Can virtue, careless of her pupil's meed, For public haunts, impell'd by BRITAIN's weal, Life, fays the fage, affords no bliss fincere ; The groves may fmile; the rivers gently glide; But can they pleafe. when LYTTELTON's away ? Pure as the fwain's the breast of * * * glows, Ah! were the fhepherd's phrase, like his, refin'd! But, how improv'd the generous dictate flows Thro' the clear medium of a polish'd mind! Happy the youths who warm with BRITAIN's love, Attendant orbs, where LONSDALE gilds the sphere ! While Each friendly charm, in *** confpire, From public scenes all penfive must you part; All joyless to the greeneft fields retire! Go, plaintive youth! no more by fount or stream, Then cover'd by thy ripen'd fhades, resume Where ev'ry art that colours life, is lost.”— In vain! the list'ning muse attends in vain! ELEGY To DELIA, with fome flowers; complaining how much bis benevolence Suffers on account of his humble fortune. W Hate'er could sculpture's curious art employ, Whate'er the lavish hand of wealth can show'r, Thefe would I give-and every gift enjoy That pleas'd my fair-but fate denies thé pow'r. Bleft were my lot, to feed the focial fires! To give the boon his native taste admires, Bleft too is he, whose ev'ning ramble strays And oh the joy! to fhun the conscious light, To spare the modeft blush; to give unseen! Like show'rs that fall behind the veil of night, Yet deeply tinge the fmiling vales with green. But But happieft they, who drooping realms relieve! To call loft worth from its oppreffive fhade; Faint is my bounded blifs; nor I refuse To range where daizies open, rivers roll; While profe or fong the languid hours amuse, And foothe the fond impatience of my foul. Awhile I'll weave the roofs of jafmin bow'rs, And urge with trivial cares the loit'ring year; Awhile I'll prune my grove, protect my flow'rs, Then, unlamented, press an early bier! Of thofe lov'd flow'rs the lifeless corse may share; The fequent morn fhall wake the filvan quire; While the rude hearse conveys me flow away, And careless eyes my vulgar fate proclaim, Let thy kind tear my utmoft worth o'erpay; And, foftly fighing, vindicate my fame. O DELIA! chear'd by thy fuperior praise, ELEGY |