O lov'd fimplicity! be thine the prize! Still may the mourner, lavish of his tears Soft as the line of love-fick HAMMOND flows, 'Twas his fond heart effus'd the melting theme; Ah! never could AONIA's hill difclofe So fair a fountain, or fo lov'd a stream. Ye loveless bards! intent with artful pains- Survey CAMILLA's charms, and grow fincere. But thou, my friend! while in thy youthful foul Pleafing when youth is long expir'd, to trace The forms our pencil, or our pen defign'd! "Such was our youthful air and fhape and face! "Such the foft image of our youthful mind! Soft Soft whilft we fleep beneath the rural bow'rs, Curfe the fad fortune that detains thy fair; When hope exalts thee, or when doubt alarms. Where with CENONE thou haft worn the day, If in the grove CENONE lov'd to ftray, The faithful mufe fhall meet thee in the grove, ELEGY On pofthumous reputation. To a friend. GRIEF of griefs! that envy's frantic ire Should rob the living virtue of its praise ! O foolish muses! that with zeal aspire To deck the cold infenfate shrine with bays! When the free spirit quits her humble frame, Perhaps ev'n genius pours a flighted lay; Perhaps ev❜n friendship sheds a fruitless tear ; Tho' weeping virgins haunt his favour'd urn, The loit'ring fragrance will it reach the skies? No, fhou'd his DELIA Votive wreaths prepare, Yet the dear hope of DELIA's future care Once crown'd his pleafures, and difpell'd his pain. Yes Yes-the fair profpect of furviving praise Shall then our youths, who fame's bright fabric raise, Is it fmall tranfport, as with curious eye You trace the story of each Attic fage, To mark the day, when, thro' the bulky tome, Led by that index where true genius fhines? Ah let not BRITONS doubt their focial aim, old intereft melts before the vivid flame, And patriot ardours, but with life, expire! ? VOL. I. C ELEGY On the untimely death of a certain learned acquaintance. F proud PYGMALION quit his cumbrous frame, IF Funereal pomp the scanty tear fupplies ; Whilft heralds loud with venal voice proclaim, Lo! here the brave and the puiffant lies. When humbler ALCON leaves his drooping friends, He little knew the fly penurious art; That odious art which fortune's fav'rites know; Form'd to beftow, he felt the warmest heart, But envious fate forbade him to beftow. He little knew to ward the fecret wound; To fing her glories, and to paint her fair! Ill was he fkill'd to guide his wand'ring fheep; And, for his friend, his very crook were fold. Ye |