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When, spent with endless grief, I die at last,

Delia may come, and see my poor remains Oh, Delia! after such an absence past,

Canft thou still love, and not forget my pains ?

Wilt thou in tears thy lover's corse attend?

With eyes averted light the folemn pyre ; Till all around the doleful flames ascend;

Then, slowly finking, by degrees expire ?

To soothe the hov'ring soul be thine the care,

With plaintive cries to lead the mournful band; In fable weeds the golden vafe to bear,

And cull my ashes with thy trembling hand.

Panchaia's odours be their costly feast,

And all the pride of Asia's fragrant year; Give them the treasures of the farthest east,

And, what is still more precious, give thy tear.

Dying for thee, there is in death a pride:** Let all the world thy hapless lover know; No silent urn the noble paffion hide,

But deeply graven thus my suff'rings show:

• Here lies a youth borne down with love and care,

• He cou'd not long his Delia's loss abide ;
Joy left his bosom with the parting fair,
· And when he durft no longer hope, he dy'd."

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THIS
'HIS day, which saw my Delia's beauty rise,

Shall more than all our facred days be bless'd;
The world, enamour'd of her lovely eyes,

Shall grow as good and gentle as her breast.

By By all our guarded fighs and hid desires,

Oh, may our guiltless love be still the same! ] urn, and glory in the pleasing fires,

If Delia's bosom share the mutual flame.

Thou, happy genius of her natal hour,

Accept her incense, if her thoughts be kind; But let her court in vain thy angry power,

If all our vows are blotted from her mind :

And thou, O Venus, hear my righteous pray'r,

Or bind the shepherdess or loose the fwain! Yet rather guard them both with equal care,

And let them die together in thy chain!

What I demand perhaps her heart desires,

But virgin tears her nicer tongue restrain;
The secret thought, which blushing love inspires,

The conscious eye can full as well explain.

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THE man, who harpen’d first the warlike steel,

How fell and deadly was his iron heart! He

gave the wound encount’ring nations feel, And death grew stronger by his fatal art.

Yet not from steel debate and battle rose,

'Tis gold o'erturns the even scale of life; Nature is free to all, and none were foes,

Till partial Luxury began the strife.

Let spoil and victory adorn the bold,

While I inglorious neither hope nor fear; Perith the thirit of honour, thirit of gold,

Ere for my absence Delia lose a tear!

Why Why shou'd the lover quit his pleasing home,

In search of danger on some foreign ground; Far from his weeping fair ungrateful roam,

And risk in ev'ry stroke a double wound?

Ah! better far, beneath the spreading made,

With chearful friends to drain the sprightly bowl;
To fing the beauties of my darling maid,
And on the sweet idea feast

my foul !

Then, full of love, to all her charms retire,

And fold her blushing to my eager breast ; Till, quite o'ercome with softness, with desire,

Like me she pants, the faints, and sinks to reft.

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N.

O second love shall e'er my heart furprize ;

This folemn league did first our passion bind : Thou, only thou, canft please thy lover's eyes,

Thy voice alone can foothe his troubled mind.

Oh, that thy charms were only fair to me,

Displease all others, and secare my rest; No need of envy-let me happy be,

I little care that others know me bless'd,

With thee in gloomy desarts let me dwell,

Where never human footstep mark'd the ground; Thou, light of life, all darkness canft expel,

And seem a world, with solitude around,

I say too much-my heedless words restore;

My tongue undoes me in this loving hour:
Thon know'st thy strength, and thence insulting more,
Wilt make me feel the weight of all thy pow'r.

Whate'er

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Whate'er I feel, thy slave I will remain,

Nor Ay the burden I am form'd to bear: In chains I'll sit me down at Venus' fane ;

She knows my wrongs, and will regard my pray’r. ,

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E L EGY; XIII.;

LET others boast their heaps of thining gold,

And view their fields with waving plenty crown'd; Whom neighb'ring foes in constant terror hold,, 'ter's

And trumpets break their llumbers--never found.

While, calmly poor, I trifle life away;

Enjoy sweet leisure by my chearfül fire : No wanton hope my quiet shall betray;

But, cheaply bless'd, I'll scorn each vain desirė.

With timely care I'll fow my little field,

And plant my orchard with it's master's hand; Nor blush to spread the hay, the hook to wield,

Or range my sheaves along the funny land.

If late at dusk, while carelessly I roam;

I meet a strolling kid, or bleating lamb; Under my arm I'll bring the wand'rer home,

And not a little chide it's thoughtless dam.

What joy to hear the tempeft howl in vain,

And clasp a fearful mistress to my breaft! Or, lull'd to flumber by the beating rain,

Secure and happy, fink at last to rest !

Or if the sun in flaming Leo ride,

By shady rivers indolently stray;
And with my Delia, walking side by side,

Hear how they murmur as they glide away!

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What joy to wind along the cool retreat,

To stop and gaze on Delia as I go!
To mingle sweet discourse with kiffes sweet,

And teach my lovely scholar all I know!

Thus pleas'd at heart, and not with Fancy's dream,

In filent happiness f reft unknown; Content with what I am, not what I seen,

I live for Delia and myself alone.

Ah, foolish man! who thus of her poffess’d,

Could float and wander with ambition's wind; And, if his outward trappings spoke him bless'd,

Not heed the sickness of his conscious mind.

With her I fcorn the idle breath of praise,

Nor trust to happiness that's not our own : The smile of fortune might suspicion raise,

But here I know that I am lov'd alone.

Stanhope, in wisdom as in wit divine,

May rise and plead Britannia's glorious cause; With steady rein his eager wit confine,

While manly fense the deep attention draws!

Let Stanhope speak his list’ning country's wrong,

My humble voice shall please one partial maid ; For her alone I pen my tender fong,

Securely sitting in his friendly shade.

Stanhope shall come, and grace his rural friend!

Delia shall wonder at her noble guest; With blushing awe the riper fruit commend,

And for her husband's patron cull the best.

Her's

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