Thou gav'st the sheep that browze Iberian plains: Their plaintive cries the faithlefs region fill,

Their fleece adorns an haughty foe's domains.

Ill-fated flocks from cliff to cliff they ftray;

Far from their dams their native guardians far! Where the soft shepherd, all the livelong day, Chaunts his proud mistress to his hoarse guittar,

But ALBION's youth her native fleece defpife;
Unmov'd they hear the pining fhepherd's moan;
In filky folds each nervous limb disguise,
Allur'd by ev'ry treasure, but their own.

Oft have I hurry'd down the rocky steep,
Anxious, to fee the wintry tempest drive;
Preferve, faid I, preserve your fleece, my sheep!
Ere long will PHILLIS, will my love arrive.

Ere long fhe came: ah! woe is me, fhe came!
Rob'd in the Gallic loom's extraneous twine:
For gifts like these they give their spotless fame,
Refign their bloom, their innocence refign.

Will no bright maid, by worth, by titles known,
Give the rich growth of British hills to fame?
And let her charms, and her example, own
That virtue's drefs, and beauty's are the fame ?

Will no fam'd chief fupport this gen'rous maid :
Once more the patriot's arduous path resume ?
And, comely from his native plains array'd,
Speak future glory to the British loom?

What pow'r unfeen my ravish'd fancy fires?
I pierce the dreary fhade of future days;
Sure 'tis the genius of the land infpires,

To breathe my latest breath in

O might my breath for **

praife.

praise fuffice,

How gently fhou'd my dying limbs repose!

O might his future glory blefs mine eyes,

My ravish'd eyes! how calmly wou'd they clofe!

was born to spread the genʼral joy ;
By virtue rapt, by party uncontroul'd;
BRITONS for BRITAIN fhall the crook employ ;
BRITONS for BRITAIN'S glory fhear the fold."

ELEGY

A

ELE GY XIX.

Written in Spring 1743.

GAIN the lab'ring hind inverts the foil;

Again the merchant ploughs the tumid wave;

Another spring renews the foldier's toil,

And finds me vacant in the rural cave.

As the foft lyre difplay'd my wonted loves,
The penfive pleasure and the tender pain,
The fordid ALPHEUS hurry'd thro' my groves;
Yet stop'd to vent the dictates of disdain.

He glanc'd contemptuous o'er my ruin'd fold;
He blam'd the graces of my fav'rite bow'r;
My breast, unfully'd by the luft of gold;
My time, unlavish'd in pursuit of pow'r.

Yes, ALPHEUS! fly the purer paths of fate;
Abjure thefe fcenes from venal paffions free;
Know, in this grove, I vow'd perpetual hate,
War, endless war, with lucre and with thee.

Here nobly zealous, in my youthful hours,

I dreft an altar to THALIA's name:

Here as I crown'd the verdant fhrine with flow'rs,
Soft on my labours ftole the fmiling dame.

DAMON, fhe cry'd, if pleas'd with honest praise,
Thou court fuccefs by virtue or by song,
Fly the falfe dictates of the venal race;
Fly the grofs accents of the venal tongue.

Swear that no lucre fhall thy zeal betray;

Swerve not thy foot with fortune's voťries more; Brand thou their lives, and brand their lifeless dayThe winning phantom urg'd me, and I swore.

Forth from the ruftic altar fwift I ftray'd,
"Aid my firm purpose, ye celeftial pow'rs!
Aid me to quell the fordid breast, I said;
And threw my jav'lin tow'rds their hoftile tow'rs.

Think not regretful I furvey the deed;
́Or added years no more the zeal allow;
Still, ftill obfervant to the grove I speed,
The fhrine embellish, and repeat the vow.

Sworn from his cradle ROME's relentless foe,
Such gen'rous hate the + Punic champion bore;
Thy lake, O THRASIMENE ! beheld it glow,

And CANNE's walls, and TREBIA's crimfon fhore.

*The Roman ceremony in declaring war.

+ HANNIBAL.

But

Fair fhine his arms in hiftory enroll'd; Whilft humbler lyres his civil worth proclaim, His nobler hate of avarice and gold.

Now Punic pride its final eve furvey'd;
Its hofts exhaufted, and its fleets on fire;
Patient the victors lurid frown obey'd,

And faw th' unwilling elephants retire.

But when their gold deprefs'd the yielding fcale,
Their gold, in pyramidic plenty pil'd,

He faw th' unutterable grief prevail;

He saw their tears, and, in his fury, fmil'd.

Think not, he cry'd, ye view the fmiles of ease,
Or this firm breaft difclaims a patriot's pain;
I fmile, but from a foul eftrang'd to peace,
Frantic with grief, delirious with difdain!

But were it cordial, this detefted finile,
Seems it lefs timely than the grief ye fhew?
O fons of CARTHAGE! grant me to revile
The fordid fource of your indecent woe!

Why weep ye now! ye faw with tearless eye
When your fleet perish'd on the Punic wave:
Where lurk'd the coward tear, the lazy figh,
When TYRE's imperial ftate commenc'd a slave?