The PARTING.

By the Same.

Written fome Years after Marriage.

THE

I.

HE rifing fun through all the grove
Diffus'd a gladfome ray:

My Lucy fmil'd, and talk'd of love,
And every thing look'd gay.
II.

But oh the fatal hour was come

That forc'd me from my dear:

My Lucy then through grief was dumb,
Or spoke but by a tear.

III.

Now far from her and bliss I roam,

All nature wears a change:

The azure sky seems wrapt in gloom,

And every place looks ftrange.

IV. Those

IV.

Thofe flow'ry fields, this verdant scene,
Yon larks that towering fing,

With fad contraft increase my spleen
And make me loath the fpring.
V.

My books that wont to footh my mind
No longer now can please:

There only thofe amufement find

That have a mind at ease.

Memory! celeftial maid!

Who glean'ft the flow'rets cropt by time;

And, fuffering not a leaf to fade,

Preferv't the bloffoms of our prime ;

Bring, bring those moments to my mind
When life was new, and Lefbia kind.

II.

And bring that garland to my fight,

With which my favour'd crook the bound; And bring that wreath of roses bright

Which then my festive temples crown'd.
And to my raptur'd ear convey

The gentle things fhe deign'd to say.
III.

And sketch with care the Mufe's bow'r,

Where Ifis rolls her filver tide;

Nor yet omit one reed or flow'r,

That fhines on Cherwell's verdant fide; If so thou may'st those hours prolong, When polish'd Lycon join'd my fong.

IV.

The fong it 'vails not to recite

But fure, to footh our youthful dreams,

Those banks and streams appear'd more bright

Than other banks, than other streams:

Or by thy foftening pencil fhewn,

Affume they beauties not their own?

V.

And paint that fweetly vacant icene,
When, all beneath the poplar bough,
My fpirits light, my foul ferene,

I breath'd in verse one cordial vow;
That nothing should my foul infpire,
But friendship warm, and love entire.
VI.

Dull to the fenfe of new delight,

On thee the drooping Muse attends As fome fond lover, robb'd of fight, On thy expreffive pow'r depends; Nor would exchange thy glowing lines, To live the lord of all that shines.

VII.

But let me chase those vows away,

Which at ambition's fhrine I made; Nor ever let thy skill display

Those anxious moments, ill repaid: Oh! from my breast that season rase, And bring my childhood in its place. VIII.

Bring me the bells, the rattle bring,

And bring the hobby I bestrode;

When

When pleas'd, in many a sportive ring,
Around the room I jovial rode :
Ev'n let me bid my lyre adieu,

And bring the whistle that I blew.

IX.

Then will I mufe, and penfive fay,
Why did not these enjoyments laft?
How sweetly wasted I the day,

While innocence allow'd to waste?
Ambition's toils alike are vain,
But ah! for pleasure yield us pain.

The Princess ELIZABETH:

A Ballad, alluding to a Story recorded of her, when she was a Prisoner at Woodstock, 1554.

By the Same.

WILL you hear how once repining

Great Eliza captive lay,

Each ambitious thought refigning,
Foe to riches, pomp, and sway?

VOL. IV.

A a

While