« 前へ次へ »
To DELIA, with some flowers ; complaining bow much
biş benevolence suffers on account of his humble fortune.
Hate'er could fculpture's curious art employ,
Whate'er the lavish hand of wealth can show'r, These would I give and every gift enjoy
That pleas’d my fair-but fate denies the pow'r.
Blest were my lot, to feed the social fires !
To learn the latent wishes of a friend! To give the boon his native taste admires,
And, for my transport, on his smile depend !
Blest too is he, whose ev’ning ramble strays
Where droop the sons of indigence and care ! His little gifts their gladden'd eyes amaze,
And win, at small expence, their fondest pray’r !
And oh the joy ! to shun the conscious light,
To spare the modest blush ; to give unseen! Like show'rs that fall behind the veil of night, Yet deeply tinge the smiling vales with green.
But happiest they, who drooping realms relieve !
Whose virtues in our cultur'd vales appear ! For whose fad fate a thousand shepherds grieve,
And fading fields allow the grief sincere.
To call loft worth from its oppressive fhade ;
To fix its equal sphere, and see it shine; To hear it grateful own the generous aid;
This, this is transport-but must ne'er be mine.
Faint is my bounded bliss ; nor I refuse
To range where daizies open, rivers roll; While prose or song the languid hours amuse,
And soothe the fond impatience of my soul.
Awhile I'll weave the roofs of jasmin bow'rs,
And urge with trivial cares the loit'ring year; Awhile I'll prune my grove, protect my flow’rs,
Then, unlamented, press an early bier !
Of those lov'd flow'rs the lifeless corse may share ;
Some hireling hand a fading wreath bestow; The rest will breathe as sweet, will glow as fair,
As when their master smild to see them glow.
The sequent morn shall wake the silvan quire ;
The kid again shall wanton ere 'tis noon;
While the rude hearse conveys me slow away,
And careless eyes my vulgar fate proclaim, Let thy kind tear my utmost worth o'erpay ; And, softly sighing, vindicate
O Delia! cheard by thy superior praise,
I bless the filent path the fates decree ; Pleas’d, from the list of my inglorious days,
To raze the moments crown'd with bliss, and thee.
Describing the forrow of an ingenuous mind, on the
melancholy event of a licentious amour. W 'Hy mourns my friend! whyweeps his downcasteye?
That eye where mirth, where fancy us’d to shine ? Thy chearful meads reprove that swelling figh;
Spring ne'er 'enamel'd fairer meads-than thine,
Art thou not lodg’d in fortune's warm embrace ?
Wert thou not form’d by nature's partial care ? Bleft in thy song, and blest in ev'ry grace
That wins the friend, or that enchants the fair ?
DAMÔN, said he, thy partial praise restrain ;
Not Damon's friendship can my peace restore ; Alas! his very praise awakes my pain,
And my poor wounded bosom bleeds the more.
For oh! that nature on my birth had frown'd!
Or fortune fix'd me to some lowly cell ! Then had my bosom 'scap'd this fatal wound,
Nor had I bid these vernal sweets, farewel.
But led by fortune's hand, her darling child,
My youth her vain licentious bliss admir'd ;
Of folly studious, ev'n of vices vairl,
Ah vices ! gilded by the rich and gay !
Nor dropt the chace, till Jessy was my prey.
Poor artlefs maid ! to stain thy spotless name,
Expence, and art, and toil, united strove ; To lure a breaft that felt the purest flame,
Sustain’d by virtue, but betray'd by love.
Schoold in the science of love's mazy wiles,
I cloath'd each feature with affected scorn ; I spoke of jealous doubts, and fickle smiles,
And, feigning, left her anxious and forlorn.
Then, while the fancy'd rage alarmd her care,
Warm to deny, and zealous to disprove; I bade my words the wonted softness wear,
And seiz'd the minute of returning love.
To thee, my DAMON, dare I paint the rest?
Will yet thy love a candid ear incline? Affur'd that virtue, by misfortune prest,
Fecls not the sharpness of a pang like mine.
Nine envious moons matur'd her growing Thame;
Ere while to flaunt it in the face of day; When scorn'd of virtue, stigmatiz'd by fame,
Low at my feet desponding Jessy lay.