Here POPE!-ah never must that tow'ring mind Where is the breast can rage or hate retain, And these glad ftreams and smiling lawns behold? Where is the breast can hear the woodland ftrain, And think fair freedom well exchang'd for gold! Thro' these foft fhades delighted let me ftray, Here far from courts, and void of pompous care, Canft thou, O fun! that spotless throne disclose, i Where her bold arm has left no fanguine ftain? Where, fhew me where, the lineal fcepter glows, Pure, as the fimple crook that rules the plain ? Tremendous pomp! where hate, distrust, and fear, There not the parent's fmile is half fincere ; There with the friendly wifh, the kindly flame, There coward rumours walk their murd'rous round; The glance, that more than rural blame instills; Whispers, that ting'd with friendship doubly wound, Pity that injures, and concern that kills. There anger whets, but love can ne'er engage; There all men fmile, and prudence warns the wife, There all are rivals! fifter, fon, and fire, Let fervile minds one endless watch endure; Yes, may my tongue difdain a vaffal's care; Sooth'd Sooth'd by the murmurs of my pebbled flood, I fcorn the quarry, where no fhrub can grow. No midnight pangs the fhepherd's peace pursue; His tongue, his hand, attempts no fecret wound He fings his DELIA, and if she be true, His love at once, and his ambition's crown'd. ELEGY He takes occafion from the fate of ELEANOR of BRZ TAGNE to fuggeft the imperfect pleasures of a folitary life. Hen beauty mourns, by fate's injurious doom, WHe Hid from the chearful glance of human eye; When nature's pride inglorious waits the tomb, Hard is that heart which checks the rifing figh. Fair ELEONORA! wou'd no gallant mind The cause of love, the cause of justice own? Matchlefs thy charms, and was no life refign'd To see them sparkle from their native throne? Or had fair freedom's hand unveil'd thy charms, O fhame of BRITONS! in one fullen tow'r They fprung, they fhone, they faded, and they fell * ELEANOR OF BRETAGNE, the lawful heirefs of the English crown, upon the death of ARTHUR, in the reign of king JOHN. She was efteemed the beauty of her time; was imprifoned forty years (till the time of her death) in Bristol castle. Thro' Thro' one dim lattice fring'd with ivy round, This, age might bear; then fated fancy palis, Restrain its lift'ning ear, its curious eye. Believe me * the pretence is vain! Ev'n me, by fhady oak or limpid spring, What tho' thy riper mind admire no more- Furs, ermins, rods may well attract thy scorn; And who but envies then the focial hour? Can |