ページの画像
PDF
ePub

ELE GY VII.

He defcribes his vifion to an acquaintance. Catera per terras omnes animalia, &c..

O

VIRG.

N. distant heaths,, beneath autumnal skies,
Pensive I saw the circling fhades. defcend;

Weary and faint I heard the ftorm arise,,
While the fun vanish'd like a faithless friend.

No kind companion led my fteps aright;
No friendly planet lent its glim'ring ray;
Ev'n the lone cot refus'd its wonted light,
Where toil in peaceful flumber clos'd the day.

Then the dull bell had giv'n a pleafing found;
The village cur 'twere transport then to hear.
In dreadful filence all was hufh'd around,

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.

[blocks in formation]

" 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;
Felt ev'ry joy that fair ambition brings;
And left the lonely roof of yonder bow'r,
To ftand beneath the canopies of kings.

;

I bade low hinds the tow'ring ardour share
Nor meanly rofe, to bless myself alone:
I fnatch'd the fhepherd from his fleecy care,
And bade his wholesome dictate guard the throne.

Low at my feet the fuppliant peer I saw;
I faw proud empires my decifion wait ;

My will was duty, and my word was law,
My fmile was tranfport, and my frown was fate."

Ah me! faid I, nor pow'r I feek, nor gain;
Nor urg'd by hope of fame these toils endure;
A fimple youth, that feels a lover's pain,

And, from his friend's condolance, hopes a cure.

He, the dear youth, to whofe abodes I roam,
Nor can mine honours, nor my fields extend;
Yet for his fake I leave my distant home,

Which oaks embofom, and which hills defend.
Beneath

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,
I wish to bless, I languish to bestow;
And tho' no friend to fame's obftreperous blast,
Still, to her dulcet murmurs not a foe.

Too proud with fervile tone to deign addrefs;
Too mean to think that honours are my due,
Yet fhou'd fome patron yield my stores to bless,
I fure fhou'd deem my boundless thanks were few.

But tell me, thou! that, like a meteor's fire,
Shot'ft blazing forth; difdaining dull degrees;
Shou'd I to wealth, to fame, to pow'r aspire,
Muft I not pass more rugged paths than these?

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,
Muft not fair truth inglorious wait behind?
Whilft I approach the glitt'ring fcenes of ftate,
My best companion no admittance find?

Nurs'd

Nurs'd in the fhades by freedom's lenient care,
Shall I the rigid fway of fortune own?
Taught by the voice of pious truth, prepare
To fpurn an altar, and adore a throne?

And when proud fortune's ebbing tide recedes,
And when it leaves me no unfhaken friend,
Shall I not weep that e'er I left the meads,
Which oaks embofom, and which hills defend?

Oh! if thefe ills the price of pow'r advance,
Check not my fpeed where focial joys invite!
The troubled vifion caft a mournful glance,
And fighing vanish'd in the fhades of night.

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;
I took my vocal reed, and tun'd my lay;
I heard them fay my vocal reed was sweet;
Ah fool! to credit what I heard them say!

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,
Till pious friendship mark'd the pleasing way.
Welcome fuch error! ever bleft the cause!

Ev'n tho' it led me boundless leagues aftray!

N. B. Written after the death of Mr. POPE.

Couldft

« 前へ次へ »