To DELIA, with fome flowers; complaining how much biş benevolence fuffers on account of his bumble fortune. W 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. Bleft were my lot, to feed the focial fires! To give the boon his native taste admires, Bleft too is he, whose ev'ning ramble strays And oh the joy! to fhun the conscious light, To fpare the modest blush; to give unseen! Like show'rs that fall behind the veil of night, Yet deeply tinge the fmiling vales with green. But But happiest they, who drooping realms relieve! To call loft worth from its oppreffive fhade; Faint is my bounded bliss; nor I refuse To range where daizies open, rivers roll; While profe or fong the languid hours amuse, And foothe the fond impatience of my foul. 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 lifelefs corfe may fhare; The sequent morn fhall wake the filvan quire; While the rude hearfe conveys me flow away, O DELIA! chear'd by thy fuperior praise, ELEGY Defcribing the forrow of an ingenuous mind, on the melancholy event of a licentious amour. WHY mourns my friend! why weeps his downcafteye? Thy chearful meads reprove that fwelling figh; Art thou not lodg'd in fortune's warm embrace? That wins the friend, or that enchants the fair? DAMON, faid he, thy partial praise restrain; Not DAMON's friendship can my peace restore; And my poor wounded bofom bleeds the more. For oh! that nature on my birth had frown'd! But led by fortune's hand, her darling child, Founded on the Story of Fully Godfrey in Richardson's Pamela. Of Of folly ftudious, ev❜n of vices vain, Ah vices! gilded by the rich and gay I chas'd the guilelefs daughters of the plain, Nor dropt the chace, till JESSY was my prey. Poor artlefs maid! to ftain thy fpotless name, School'd in the fcience of love's mazy wiles, I cloath'd each feature with affected scorn; I fpoke of jealous doubts, and fickle smiles, And, feigning, left her anxious and forlorn. Then, while the fancy'd rage alarm'd her care, To thee, my DAMON, dare I paint the reft? Nine envious moons matur'd her growing fhame; Ere while to flaunt it in the face of day; When fcorn'd of virtue, ftigmatiz'd by fame, Low at my feet defponding JESSY lay. " HENRY* |