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E L EGY

IX.

He describes bis disinterestedness to a friend.

I

NE’ER must tinge my lip with Celtic wines;
The
pomp

of India must I ne'er display ; Nor boast the produce of Peruvian mines,

Nor, with Italian sounds,, deceive the day.

Down yonder brook my crystal bev'rage flows;

My grateful sheep their annual fleeces bring; Fair in my garden buds the damask rose,

And, from my grove, I hear the throstle sing.

My fellow swains ! avert your dazled eyes;

In vain allur’d by glitt'ring spoils they rove; The fates ne'er meant them for the shepherd's prize,

Yet gave them ample recompence, in love.

They gave you vigour from your parent's veins ;

They gave you toils ; but toils your sinews brace; They gave you nymphs, that own their amorous pains,

And shades, the refuge of the gentle race.

To carve your loves, to paint your matual fames,

See! polith'd fair, the beech's friendly rind !
To sing soft carrols to your lovely dames,
See vocal grotts, and echoing vales align'd!

Wou'dft

Wou'dit thou, my STrephon, love's delighted Nave !

Tho' sure the wreaths of chivalry to share, Forego the ribbon thy Matilda gave ?

And giving, bade thee in remembrance wear.

Ill fare my peace, but ev'ry idle toy,

If to my mind my Delia's form it brings, Has truer worth, imparts sincerer joy,

Than all that bears the radiant stamp of kings.

O my soul weeps, my breast with anguish bleeds,

When love deplores the tyrant pow'r of gain! Disdaining riches as the futile weeds,

I rise superior, and the rich disdain.

Oft from the stream, Now-wandering down the glade,

Pensive I hear the nuptial peal rebound; “ Some miser weds, I cry, the captive maid,

" And some fond lover fickens at the found.”

Not Somerville, the muse's friend of old,

Tho’now exalted to yon ambient sky,
So shund a soul distain’d with earth and gold,

So lov'd the pure, the generous breast, as I.

Scorn'd be the wretch that quits his genial bowl,

His loves, his friendships, ev'n his felf, resigns ; Perverts the facred instinct of his soul, And to a ducate's dirty sphere confines. D 2

But

But come, my friend, with taste, with science bleft,

Ere age impair me, and ere gold allure ; Restore thy dear idea to my breaft,

The rich deposit shall the shrine secure.

Let others toil to gain the fordid ore,

The charms of independence let us sing ; Blest with thy friendship, can I wish for more?

I'll spurn the boasted wealth of * Lydia's king.

Crcesus.

ELEGY

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To fortune, suggesting his motive for repining at ber

dispensations.

A

SK not the cause, why this rebellious tongue

Loads with freth curses thy detested sway; Alk not, thus branded in my softest song,

Why stands the Matter'd name, which all obey ?

'Tis not, that in my shed I lurk forlorn,

Nor see my roof on Parian columns rise ; That, on this breast, no mimic star is borne,

Rever'd, ah! more than those that light the skies.

'Tis not, that on the turf supinely laid,

I sing or pipe, but to the flocks that graze ; And, all inglorious, in the lonesome shade,

My finger stiffens, and my voice decays.

Not, that my fancy mourns thy stern command,

When many an embrio dome is lost in air ; While guardian prudence checks my eager hand,

And, ere the turf is broken, cries, “Forbear,

“Forbear, vain youth! be cautious, weigh thy gold;

“ Nor let yon rising column more aspire ; “Ah! better dwell in ruins, than behold Thy fortunes mould'ring, and thy domes entire.

" HONOR19

D 3

“ HONOR 10 built, but dar'd my laws defy ;

“ He planted, scornful of my fage commands ; “ The peach’s vernal bud regal'd his eye ;

“ The fruitage ripen'd for more frugal hands."

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See the fmall stream that pours its murm'ring tide

O'er some rough rock that wou'd its wealth display, Displays it aught but penury and pride ?

Ah! construe wisely what such murmurs say.

How wou'd some flood, with ampler treasures blest,

Disdainful view the fcantling drops distil! How muft * Velino shake his reedy crest!

How ev'ry cygnet mock the boaftive rill!

Fortune, I yield ! and fee, I give the sign;

At noon the poor mechanic wanders home, Collects the square, the level, and the line,

And, with retorted eye, forfakes the dome,

Yes, I can patient view the shadeless plains ;

Can unrepining leave the rising wall ; Check the fond love of art that fir'd my veins,

And my warm hopes, in full pursuit, recall.

• A river in ITALY, that falls an hundred yards perpendicular,

Descend,

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