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EL EGY

XVIII.

He repeats the fong of COLLIN, a difcerning fhepherd; lamenting the ftate of the woollen manufactury.

Ergo omni ftudio, glaciem ventosque nivales,
Quo minus eft illis curæ mortalis egestas,
Avertes: victumque feres.

VIRGIL.

EAR AVON's bank, on ARDEN's flow'ry plain,
A tuneful fhepherd charm'd the lift'ning wave;

And funny COTSOL' fondly lov'd the strain ;
Yet not a garland crowns the shepherd's grave!

Oh loft OPHELIA ! fmoothly flow'd the day,
To feel his music with my flames agree!
To tafte the beauties of his melting lay,

To tafte, and fancy it was dear to thee

When, for his tomb, with each revolving year,
I fteal the mufk-rose from the scented brake,

I ftrew my cowflips, and I pay my tear,

I'll add the myrtle for OPHELIA's fake.

Shiv'ring beneath a leafless thorn he lay,

When death's chill rigour feiz'd his flowing tongue; The more I found his fault'ring notes decay,

The more prophetic truth fublim'd the fong.

Mr. SOMERVILLE,

"Adieu

"Adieu my flocks, he faid! my wonted care, By funny mountain, or by verdant fhore! May fome more happy hand your fold prepare, prepare, T And may you need your COLLIN's crook no more."

And you, ye fhepherds! lead my gentle theep;

To breezy hills, or leafy fhelters lead; But if the fky with fhow'rs inceffant weep, Avoid the putrid moisture of the mead.

Where the wild thyme perfumes the purpled heath, 1 Long-loit'ring there your fleecy tribes extend U But what avail the maxims I bequeathư?... Enghì mỗ The fruitless gift of an officious friend! y

Ah! what avails the tim rous lambs to guard,
Tho' nightly cares, with daily labours, join?
If foreign floth obtain the rich reward,

If GALLIA's craft the pond'rous fleece purloin! T

Was it for this, by conftant vigils worn,
I met the terrors of an early grave?
For this, I led them from the pointed thorn?
For this I bath'd 'em in the lucid wave?

Ah heedlefs ALBION! too benignly prone
Thy blood to lavish, and thy wealth refign!

Shall ev'ry other virtue grace thy throne,

But quick-ey'd prudence never yet be thine ??

C

From the fair natives of this peerless hill'

Thou gav'ft the sheep that browze Iberian plains f Their plaintive cries the faithlefs region fill, Their fleece adorns an haughty foe's domains.

Ill-fated flocks! from cliff to cliff they ftray;

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Far from their dams their native guardians far! Where the foft fhepherd, all the livelong day,

Chaunts his proud mistress to his hoarse guittar.

But ALBION's youth her native fleece despise ;
Unmov'd they hear the pining shepherd's moan;
In filky folds each nervous limb disguise,
Allur'd by ev'ry treasure, but their own.

Oft have I hurry'd down the rocky steep,
Anxious, to fee the wintry tempest drive;
Preferve, faid I, preferve your fleece, my sheep!
Ere long will PHILLIS, will my love arrive.

Ere long fhe came: ah! woe is me, fhe came!-
Rob'd in the Gallic loom's extraneous twine :
For gifts like these they give their spotless fame,
Refign their bloom, their innocence refign.

Will no bright maid, by worth, by titles known,
Give the rich growth of British hills to fame?

And let her charms, and her example, own

That virtue's dress, and beauty's are the fame ?

Will no fam'd chief fupport this gen❜rous maid ?
Once more the patriot's arduous path refume?
And, comely from his native plains array'd, ·
Speak future glory to the British loom?

What pow'r unfeen my ravifh'd fancy fires?
I pierce the dreary fhade of future days;
Sure 'tis the genius of the land inspires,
To breathe my latest breath in *

*

praife.

O might my breath for *** praise fuffice,
How gently shou'd my dying limbs repose!
O might his future glory blefs mine eyes,

My ravish'd eye's! how calmly wou'd they clofe!

*** was born to fpread the gen'fal joy;

By virtue rapt, by party uncontroul'd ;... BRITONS for BRITAIN fhall the crook employ ; A BRITONS for BRITAIN's glory fhear the fold."

11

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... Written in fpring 1743.

GAIN the lab'ring hind inverts the foil;

Again the merchant ploughs the tumid wave; Another spring renews the foldier's toil,

And finds me vacant in the rural cave.

As

As the foft lyre difplay'd my wonted loves,
The penfive pleasure and the tender pain,
The fordid ALPHEUS hurry'd thro' my groves;
Yet flop'd to vent the dictates of disdain.

He glanc'd contemptuous o'er my ruin'd fold;
He blam'd the graces of my fav'rite bow'r
My breast, unfully'd by the luft of gold;
My time, unlavish'd in pursuit of pow'r.

Yes, ALPHEUS! fly the purer paths of fate;..
Abjure these scenes from venal paffions free;
Know, in this grove, I vow'd perpetual hate,
War, endless war, with lucre and with thee.

Here nobly zealous, in my youthful hours,
I dreft an altar to THALIA's name:

Here as I crown'd the verdant shrine with flow'rs,
Soft on my labours stole the smiling dame.

DAMON, fhe cry'd, if pleas'd with honeft praise,
Thou court fuccefs by virtue or by fong,
Fly the false dictates of the venal race;
Fly the grofs accents of the venal tongue.

Swear that no lucre fhall thy zeal betray;

Swerve not thy foot with fortune's vot'ries more; Brand thou their lives, and brand their lifelefs dayThe winning phantom urg'd me, and I swore.

Forth

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