He defcribes his early love of poetry, and its consequences. A H me! what envious magic thins my fold? What mutter'd spell retards their late increase? Such lefs'ning fleeces must the fwain behold, That e'er with Doric pipe effays to please. I saw my friends in ev'ning circles meet; Ill-fated bard! that feeks his skill to show, Nor cou'd my G mistake the critic's laws, N. B. Written after the death of Mr. PoPE. Couldft Couldst thou reprove me, when I nurs'd the flame I footh'd the biafs of a careless mind. Youth's gentle kindred, health and love were met; Thou know'ft how transport thrills the tender breast, How nature shines in livelier colours drest, So first when PHOEBUS met the Cyprian queen, And swift fpontaneous rofes blufh'd around. Now fadly lorn, from TWITNAM's widow'd bow'r, Where is the dappled pink, the sprightly rose? Enough Enough of tears has wept the virtuous dead; If near fome trophy fpring a stripling bay, And, low on earth, the proftrate* ruin lies. * Alludes to what is reported of the bay-tree, that if it is planted too near the walls of an edifice, its roots will work their way underneath, till they destroy the foundation. VOL. I. D ELEGY I ELE GY IX. He defcribes his difinterestedness to a friend. NE'ER must tinge my lip with Celtic wines; Down yonder brook my crystal bev'rage flows; And, from my grove, I hear the throstle fing. My fellow fwains! avert your dazled eyes; In vain allur'd by glitt'ring spoils they rove; The fates ne'er meant them for the shepherd's prize, Yet gave them ample recompence, in love. They gave you vigour from your parent's veins; They gave you toils; but toils your finews brace; They gave you nymphs, that own their amorous pains, And fhades, the refuge of the gentle race. To carve your loves, to paint your mutual flames, To fing foft carrols to your lovely dames, Wou'dft Wou'dft thou, my STREPHON, love's delighted flave! And giving, bade thee in remembrance wear. Ill fare my peace, but ev'ry idle toy, If to my mind my DELIA's form it brings, Has truer worth, imparts fincerer joy, Than all that bears the radiant ftamp of kings. O my foul weeps, my breast with anguish bleeds, When love deplores the tyrant pow'r of gain! Difdaining riches as the futile weeds, I rise superior, and the rich disdain. Oft from the stream, flow-wandering down the glade, Penfive I hear the nuptial peal rebound; "Some mifer weds, I cry, the captive maid, "And fome fond lover fickens at the found." Not SOMERVILLE, the mufe's friend of old, Scorn'd be the wretch that quits his genial bowl, His loves, his friendships, ev'n his self, resigns; Perverts the facred inftinct of his foul, And to a ducate's dirty fphere confines. |