Ah! what avails the tim'rous lambs to guard,
Tho' nightly cares, with daily labours, join?
If foreign floth obtain the rich reward,

If GALLIA's craft the pond'rous fleece purloin!

Was it for this, by conftant vigils worn,
I met the terrors of an early grave?
For this, I led them from the pointed thorn?
For this I bath'd 'em in the lucid wave?

Ah heedlefs ALBION! too benignly prone
Thy blood to lavish, and thy wealth refign!
Shall ev'ry other virtue grace thy throne,

But quick-ey'd prudence never yet be thine?

From the fair natives of this peerless hill

Thou gav'ft 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 foft fhepherd, 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 trea fure, but their own.

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

Ere long she came: ah! woe is me, she 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 shade of future days;
Sure 'tis the genius of the land infpires,
To breathe my latest breath in

praife.

O might my breath for *** praise fuffice,
How gently fhou'd my dying limbs repose!
O might his future glory bless mine eyes,

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

+

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

Written in fpring 1743.

GAIN the lab'ring hind inverts the foil;

AG

Again the merchant ploughs the tumid wave;

Another fpring 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 difdain.

He glanc'd contemptuous o'er my ruin'd fold;
He blam'd the graces of my fav'rite bow'r ;
My breaft, 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 these scenes from venal paffions free; Know, in this grove, I vow'd perpetual hate,

War, endless war, with lucre and with thee.

Here

"Tis paft-O CARTHAGE! vanquish'd! honour'd fhade!
Go, the mean forrows of thy fons deplore;
Had freedom fhar'd the vow to fortune paid,
She ne'er, like fortune, had forfook thy fhore."

He ceas'd-abash'd the conscious audience hear;
Their pallid cheeks a crimson blush unfold;
Yet o'er that virtuous blufh diftreams a tear,
And falling moiftens their abandon'd gold.*

He

ELEGY XX.

compares his humble fortune with the diftrefs of others; and his fubjection to DELIA, with the miserable fervitude of an African flave.

WHY droops this heart with fancy'd woes forlorn ?

Why finks my foul beneath each wint❜ry sky? What penfive crowds, by ceaseless labours worn, What myriads, wish to be as bleft as I!

What

*By the terms forced upon the CARTHAGINIANS by SCIPIO, they were to deliver up all the elephants, and to pay near two miltions fterling.

What tho' my roofs devoid of pomp arise,
Nor tempt the proud to quit his destin'd way?
Nor coftly art my flow'ry dales disguise,

Where only fimple friendship deigns to ftray?

See the wild fons of LAPLAND's chill domain,
That fcoop their couch beneath the drifted fnows!
How void of hope they ken the frozen plain,
Where the sharp east for ever, ever blows!

Slave tho' I be, to DELIA's eyes a flave,

My DELIA's eyes endear the bands I wear; The figh fhe caufes well becomes the brave, The pang fhe caufes, 'tis ev'n blifs to bear.

See the poor native quit the Lybian shores,
Ah! not in love's delightful fetters bound!
No radiant fmile his dying peace restores,

Nor love, nor fame, nor friendship heals his wound.

Let vacant bards difplay their boasted woes,
Shall I the mockery of grief display?

No, let the muse his piercing pangs disclose,

Who bleeds and weeps his fum of life away!

On the wild beach in mournful guife he ftood,
Ere the fhrill boatswain gave the hated fign;
He dropt a tear unfeen into the flood;

He stole one fecret moment, to repine.
F 2

Yet