O may no wight e'er pennyless come there, Lest smit with ardent love he pine with hopeless care! See! cherries here, ere cherries yet abound, With thread so white in tempting posies ty'd, Scattering, like blooming maid, their glances round, With pamper'd look draw little eyes aside; And must be bought, though penury betide. The plumb all azure and the nut all brown, And here each season do those cakes abide, Whose honour'd names th' inventive city own, Rendering through Britain's isle Salopia's praises known. Admir'd Salopia! that with venial pride Eyes her bright form in Severn's ambient wave, Fam'd for her loyal cares in perils try'd, Her daughters lovely, and her striplings brave: Ah! midst the rest, may flowers adorn his grave, Whose art did first these dulcet cates display A motive fair to learning's imps he gave, Who cheerless o'er her darkling region stray; Till reason's morn arise, and light them on their way. 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? Blest in thy song, and blest in every grace That wins the friend, or that inchants 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, 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! Poor artless maid! to stain thy spotless name, School'd in the science of love's mazy wiles, 1 Then, while the fancy'd 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 The vocal birds that raise their matin strain, If through the garden's flowery tribes I stray, Ye flowers that well reproach a nymph so frail; Was not so fragrant, and was not so fair. Now the grave old alarm the gentler young; That bids the morn propitious smile on me. Thus for your sake I shun each human eye; Lest my sad fate should nourish pangs for you. Raise me from earth; the pains of want remove, Be but my friend; I ask no dearer name; Be such the meed of some more artful fair; Nor could it heal my peace, or chase my shame, That pity gave, what love refus'd to share. Force not my tongue to ask its scanty bread; Haply, when age has silver'd o'er my hair, And pity welcome to my native soil." |