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EL EGY X.

To fortune, fuggefting his motive for repining at her

A

difpenfations.

SK not the cause, why this rebellious tongue
Loads with fresh curfes thy detefted fway;

Afk not, thus branded in my softest song,

Why stands the flatter'd name, which all obey?

'Tis not, that in my shed I lurk forlorn,

Nor fee my roof on Parian columns rise; That, on this breast, no mimic ftar is borne, Rever'd, ah! more than those that light the skies.

'Tis not, that on the turf fupinely laid,
I fing or pipe, but to the flocks that
graze;
And, all inglorious, in the lonesome shade,
My finger stiffens, and my voice decays,

Not, that my fancy mourns thy ftern command,
When many an embrio dome is loft in air;
While guardian prudence checks my eager hand,
And, ere the turf is broken, cries, "Forbear,

"Forbear, vain youth! be cautious, weigh thy gold; "Nor let yon rifing column more afpire;

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Ah! better dwell in ruins, than behold

"Thy fortunes mould'ring, and thy domes entire.

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"HONORIO built, but dar'd my laws defy;
"He planted, fcornful of my fage commands;
"The peach's vernal bud regal'd his eye;

"The fruitage ripen'd for more frugal hands."

See the fmall stream that pours its murm'ring tide O'er fome rough rock that wou'd its wealth display, Displays it aught but penury and pride?

Ah! conftrue wifely what fuch murmurs fay.

How wou'd fome flood, with ampler treasures bleft,
Difdainful view the fcantling drops diftil!

How muft* VELINO fhake his reedy creft!
How ev'ry cygnet mock the boaftive rill!

Fortune, I yield! and fee, I give the fign;

At noon the poor mechanic wanders homé Collects the fquare, the level, and the line,

And, with retorted eye, forfakes the dome.

Yes, I can patient view the fhadeless plains;
Can unrepining leave the rifing wall;
Check the fond love of art that fir'd my veins,
And my warm hopes, in full purfuit, recall.

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A river in ITALY, that falls an hundred yards perpendicular,

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Loos'd be the whirlwind's unremitting sway; Contented I, altho' the gazer fmile

To see it scarce furvive a winter's day.

Let fome dull dotard bask in thy gay fhrine,
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 boundlefs wealth fupply'd,
Mine and the fwain's reluctant homage share
But ah! his tawdry fhepherdefs's pride,

Gods! must my DELIA, must 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 fimple 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 fo true?

Ah! what is native worth efteem'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.

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

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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 ceafes, and the vifion flies.

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

Vain now are books, the fage's wifdom vain!
What has the world to bribe our steps aftray?
Ere reafon learns by study'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 fupply;

Since, not the mifer fo carefs'd his gold,

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

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

And

The breathing picture, and the living stone: "Tho' gold, tho' fplendour, 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 fee my trees express their planter's carę,
And gay, on Attic models, raife my dome.

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

I fcorn the palm, before I reach the goal.

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

Then glows the breast, as op'ning roses 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

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