While fools, too light for paffion, safe remain,
And dull fenfation keeps the ftupid wife.

Sad is my day, and fad my lingering night,
When, wrapt in filent grief, I weep alone,
Delia is loft, and all my paft delight
Is now the fource of unavailing moan.

Where is the wit that heighten'd beauty's charms?
Where is the face that fed my longing eyes?
Where is the shape that might have bleft my arms?
Where are those hopes relentless fate denies?

When spent with endless grief I die at laft,
Delia may come, and see my poor remains,-
Oh, Delia after such an absence past,
Canft thou still love, and not forget my pains?

Wilt thou in tears thy lover's corfe attend,
With eyes averted light the folemn pyre,
Till all around the doleful flames afcend,
Then, flowly finking, by degrees expire?
To foothe the hovering foul, be thine the care,
With plaintive cries to lead the mournful band,
In fable weeds the golden vafe to bear,
And cull my ashes with thy trembling hand!

Panchaia's odours be their coftly feast,
And all the pride of Afia's fragrant year;
Give them the treasures of the farthest cast,
And, what is ftill more precious, give thy tear.

Dying for thee, there is in death a pride,
Let all the world thy hapless lover know,
No filent urn the noble paffion hide,
But deeply graven thus my sufferings show:

Here lies a youth, borne down with love and care,
He could not long his Delia's lofs abide,
Joy left his bofom with the parting fair,
And when he durft no longer hope, he dy'd.

ELEGY K.

On Delia's Birth-day.

Tuis day, which faw my Delia's beauty rife,
Shall more than all our facred days be bleft,
The world enamour'd of her lovely eyes,
Shall grow as good and gentle as her breast.
By all our guarded fighs, and hid defires,
Oh, may our guiltless love be still the fame!
I burn, and glory in the pleafing fires,
If Delia's bofom fhare the mutual flame.
Thou happy genius of her natal hour,
Accept her incenfe, if her thoughts be kind;
But let her court in vain thy angry power,
If all our vows are blotted from her mind.
And thou, O Venus! hear my righteous prayer,
Or bind the shepherdefs, or loose the swain,
Yet rather guard them both with equal care,
And let them die together in thy chain :
What I demand, perhaps her heart defires,
But virgin fears her nicer tongue restrain;
The fecret thought, which blushing love infpires,"
The confcious eye can full as well explain.
VOL. VIII.

ELEGY XI.

Againft Lovers going to War, in which he philofophically prefers Love and Delia to the more ferious Vanities of the World.

THE man who sharpen'd first the warlike fteel,
How fell and deadly was his iron heart,
He gave the wound encountering nations feel,
And death grew stronger by his fatal art :
Yet not from steel debate and battle rose,
'Tis gold o'erturns the even scale of life,
Nature is free to all, and none were foes,
Till partial luxury began the ftrife.
Let spoil and victory adorn the bold,
While I inglorious neither hope nor fear,
Perish the thirst of honour, thirst of gold,
Ere for my abfence Delia lose a tear:
Why should the lover quit his pleasing home,
In fearch of danger on fome foreign ground;
Far from his weeping fair ungrateful roam,
And risk in every ftroke a double wound?
Ah, better far, beneath the spreading fhade,
With cheerful friends to drain the sprightly bowl,
To fing the beauties of my darling maid,
And on the fweet idea feast my foul;

Then full of love to all her charms retire,
And fold her blushing to my eager breast,
Till, quite o'ercome with softness, with defire,
Like me the pants, she faints, and finks to reft.

ELEGY XII,

To Delia.

No fecond love fhall e'er my heart surprise,
This folemn league did first our passion bind :
Thou, only thou, canft please thy lover's eyes,
Thy voice alone can foothe his troubled mind.
Oh, that thy charms were only fair to me,
Difplease all others, and fecure my reft,
No need of envy,-let me happy be,

I little care that others know me bleft.
With thee in gloomy deferts let me dwell,
Where never human footstep mark'd the ground;
Thou, light of life, all darkness canft expel,
And feem a world with folitude around.

I fay too much-my heedlefs words restore,
My tongue undoes me in this loving hour;
Thou know'ft thy ftrength, and thence infulting

more,

Will make me feel the weight of all thy power:
Whate'er I feel, thy flave I will remain,
Nor fly the burden I am form'd to bear,
In chains I'll fit me down at Venus' fane,
She knows my wrongs, and will regard my prayer.

ELEGY XIII.

He imagines himself married to Delia, and that content with each other, they are retired into the Country.

LET others boaft their heaps of fhining gold,
And view their fields, with waving plenty crown'd,

PP

Whom neighbouring foes in conftant terror hold,
And trumpets break their flumbers, never found:
While calmly poor I trifle life away,
Enjoy fweet leifure by my cheerful fire,
No wanton hope my quiet fhall betray,
But, cheaply bleft, I'll fcorn each vain defire.
With timely care I'll fow my little field,
And plant my orchard with its mafter's hand,
Nor blush to fpread the hay, the hook to wield,
Or range my sheaves along the funny land.
If late at dusk, while carelessly I roam,
I meet a ftrolling kid, or bleating lamb,
Under my arm I'll bring the wanderer home,
And not a little chide its thoughtless dam.
What joy to hear the tempeft howl in vain,
And clafp a fearful mistress to my breaft?
Or, luil'd to flumber by the beating rain,
Secure and happy, fiuk at laft to ret?
Or, if the fun in flaming Leo ride,
By fhady rivers indolently firay,
And with my Delia, walking fide by fide,
Hear how they murmur, as they glide away?
What joy to wind along the cool retreat,
To ftop, and gaze on Delia as I go?
To mingle weet difcourfe with kiffes fweet,
And teach my lovely fcholar all I know?
Thus pleas'd at heart, and not with fancy's dream,
In filent happiness I reft unknown;
Content with what I am, not what I feem,
1 live for Delia and myself alone.

Ah, foolish man, who thus of her poffeft,
Could float and wander with ambition's wind,
And if his outward trappings spoke him bles,
Not heed the fickness of his confcious mind!
With her I fcorn the idle breath of praife,
Nor trust to happinefs that's not our own;
The fimile of fortune might infpicion raise,
But here I know that I am lov'd alone.
Stanhope, in wifdom as in wit divine,
May rife, and plead Britannia's glorious caufe,
With steady rein his eager wit confine,
While manly fenfe the deep attention draws.
Let Stanhope fpeak his liftening country's wrongs
My humble voice fhall pleafe one partial maid;
For her alone I pen my tender fong,
Securely fitting in his friendly fhade.

Stanhope fhall come, and grace his rural friend,
Delia fhall wonder at her noble guest,
With blufhing awe the riper fruit commend,
And for her husband's patron cull the best.
Hers be the care of all my little train,
While I with tender indolence am bleft,
The favourite fubje& of her gentle reign,
By love alone distinguish'd from the rest.
For her I'll yoke my oxen to the plough,
In gloomy forefts tend my lonely flock;
For her a goat-herd climb the mountain's brow,
And fleep extended on the naked rock : ..
Ab, what avails to prefs the ftately bed,
And far from her 'nndit taftelefs grandeur weep,

By marble fountains lay the penfive head,
And, while they murmur, strive in vain to sleep?
Delia alone can please, and never tire,
Exceed the paint of thought in true delight;
With her, enjoyment wakens new defire,
And equal rapture glows through every night:
Beauty and worth in her alike contend,
To charm the fancy, and to fix the mind;
In her, my wife, my miftrefs, and my friend,
I tafte the joys of fenfe and reafon join'd.
On her I'll gaze, when others loves are o'er,
And dying prefs her with my clay-cold hand—
Thou weep'it already, as I were no more,
Nor can that gentle breast the thought withstand
Oh, when I die, my latest moments spare,
Nor let thy grief with fharper torments kill,
Wound not thy checks, nor hurt that flowing hair,
Though I am dead, my foul fhall love thee ftill:
Oh, quit the room, oh, quit the deathful bed,
Or thou wilt die, fo tender is thy heart;
Oh, leave me, Delia, ere thou fee me dead,
Thefe weeping friends will do thy mournful part:
Let them, extended on the decent bier,
Convey the corfe in melancholy state,
Through all the village fpread the tender tear,
While pitying maids our wondrous loves relate.

ELEGY XIV.
To Delia.
WHAT fcenes of blife my raptur'd fancy fram'd,
In fome lone fpot with peace and thee retir'd
Though reafon then my (anguine fondnets blam'd,
'I ftill believ'd what flattering love infpir'd:
But now my wrongs have taught my humbled
mind,

To dangerous blifs no longer to pretend,
In books a calm, but fix'd content to find,
Safe joys, that on ourselves alone depend :
With them the gentle moments I beguile,
In learned cafe, and elegant delight;
Compare the beauties of cach different style,
Each various ray of wit's diffusive light:
Now mark the ftrength of Milton's facred lines,
Senfe rais'd by genius, fancy rul'd by art,
Where all the glory of the Godhead shines,
And earliest innocence enchants the heart.
Now, fir'd by Pope and virtue, leave the age
In low purfuit of felf-undoing wrong,
And trace the author through his moral page,
Whofe blameless life still aufwers to his long.
If time and books my lingering pain can heal,
And reafon fix its empire o'er my heart,
My patriot breast a nuble warmth fhall feel, [part.
And glow with love, where weaknels has no
Thy heart, O Lyttleton, shall be my guide,
Its fire fhall warm me, and its worth improve;
Thy heart, above all envy, and all pride,
Firm as man's fenfe, and foft as woman's love.
And you, O Weft, with her your partner dear,
Whom focial mirth and ufeful fente commend,

With learning's feaft my drooping mind fhall cheer,

Glad to efcape from love to such a friend.
But why, fo long my weaker heart deceive?
Ah, ftill I love, in pride and reason's spite,
No books, alas! my painful thoughts relieve,
And while I threat, this elegy I write.

ELEGY XV.

To Mr. George Grenville.

OH, form'd alike to ferve us, and to please;
Polite with honefly, and learn'd with cafe;
With heart to act, with genius to retire;
Open, yet wife; though gentle, full of fire:
With thee I fcorn the low constraint of art,
Nor fear to truft the follies of my heart;
Hear then from what my long despair arofe,
The faithful ftory of a lover's woes.
When, in a fober melancholy hour,
Reduc'd by sickness under reafon's power,
I view'd my ftate, too little weigh'd before,
And love himself could flatter me no more,

My Delia's hopes I would no more deceive, [leave;
But whom my paffion hurt, through friendship
I chose the coldelt words my heart to hide,
And cure her fex's weaknefs through its pride:
The prudence which I taught, I ill purfu'd,
The charm my reafon broke, my heart renew'd:
Again fubmiffive to her feet I came,
And prov'd too well my paffion by my fhame;
While fhe, fecure in coldnefs, or disdain,
Forgot my love, or triumph'd in its pain,
Began with higher views her thoughts to raife,
And fcorn'd the humble poet of her praife:
She let each little lie o'er truth prevail,
And ftrengthen'd by her faith each groundlefs tale,
Believ'd the groffeft arts that malice try'd,
Nor once in thought was on her lover's fide:
Oh, where were then the fcenes of fancied life?
Oh, where the friend, the miftrefs, and the wife?
Her years of promis'd love were quickly paft,
Not two revolving moons could fee them last.-
To Stow's delightful fcenes I now repair,
In Cobham's fimile to lofe the gloom of care!
Nor fear that he my weakness should defpife,
In nature learned, and humanely wife:
There Pitt, in manners foft, in friendship warm,
With mild advice my liftening grief fhall charm,
With fenfe to counsel, and with wit to please,
A Roman's virtue with a courtier's cafe.
Nor you, my friend, whofe heart is still at reft,
Contemn the human weakness of my breast;
Reason may chide the faults she cannot cure,
And pains, which long we fcorn'd, we oft endure;
Though wifer cares employ your studious mind,
Form'd with a foul fo elegantly kind,
Your breast may lofe the calm it long has known,
And learn my woes to pity, by its own.

ELEGY XVI.

To Mifs Dafarvood.

O SAY, thou dear poffeffor of my breast, Where's now my boafted liberty and rest!

Where the gay moments which I once have known!
O, where that heart I fondly thought my own!
From place to place I folitary roam,
Abroad uneafy, not content at home.

I fcorn the beauties common eyes adore;
The more I view them, feel thy worth the more;
Unmov'd I hear them fpeak, or fee them fair,
And only think on thee, who art not there.
In vain would books their formal fuccour lend,
Nor wit nor wisdom can relieve their friend;
Wit can't deceive the pain I now endure,
And wifdom fhows the ill without the cure.
When from thy fight I waste the tedious day,
A thousand schemes I form, and things to say;
But when thy prefence gives the time I feck,
My heart's fo full, I with, but cannot speak,

And could I fpeak with eloquence and cafe,
Till now not ftudious of the art to please,
Could I, at woman who fo oft exclaim,
Expofe (nor blush) thy triumph and my flame,"
Abjure thofe maxims 1 fo lately priz'd,
And court that fex I foolishly defpis'd,
Own thou haft foften'd my obdurate mind,
And thus reveng'd the wrongs of womankind;
Loft were my words, and fruitless all my pain,
In vain to tell thee, all I write in vain ;
My humble fighs fhall only reach thy ears,
And all my eloquence fhall be my tears.

And now (for more I never must pretend) Hear me not as thy lover, but thy friend; Thousands will fain thy little heart enfnare, For without danger none like thee are fair. But wifely choose who beft deferves thy flame, So fhall the choice itfelf become thy fame; Nor yet defpife, though void of winning art, The plain and honeft courtship of the heart: The skilful tongue in love's perfuafive lore, Though lefs it feels, will pleafe and flatter more, And, meanly learned in that guilty trade, Can long abuse a fond, unthinking maid. And fince their lips, fo knowing to deceive, Thy unexperienc'd youth might foon believe; And fince their tears, in falfe fubmiffion dreft, Might thaw the icy coldnefs of thy breast; O! fhut thine eyes to fuch deceitful woe: Caught by the beauty of thy outward show, Like me they do not love, whate'er they feem, Like me-with paffion founded on efteem.

ANSWER TO THE FOREGOING LINES,
BY THE LATE LORD HERVEY.

Too well thefe lines that fatal truth declare,
Which long I've known, yet now I blush to hear.
But fay, what hopes thy fond ill-fated love,
What can it hope, though mutual it fhould prove?
This little form is fair in vain for you,
In vain for me thy honeft heart is true;

For wouldst thou fix dishonour on my name,
And give me up to penitence and shame;
Or gild my ruin with the name of wife,
And make me a poor virtuous wretch for life:
Could' thou fubmit to wear the marriage chain,
(Too fure a cure for all thy prefent pain)
No faffron robe for us the godhead wears,
His torch inverted, and his face in tears,

Though ev'ry fofter with were amply crown'd, Love foon would ceafe to fmile where fortune frown'd;

Then would thy foul my fond consent deplore,
And blame what it folicited before;
Thy own exhaufted would reproach my truth,
And fay I had undone thy blinded youth;
That I had damp'd ambition's nobler flame,
Eclips'd thy talents, and obfcur'd thy fame;
To madrigals and odes that wit confign'd,
That would in fenates or in courts have shin'd,
Gloriously active in thy country's cause,
Afferting freedom, and enacting laws.

Or fay, at best, that negatively kind
You only mourn'd, and filently repin'd;
The jealous demons in my own fond breast
Would all these thoughts inceffantly fuggeft,
And all that fenfe must feel, though pity had
fuppreft.

Yet added grief my apprehenfion fills
(If there can be addition to those ills)
When they all cry, whose harsh reproof
dread,

"'Twas thy own deed, thy folly on thy head!
Age knows not to allow for thoughtless youth,
Nor pities tenderness, nor honours truth;
Holds it romantic to confess a heart,
And fay thofe virgins act a wiser part
Who hofpitals and bedlams would explore
To find the rich, and only dread the poor;
Who, legal prostitutes for int'reft fake,
Clodios and Timons to their bosoms take,
And, if avenging heav'n permit increase,
People the world with folly and disease.
Thofe titles, deeds, and rent-rolls only wed,
Whilst the best bidder mounts the venal bed,
And the grave aunt and formal fire approve
This nuptial fale, this auction of their love.
But if regard to worth or sense be shown,
That poor degen'rate child her friends difown,

Who dares to deviate by a virtuous choice
From her great name's hereditary voice.

These scenes my prudence ushers to my mind,
Of all the storms and quickfands I must find,
If I embark upon this fummer fea,

Where flatt'ry smooths, and pleasure gilds the way.
Had our ill fate ne'er blown thy dang'rous flame
Beyond the limits of a friend's cold name,

I might upon that score thy heart receive,
And with that guiltless name my own deceive;
That commerce now in vain you recommend,
I dread the latent lover in the friend;
Of ignorance I want the poor excuse,
And know, I both must take, or both refuse.

Hear then the fafe, the firm resolve I make,
Ne'er to encourage one I must forfake.
Whilst other maids a fhameless path pursue,
Neither to int'reft nor to honour true,
And proud to fwell the triumph of their eyes,
Exult in love from lovers they despise;
Their maxims all revers'd I mean to prove,
And though I like the lover, quit the love.

PROLOGUE

TO LILLO'S ELMERIC.

No labour'd fcenes to night adorn our stage,
Lillo's plain fenfe would here the heart engage.
He knew no art, no rule; but warmly thought
From paffion's force, and, as he felt, he wrote.
His Barnwell once no critic's teft could bear,
Yet from each eye still draws the natural tear.
With generous candour hear his latest strains,
And let kind pity shelter his remains.
Depreft by want, afflicted by disease,
Dying he wrote, and dying wish'd to please.
Oh, may that with be now humanely paid,
And no harsh critic vex his gentle shade.
'Tis yours his unfupported fame to fave,
And bid one laurel grace his humble grave.