You she preferr❜d to all the gay resorts And flower-embroider'd vales From an admiring world she chose to fly : And banish'd every passion from her breast, Sweet babes, who, like the little playful fawns, Were wont to trip along these verdant lawns By your delighted mother's side, Who now your infant steps shall guide? Ah! where is now the hand whose tender care To every virtue would have form'd your youth, And strew'd with flowers the thorny ways of truth? O loss beyond repair! O wretched father! left alone, To weep their dire misfortune, and thy own! Now she, alas! is gone, From folly and from vice their helpless age to save? Where were ye, Muses, when relentless Fate From these fond arms, that vainly strove To guard her bosom from the mortal blow? maids, Could not, alas! your power prolong her date, For whom so oft in these inspiring shades, Or under Camden's moss-clad mountains hoar, You open'd all your sacred store, Whate'er your ancient sages taught, Your ancient bards sublimely thought, And bade her raptur'd breast with all your spirit glow? Nor then did Pindus or Castalia's plain, Beset with osiers dank, Nor where Clitumnus + rolls his gentle stream, Steep Anio pours his floods, * The Mincio runs by Mantua, the birth-place of Virgil. + The Clitumnus is a river of Umbria, the residence of Propertius. The Anio runs through Tibur or Tivoli, where Horace had a villa. Nor yet where Meles* or Ilissus † stra Ill does it now beseem, That, of your guardian care bereft, To dire disease and death your darling should be left. Now what avails it that in early bloom, When light fantastic toys Are all her sex's s joys, [Rome; With you she search'd the wit of Greece and And all that in her latter days To emulate her ancient praise Bright sparkling could inspire, Most favour'd with your smile, The powers of Reason and of Fancy join'd Of all these treasures that enrich'd her mind, At least, ye Nine, her spotless name 'T is yours from death to save, And in the temple of immortal Fame With golden characters her worth engrave. * The Meles is a river of Ionia, from whence Homer, supposed to be born on its banks, is called Melisigenes. + The Ilissus is a river at Athens. Come then, ye virgin-sisters, come, And strew with choicest flowers her hallow'd tomb: But foremost thou, in sable vestment clad, With accents sweet and sad, Thou, plaintive Muse, whom o'er his Laura's urn Unhappy Petrarch call'd to mourn; O come, and to this fairer Laura pay A more impassion'd tear, a more pathetic lay. Tell how each beauty of her mind and face Through her expressive eyes her soul distinctly spoke! And uncorrupted Innocence ! Tell how to more than manly sense She join'd the softening influence Of more than female tenderness: How, in the thoughtless days of wealth and joy, Her kindly-melting heart, To every want and every woe, The balm of pity would impart, And all relief that bounty could bestow ! Ev'n for the kid or lamb that pour'd its life Beneath the bloody knife, Her gentle tears would fall, Tears from sweet Virtue's source, benevolent to all. Not only good and kind, But strong and elevated was her mind: A spirit that with noble pride On Fortune's smile or frown; All pleasing shone; nor ever past In life's and glory's freshest bloom, [tomb. Death came remorseless on, and sunk her to the So, where the silent streams of Liris glide, |