Defcend, yè ftorms! deftroy my rifing pile;
Loos'd be the whirlwind's unremitting fway;
Contented I, altho' the gazer fmile

To fee it scarce furvive a winter's day.

Let fome dull dotard bask in thy gay shrine,
As in the fun regales his wanton herd;
Guiltless of envy, why fhou'd I repine,

That his rude voice, his grating reed's prefer'd?

Let him exult, with boundless wealth fupply'd,
Mine and the fwain's reluctant homage share;
But ah! his tawdry fhepherdefs's pride,

Gods! must my DELIA, muft my DELIA bear?

Muft DELIA'S foftnefs, elegance, and ease

Submit to MARIAN's drefs? to MARIAN'S gold? Muft MARIAN'S robe from diftant INDIA please? The simple fleece my DELIA's limbs enfold?

"Yet fure on DELIA feems the ruffet fair;
"Ye glitt❜ring daughters of disguise adieu!"
So talk the wife, who judge of fhape and air,
But will the rural thane decide so true?

Ah! what is native worth esteem'd of clowns? 'Tis thy falfe glare, O fortune! thine they fee: 'Tis for my DELIA's fake I dread thy frowns, And my laft gafp fhall curfes breathe on thee. ELEGY

D 4

He complains how foon the pleafing novelty of life is over. To Mr. J

A

H me, my friend! it will not, will not last! This fairy-fcene, that cheats our youthful eyes! The charm diffolves; th' aerial music's past ; The banquet ceases, and the vifion flies.

Where are the splendid forms, the rich perfumes,
Where the gay tapers, where the fpacious dome?
Vanish'd the coftly pearls, the crimson plumes,
And we, delightless, left to wander home!

Vain now are books, the fage's wisdom vain!
What has the world to bribe our steps aftray?
Ere reafon learns by ftudy'd laws to reign,

The weaken'd paffions, felf-fubdued, obey,

Scarce has the fun fev'n annual courfes roll'd,
Scarce fhewn the whole that fortune can supply;

Since, not the miser so carefs'd his gold,

As I, for what it gave, was heard to figh,

On the world's ftage I wifh'd fome fprightly part;
To deck my native fleece with tawdry lace;
'Twas life, 'twas tafte, and-oh my foolish heart!
Substantial joy was fix'd in pow'r and place.

And

And you, ye works of art! allur'd mine eye, The breathing picture, and the living stone : "Tho' gold, tho' splendour, heav'n and fate deny, "Yet might I call one Titian ftroke my own!"

Smit with the charms of fame, whofe lovely fpoil,
The wreath, the garland, fire the poet's pride,
I trim'd my lamp, confum'd the midnight oil-
But foon the paths of health and fame divide!

Oft too I pray'd, 'twas nature form'd the pray'r,'
To grace my native fcenes, my rural home,
To see my trees express their planter's care,
And gay, on Attic models, raife my dome,

foul:

But now 'tis o'er, the dear delufion's o'er!
A stagnant breezeless air becalms
A fond afpiring candidate no more,

my

I fcorn the palm, before I reach the goal,

O youth! enchanting stage, profufely bleft!
Blifs ev'n obtrufive courts the frolic mind;
Of health neglectful, yet by health carest
Careless of favour, yet fecure to find.

Then glows the breaft, as op'ning rofes fair;
More free, more vivid than the linnet's wing;

Honeft as light, transparent ev'n as air,
Tender as buds, and lavish as the fpring.

Not

Not all the force of manhood's active might,
Not all the craft to fubtle age affign'd,

Not science shall extort that dear delight,
Which gay delufion gave the tender mind.

Adieu foft raptures tranfports void of care!
Parent of raptures, dear deceit, adieu!
And you, her daughters, pining with despair,
Why, why fo foon her fleeting steps pursue !

Tedious again to curse the drizling day!
Again to trace the wint❜ry tracts of fnow!
Or, footh'd by vernal airs, again furvey

The self-fame hawthorns bud, and cowflips blow!

O life! how foon of ev'ry bliss forlorn!

We start falfe joys, and urge the devious race: A tender prey; that chears our youthful morn, Then finks untimely, and defrauds the chace.

ELEGY

ELE GY XII.

His recantation.

O more the mufe obtrudes her thin disguise;

N°

No more with aukward fallacy complains,
How ev'ry fervour from my bofom flies,
And reason in her lonesome palace reigns.

Ere the chill winter of our days arrive,

No more fhe paints the breast from passion free; I feel, I feel one loitering wish survive—

Ah need I, FLORIO, name that wish to thee?

The ftar of VENUS ufhers in the day,

The first, the loveliest of the train that shine! The ftar of VENUS lends her brightest ray, When other stars their friendly beams refign.

Still in my breast one soft defire remains,

Pure as that star, from guilt, from intʼrest free, Has gentle DELIA trip'd across the plains,

And need I, FLORIO, name that wish to thee?

While, cloy'd to find the scenes of life the fame,
I tune with carelefs hand my languid lays;
Some fecret impulfe wakes my former flame,
And fires my ftrain with hope of brighter days.

3

I Лlept