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Olofs beyond repair!
their dire misfortune, and thy own!
And drooping o'er thy Lucy's grave,
gone, From foily, and from vice, their helpless age to save?
Where were ye, Muses, when relentless Fate
From these fond arms that vainly Itrove
With hapless ineffectual Love
Could not your fav’rite pow'r, Aonion maids,
For whom so oft in these inspiring shades,
You open'd all your sacred store,
Your ancient bards fublimely thought,
Nor then did Pindus' or Catalia's plain,
Nor then on * Mincio's bank
• The Mincio runs by Mantua, the birth-place of Virgil.
Nor where * Clitumnus rolls his gentle stream,
Nor wliere through hanging woods
Steep + Anio pours his foods,
Ill does it now bescem,
That, of your guardian care bereft, To dire disease and death your darling should be left.
Now what avails it that is early bloom,
When light fantastic toys
Are all her sex’s joys, With
she search'd the wit of Greece and Rome? And all that in her latter days
To emulate her ancient praise Italia's happy genius could produce ;
Or what the gallic fire
Bright sparkling could inspire ;
Or what in Britain's ille
Most favour'd with your smile
* The Clitumnus is a river of Umbria, the residence of Propertius.
+ The Anio runs through Tibur or Tivoli, where Horace. had a villa.
I The Mcles is a viver of Ionia, from whence Homer, fuppoled to be borne' on its barks, is callce Melligencs. !! The llistus is a river at Athens.
Ah! what is now the use Of all those treasures that enrich'd her mind; To black oblivion's gloom for ever now consign’d?
from death to save,
Come then, ye virgin fifters, come, And Ikrew with choilet flow'rs her hallow'd tomb. Dut furemost thoni, in fable vestments clad,
With accents fiveet and sid,
Unhappy Petrarch callid to mourn.
XI. Tell how cach beauty of her mind and face Was brighten d by fome sweeet peculiar grace!
How cloquent ia cvery look
Tell how her manners by the world refind
With candid Truth's fimplicity,
Of vore than female tenderness:
Her kirdiyinelting heart,
The bala od pity viouid impält,
Ev’n for the kid cr lamb that pour'd its life
Beneath the bloody knife,
Her gentle tears would fall, Tears from fweet Virtue's fource, benevolent to all.
Could look fuperior down
On Fortune's smiles or frown:
But by magnanimous disdain.
With inoffenlive light
In life's and glory's freshest bloom
every branch the balmy fow'rets rise, On every bough the golden fruits are feen; With odours sweet it fills the smiling skies, The wood-nymphs tend it, and th' Idalia: queen; But in the midit of all its blooming pride A sudden blat from Appeninus blows,
Cold with perpetual snows : The teader blighted plant Shrinks up his leaves, and
With never-fading myrtles twin'd,
And fragrant with ambrosial flowers, Where to thy Laura thou again art join'd; Arife, and hither bring the filver lyre,
Tun'd by thy skilful hand, To the foft notes of elegant desire, With which o'er
To me relign the vocal shell ;
may ev’n things inanimate, Rough mountain oaks, and desart rocks, to pity move.
Of Hymen never gave her hand;
In thy domeitic care
Would heal thy wounded heart
every secret grief that fester'd there : Nor did her fond affection on the bed