the woollen manusatJury.
Ergo omni studio glaciem ventosque nivales,
NEAR Avon's bank, on Arden's flow'ry plain,
Oh lost Ophelia! smoothly flow'd the day,
To taste the beauties of his melting lay,
When, for his tomb, with each revolving year,
I strew my cowslips, and I pay my tear,
Shiv'ring beneath a leafless thorn he lay,
When death's chill rigour seiz'd his flowing tongue;
The more I found his fault'ring notes decay,
# Mr. SOMERVILLE.
"Adieu my flocks, he said! my wonted care,
May some more happy hand your fold prepare,
And you, ye shepherds! lead my gentle sheep;
To breezy hills, or leafy shelters lead; But if the sky with show'rs incessant weep,
Avoid the putrid moisture of the mead.
Where the wild thyme perfumes the purpled heath,
Ah! what avails the tim'rous lambs to guard,
If Gallia's craft the pond'rous fleece purloin I
Was it for this, by constant vigils worn,
I met the terrors of an early grave?
For this I bath'd 'em in the lucid wave?
Ah heedless Abbion! too benignly prone
Shall ev'ry other virtue grace thy throne,