ELE GY VII. He defcribes his vifion to an acquaintance. Catera per terras omnes animalia, &c.. O VIRG. N. distant heaths,, beneath autumnal skies, Weary and faint I heard the ftorm arise,, No kind companion led my fteps aright; Then the dull bell had giv'n a pleafing found; While the rude ftorm alone diftrefs'd mine ear. As led by ORWELL'S winding banks I stray'd, Where tow'ring WOLSEY breath'd his native air; A fudden luftre chas'd the flitting fhade, The founding winds were hufh'd, and all was fair. Inftant a grateful form appear'd confest; White were his locks with aweful fcarlet crown'd, And livelier far than Tyrian feem'd his veft, That with the glowing purple ting'd the ground. " Stranger, he said, amid this pealing rain, Benighted, lonesome, whither wou'dst thou stray? Does wealth or pow'r thy weary step constrain? Reveal thy wish, and let me point the way. For know I trod the trophy'd paths of pow'r; ; I bade low hinds the tow'ring ardour share Low at my feet the fuppliant peer I saw; My will was duty, and my word was law, Ah me! faid I, nor pow'r I feek, nor gain; And, from his friend's condolance, hopes a cure. He, the dear youth, to whofe abodes I roam, Which oaks embofom, and which hills defend. The fpring, to shade me, robes her fairest tree; And if a friend my grass-grown threshold find, O how my lonely cot refounds with glee ! Yet, tho' averfe to gold in heaps amass'd, Too proud with fervile tone to deign addrefs; But tell me, thou! that, like a meteor's fire, Muft I not groan beneath a guilty load, Praise him I fcorn, and him I love betray? Does not felonious envy bar the road? Or falfehood's treach'rous foot befet the way? Say fhou'd I pafs thro' favour's crowded gate, Nurs'd Nurs'd in the fhades by freedom's lenient care, And when proud fortune's ebbing tide recedes, Oh! if thefe ills the price of pow'r advance, ELEGY ELE GY VIII. He defcribes his early love of poetry, and its confequences. To Mr. G. 1745. A H me! what envious magic thins my fold? What mutter'd spell retards their late increase? Such lefs'ning fleeces must the swain behold, That e'er with Doric pipe effays to please. I saw my friends in ev'ning circles meet; Ill-fated bard! that feeks his skill to show, Then courts the judgment of a friendly ear! Not the poor veteran, that permits his foe To guide his doubtful ftep, has more to fear. Nor cou'd my G-mistake the critic's laws, Ev'n tho' it led me boundless leagues aftray! N. B. Written after the death of Mr. POPE. Couldft |