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Five sleepless nights he stemm'd this tide of woes! Five irksome suns he saw, through tears, forlorn ; On his pale corse the sixth sad morning rose ; From yonder dome the mournful bier was borne.
"Twas on those downs*, by Roman hosts annoy'd, Fought our bold fathers, rustic, unrefin'd! Freedom's plain sons, in martial cares employ'd! They ting'd their bodies, but unmask'd their mind.
"Twas there, in happier times, this virtuous race,
No wild ambition fir'd their tranquil breast,
To swell with empty sounds a spotless name: If fostering skies, the sun, the shower, were bless'd, Their bounty spread; their fields' extent the
Those fields, profuse of raiment, food, and fire,
None to a virgin's mind prefer'd her dower,
They spoke of Fortune as some doubtful dame,
Here youth's free spirit innocently gay,
Enjoy'd the most that Innocence can give; Those wholesome sweets that border Virtue's way; Those cooling fruits, that we may taste and live.
Their board no strange ambiguous viand bore ; From their own streams their choicer fare they To lure the scaly glutton to the shore, [drew;
The sole deceit their artless bosom knew!
Sincere themselves, ah! too secure to find
Sketch'd on the lattice of the adjacent fane,
And let frail mortals claim your guardian care.
For sure to blissful realms the souls are flown That never flatter'd, injur'd, censur'd, strove ; The friends of Science! music all their own; Music, the voice of Virtue and of Love!
The journeying peasant, through the secret shade Heard their soft lyres engage his listening ear, And haply deem'd some courteous angel play'd; No angel play'd—but might with transport hear.
For these the sounds that chase unholy Strife!
Farewell, pure spirits! vain the praise we give, The praise you sought from lips angelic flows; Farewell! the virtues which deserve to live Deserve an ampler bliss than life bestows.
Last of his race, Palemon, now no more
ELEGY, DESCRIBING THE SORROW OF AN INGENUOUS MIND ON THE MELANCHOLY EVENT OF A LICENTIOUS AMOUR.
Why mourns my friend? why weeps his downcast eye?
That eye where mirth, where fancy, us'd to shine; Thy cheerful meads reprove that swelling sigh; Spring ne'er enamell'd fairer meads than thine.
Art thou not lodg'd in Fortune's warm embrace? Wert thou not form'd by Nature's partial care? Bless'd in thy song, and bless'd in every grace
That wins the friend, or that enchants the fair!
Damon,' said he, 'thy partial praise restrain; Not Damon's friendship can my peace restore : Alas! his very praise awakes my pain,
And my poor wounded bosom bleeds the more. For, oh! that Nature on my birth had frown'd, Or Fortune fix'd me to some lowly cell! Then had my bosom 'scap'd this fatal wound, Nor had I bid these vernal sweets farewell.
• But led by Fortune's hand, her darling child,
Of folly studious, ev'n of vices vain,
Ah, vices gilded by the rich and gay!
Sustain'd by virtue, but betray'd by love.
'Then while the fancied rage alarm'd her care,
To thee, my Damon, dare I paint the rest?
'Nine envious moons matur'd her growing shame,
"Henry," she said, " by thy dear form subdued, See the sad relics of a nymph undone! I find, I find this rising sob renew'd ;
I sigh in shades, and sicken at the sun.
"Amid the dreary gloom of night I cry,
When will the morn's once pleasing scenes return? Yet what can morn's returning ray supply,
But foes that triumph, or but friends that mourn?
"Alas! no more that joyous morn appears
"If through the garden's flowery tribes I stray,
"Ye flowers! that well reproach a nymph so frail!
"Now the grave old alarm the gentler young,