Sooth'd by the murmurs of my pebbled flood, I fcorn the quarry, where no fhrub can grow. No midnight pangs the fhepherd's peace pursue ; His tongue, his hand, attempts no fecret wound; He fings his DELIA, and if she be true, His love at once, and his ambition's crown'd. He takes occafion from the fate of ELEANOR of BRE TAGNE *, to fuggeft the imperfect pleasures of a folitary life. Hen beauty mourns, by fate's injurious doom, WH Hid from the chearful glance of human eye; When nature's pride inglorious waits the tomb, Hard is that heart which checks the rifing figh. Fair ELEONORA! wou'd no gallant mind The cause of love, the cause of justice own? Matchless thy charms, and was no life refign'd To see them sparkle from their native throne? Or had fair freedom's hand unveil'd thy charms, O fhame of BRITONS! in one fullen tow'r They sprung, they fhone, they faded, and they fell * ELEANOR OF BRETAGNE, the lawful heiress of the English crown, upon the death of ARTHUR, in the reign of king JOHN. She was esteemed the beauty of her time; was imprifoned forty years (till the time of her death) in Bristol castle. Thro Thro' one dim lattice fring'd with ivy round, This, age might bear; then fated fancy palls, Believe me * the pretence is vain! Ev'n me, by fhady oak or limpid spring, Ev'n me, the scenes of polish'd life alluré ; Some genius whispers "Life is on the wing, And hard his lot that languishes obscure. What tho' thy riper mind admire no more→→→ Furs, ermins, rods may well attract thy scarn; And who but envies then the focial hour? Can Can virtue, careless of her pupil's meed, For public haunts, impell'd by BRITAIN'S wéal, Life, fays the fage, affords no blifs fincere; The groves may fmile; the rivers gently glide; But can they please, when LYTTELTON's away ? Pure as the fwain's the breaft of *** glows, Happy the youths who warm with BRITAIN's love, Attendant orbs, where LONSDALE gilds the fphere! While rural faith, and every polish'd art, Each friendly charm, in confpire, From public scenes all penfive must you part; Go, plaintive youth! no more by fount or stream, Then cover'd by thy ripen'd fhades, resume In vain! the list'ning mufe attends in vain! Restraints in hoftile bands her motions wait-Yet will I grieve, and fadden all my ftrain, When injur'd beauty mourns the muse's fate. ELEGY |