A PREFATORY ESSAY ON ELEGY. In this it is probable they deviated from the original design of elegy; and it should seem, that any. kind of subjects, treated in such a manner as to diffuse a pleasing melancholy, might far better deserve, the name, than the facetious mirth and libertine sestivity of the successful votaries of love.

But not to dwell too long upon an opinion which may seem perhaps introduced to favour the following performance, it may not be improper to examine into the use and end of elegy. The most important end of all poetry is to encourage virtue. Epic and tragedy chiefly recommend the public virtues; elegy is of a species which illustrates and endears the private. There is a truly virtuous pleasure connected with many pensive contemplations, which it is the province and excellency of elegy to enforce. This, by presenting suitable ideas, has discovered sweets in melancholy which we could not find in mirth ; and has led us with success to the dusty urn, when we could draw no pleasure from the sparkling bowl. As pastoral conveys an idea of simplicity and innocence, it is in particular the task and merit of elegy to show the innocence and simplicity of rural life to advantage: and that, in a way distinct from pastoral, as much as the plain but judicious landlord may be imagined to surpass bis tenant both in dignity and understanding. It should also tend to elevate the more tranquil virtues of humility, disinterestedness, simplicity and innocence: but then there is a degree of elegance and refinement, no way inconsistent with these rural virtues; and that raises elegy above that merum rus, that unpolished rusticity, which has given our pastoral writers their highest reputation.

Wealth and splendour will never want their proper weight : the danger is, lest they should too much preponderate. A kind of poetry therefore which throws its chief influence into the other scale, that magnifies the sweets of liberty and independence, that endears the honest delights of love and friendship, that celebrates the glory of a good name after death, that ridicules the futile arrogance of birth, that recommends the innocent amusement of letters, and insensibly prepares the mind for that humanity it inculcates, such a kind of poetry may chance to please; and if it please, should seem to be of service,

As to the style of elegy, it may be well enough determined from what has gone before. It should imitate the voice and language of grief, or if a metaphor of dress be more agreeable; it should be simple and diffuse, and fouing as a mourner's veil. A versification therefore is desirable, which, by indulging a free and unconstrained expression, may adinit of that simplicity which elegy requires.

Heroic metre, with alternate rhync, seems well enough adapted to this species of poetry; and, how. ever exceptionable upon other occasions, its inconveniencies appear to lose their weight in shorter elegies; and its advantages seem to acquire an additional importance. The world has an admirable example of its beauty in a collection of elegics not lung since published; the product of a gentleman 5 of the most exact taste, and whose untimely death merits all the tears that Elegy can shed.

It is not impossible that some may think this metre too lax and prosaic: others, that even a more dissolute variety of numbers may have superior advantages. And, in favour of these last, might be produced the example of Milton in bis Lycidas, together with one or two recent and beautiful imitations of bis versification in that monody. But this kind of argument. I am apt to think, must prove too much; since the writers I have in view seemn capable enough of recoininending any metre they shall chuose; though it must be owned also, that the chvice they make of any, is at the same time the strongest presumption in its favour.

Perhaps it may be no great difficulty to compromise the dispute. There is no one kind of inetre that is distinguished by rhyines, but is liable to some objection or other. Heroic verse, where every second line is terminated by a rhyme, (with which the judgment requires that the sense should in some measure also terminate) is apt to render the expression either scanty or constrained. And ihisis sometimes observable in the writings of a poet lately deceased; though I believe no one ever threw so much sense together with so inach ease into a couplet as Mr. Pope. But, as an air of constraint too often accompanies this metre, it seems by no means proper for a writer of elegy.

The previous rhyme in Milton's Lycidas is very frequently placed at such a distance fiom the following, that it is often dropt by the memory (much better employed in attending to the sentiment) be fore it be brought to join its partner: and this seems to be the greatest objection to that kind of versification. But then the peculiar ease and variety it admits of, are no doubt sufficient to overbalance the objection, and to give it the preference to any other, in an elegy of length.

The chief exception to which stanza of all kinds is liable, is, that it breaks the sense too regularly, when it is continued through a long poem. And this may be perhaps the fault of Mr. Waller's excellent panegyric. But if this fault be less discernible in smaller compositions, as I suppose it is, I fat.

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5 Mr. Hammond.

ter myself, that the advantages I have before mentioned resulting from alternate rhyme (with which stanza is, I think, connected) may, at least in shorter elegies, be allowed to outweigh its imperfections.

I shall say but little of the different kinds of elegy. The melancholy of a lover is different, no doubt, from what we feel on other mixed occasions. The mind in which love and grief at once predominate, is softened to an excess. Love elegy, therefore, is more negligent of order and design, and, being addressed chiefly to the ladies, requires little more than tenderness and perspicuity. Elegies that are formed upon promiscuous incidents, and addressed to the world in general, inculcate some sort of-moral, and admit a different degree of reasoning, thouglit, and ardour.

The author of the following elegies entered on his subjects occasionally, as particular incidents in life suggested, or dispositions of mind recommended them to his choice. If he describes a rural landscape, or unfolds the train of sentiments it inspired, he fairly drew his picture from the spot ; and felt very sensibly the affection he communicates. If he speaks of his humble shed, his flocks and his fleeces, he does not counterfeit the scene, who, having (whether through choice or necessity is not material) retired betimes to country solitudes, and sought his happiness in rural employments, has a right to consider himself as a real shepherd. The flocks, the meadows, and the grottos, are his own, and the embellishment of his farm his sole amusemen As the sentiments therefore were inspired by nature, and that in the carlier part of his life, he hopes they will retain a natural appearance: diffus. ing at least some part of that amusement, which he freely acknowledges he received from the composition of them.

There will appear perhaps a real inconsistency in the moral tenour of the several elegies; and the subsequent ones may sometimes seem a recantation of the preceding. The reader will scarcely impute this to oversight; but will allow, that men's opinions as well as tempers vary; that neither public nor private, active nor speculative life, are unexceptionably happy, and consequently that any change of opinion concerning them may afford an additional beauty to poetry, as it gives us a more striking representation of life.

If the author has hazarded, throughout, the use of English or modern allusions, he hopes it will not be imputed to an entire ignorance, or to the least disestcem, of the ancient learning. He has kept the ancient plan and method in his eye, though he builds his edifice with the materials of his own nation. In other words, through a fondness for his native country, he has made use of the flowers it produced, though, in order to exhibit them to the greater advantage, he has endeavoured to weave his garland by the best modet he could find: with what succe:s, beyond his own amusement, must be left to judges less partial to him than either his acquaintance or his friends.—If any of those should be so candid as to approve the variety of subjects he has chosen, and the tenderness of sentiment he has endeavoured to impress, he begs the metre also may not be too suddenly condemned. The public ear, habituated of late to a quicker measure, may perhaps consider this as heavy and languid; but an objection of that kind may gradually lose its force, if this measure should be allowed to suit the nature of elegy.

If it should happen to be considered as an object with others, that there is too much of a moral cast diffused through the whole ; it is replied, that he endeavoured to animate the poetry so far as not to render this objection too obvious; or to risk excluding the fashionable reader: at the saine time never deviating from a fixed principle, That poetry without morality is but the blossom of a fruit-tree. Poetry is indeed like that species of plants, wbich may bear at once buth fruits and blossoms; and the tree is by no means in perfection without the former, however it may be embellished by the flowers which surfound it.

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Pleasing, when youth is long expir'd, to trace

The forms our pencil or our pen design'd! He arrives at his retirement in the country, and

“ Such was our youthful air, and shape, and face! takes occasion to expatiate in praise of sim

Such the soft image of our youthful mind !” plicity.

Soft, whilst we sleep beneath the rural bowers, TO A FRIEND.

The Loves and Graces steal unseen away; For rural virtues, and for native skies,

And where the turf diffus'd its pomp of flowers, I bade Augusta's venal sons farewell;

We wake to wintry scenes of chill decay ! Now, 'mid the trees, I see my smoke arise, Curse the sad fortune that detains thy fair;

Now hear the fountains bubbling round my cell. Praise the soft hours that gave thee to her arms; O may that genius which secures my rest,

Paint thy proud scorn of every vulgar care, Preserve this villa for a friend that's dear! When Hope exalts thee, or when Doubt alarms. Ne'er may my vintage glad the sordid breast; Where with Oenone thou hast worn the day,

Ne'er tinge the lip that dares be unsincere ! Near fount or stream, in meditation, rove; Far from these paths, ye faithless friends, depart! If in the grove Oenone lov'd to stray, Fly my plain board, abhor my bostile name!

The faithful Muse shall meet thee in the grove. Hence! the faint verse that flows not from the

But mourns in labour'd strains, the price of fame!

O lov'd Simplicity, be thine the prize!
Assidueus Art correct her page in vain!

His be the palmi who, guiltless of disguise,

Contemns the power, the dull resource to feign! Still may the mourner, lavish of his tears, O GRIEF of griefs! that envy's frantic ire • Por lucre's venal mecd invite my scorn!

Should rob the living virtue of its praise; Still may the bard, dissembling doubts and fears, O foolish Muses ! that with zeal inspire

For praise, for flattery sighing, sigh forlorn! To deck the cold insensate shrine with bays ! Soft as the line of love-sick Hammond flows,- When the free spirit quits her humble frame, "T was his fond heart effus'd the melting theme;

To tread the skies with radiant garlands crown'd, Ah! never could Aonia's hill disclose

Say, will she hear the distant voice of Fame? So fair a fountain, or so lov'd a stream.

Or, hearing, fancy sweetness in the sound? Ye loveless bards ! intent with artful pains Perhaps e'en Genius pours a slighted lay, To form a sigh, or to contrive a tear,

Perhaps e'en Friendship sheds a fruitless tear; Forego your Pindus, and on plains

E’en Lyttelton but vainly trims the bay, Survey Carnilla's charms, and grow sincere. And fondly graces Hammond's mournful bier. But thou, my friend ' wbile in thy youthful soul Though weeping virgins haunt his favour'd um,

Love's gentle tyrant scats his aweful throne, Renew their chaplets, and repeat their sighs; Write from thy bosom-Let not art control Though near his tomb Sabæan odours burn,

The ready pen, that makes his edicts known. The loitering fragrance will it reach the skies?


No, should his Delia votive wreaths prepare, He lov'd the Muse; she taught him to complain ;

Delia might place the votive wreaths in vain : He saw his timorous loves on ber depend; Yet the dear hope of Delia's future care

He lov'd the Muse; although she taught in vain ; Once crown'd his pleasures, and dispell’d his pain. He lov'd the Muse, for she was Virtue's friend. Yes—the fair prospect of surviving praise

She guides the foot that treads on Parian floors;

She wins the ear when formal pleas are vain;
Can every sense of present joys excel :
For this, great Hadrian chose laborious days;

She tempts patricians from the fatal doors
Through this, expiring, bade a gay farewell.

Of Vice's brothel, forth to Virtue's fane.

He wish'd for wealth, for much he wish'd to give; Shall then our youths, who fame's bright fabric rạise, He griev'd that Virtue might not wealth obtain;

To life's precarious date confine their care? Piteons of woes, and hopeless to relieve, O teach them you, to spread the sacred base,

The pensive prospect sadden'd all his strain. To plan a work, through latest ages fair!

I saw him faint! I saw him sink to rest ! Is it small transport, as with curious eye

Like one ordain'd to swell the vulgar throng; You trace the story of each Attic sage,

As though the virtues had not warm'd his breast, To think your blooming praise sball time defy ? As though the Muses not inspir'd his tongue.

Shall waft like odours through the pleasing page? 1 saw his bier ignobly cross the plain ; To mark the day, when through the bulky tome,

Saw peasant hands the pious rite supply:

The generous rustics mourn’d the friendly swaini, Around your name the varying style refines?

But power and wealth's unvarying cheek was And readers call their lost attention home,

dry ! Led by that index where true genius shines ?

Such Alcon fell; in meagre want forlorn ! Ah! let not Britons doubt their social aim,

Where were ye then, ye powerful patrons, where? Whose ardent bosom catch this ancient fire! Would ye the purple should your limbs adorn, Çold interest melts before the vivid flame,

Go, wash the conscious blemish with a tear. And patriot ardours, but with life, expise !





Ir proud Pygmalion quit his cumbrous frame,

Funereal pomp the scanty tear supplies; Whilst heralds loud with venal voice proclaim,

Lo! here the brave and the puissant lies. When humbler Alcon leaves his drooping friends,

Pageant nor plume distinguish Alcon's bier ; The faithful Muse with votive song attends,

And blots the mournful numbers with a tear. He little knew the sly penurious art;

That odious art which Fortune's favourites know; Form'd to bestow, he felt the warmest heart,

But envious Fate forbade him to bestow. He little knew to ward the secret wound;

He little knew that mortals could ensnare ;
Virtue he knew; the noblest joy be found,

To sing her glories, and to paint her fair!
Hl was he skill'd to guide his wandering sheep;

And unforesecn disaster thinn'd his fold!
Yet at another's loss the swain would weep;

And, for his friend, his very crook were sold. Ye sons of wealth! protect the Muse's trajn;

From winds protect them, and with foul supply; Ah! helpless they, to ward the threaten'd pain!

The meagre famine, and the wintery sky! He lov'd a nymph :-amidst his slender store,

He dar'd to love; and Cynthia was his theme:
He breath'd bis plaints along the rocky shore,

They only echo'd o'er the winding stream.
His nymph was fair! the sweetest bud that blows

Revives less lovely from the recent shower;
So Philomel, enamour'd, eres the ruse ;

Sweet bird ! enamour'd of the sweetest flower!

THRough the dim veil of evening's dusky shade,

Near some lone fane, or yew's funereal green,
What dreary forms has magic Fear survey'd !

What shrouded spectres Superstition seen!
But you secure shall pour your sad complaint,

Nor dread the ineagre phantom's wan array:
What none but Fear's officious hand can paint,

What none but Superstition's eye survey.
The glimmering twilight and the doubtful dawn

Shall see your step to these sad scenes return :
Constant, as crystal dews impearl the lawn,

Shall Strephon's tear bedew Ophelia's urn!
Sure nought unballow'd shall presume to stray

Where sleep the relignes of that virtuous maid:
Nor aught unlovely bend its devious way,

Where soft Ophelia's dear remains are laid.
Haply thy Muse, as with unceasing sighs

She keeps late vigils on her urn reelin'd,
May see light groups of pleasing visions rise;

And phantoms glide, but of celestial kind.
There Fame, her clarion pendent at her side,

Shall seck forgiveness of Ophelia's shade;
“Why has such worth, without distinction, died,

Why, like the desert's lily, bloom'd to fade ?”
Then young Simplicity, averse to feign,

Shall unmolested breathe her softest sigh;
And Candour with unwonted warmth complain,

And Innocence indulge a wailful cry.
Then Elegance, with coy judicious band,

Shall cull fresh flowrets for Ophelia's tomb;
And Beauty chide the Fates' severe command,

That show'd the frailty of so fair a bicom !

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