Bleft too is he, whofe evening ramble ftrays,
Where droop the fons of indi ence and care!
His little gifts their gladden'd eyes amaz,
And win, at fmall ex ence, their fondeft
prayer!

And oh the joy i to fhun the confcious light,
To spare the modifh blush; to give unfeen!
Like howers that fall behind the veil of night,
Yet deeply tinge the fmiling vales with green.
Bat happiest they, who drooping realms relieve
Whole virtue cultur'd in our vales appear!
For whofe fad fate a thousand thepherd's grieve,
And fading fields allow the grief fincere.
To call loft worth from its oppreffive fhade;
To fix its equal fphere, and fee it shine ;
To hear it grateful own the generous aid;
This, this is transport-but muft ne'er be mine.
Faint is my bounded blifs; nor I refuse

To range where daizies open, rivers roll; Whle profe or fong he languid hours amuse, And footh the tond impatience of my foul. A while I'll weave the roofs of Jasmine bowers, And urge with trivial cares the loitering

ers,

Then, unlamented, prefs an early bier!

Of thofe lov'd flowers the lifeless corfe may fhare';

Some hireling hand a fading wreath bestow: The reft will breathe as fweet, will glow as fair,

As when their master fmil'd to fee them glow.

The fequent morn fhall wake the fylvan quire;
The kid again fhall wanton ere 'tis noon;
Nature will fmile, will wear her best attire;
O! let not gentle Delia fmile fo foon!
While the rude hearse conveys me flow away,
And careless cyes my vulgar fate proclaim,
Let thy kind tear my utmost worth o'erpay;
And, foftly fighing, vindicate my fame.-

O Delia chear'd by thy fuperior praise,
I blefs the filent path the fates decree ;
Pleas'd, from the lift of my inglorious days,
To raife the moments crown d with blifs and
thee.

Thy chearful meads reprove that fwelling figh Spring ne'er enam-l'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. Bleft in thy fong, and bleit in every grace

That wins the friend, or that euchants the fair?

Damon, faid he, thy partial praise restrain ;

Not Damon's friendship can my peace reftore; Alas! his very praife awakes my pain,

And my poor wounded bofom bleeds the more. For oh that nature on my birth had frown'd, Or fortune fix'd me to fome lowly celi: Then had my bofom 'fcap'd this fatal wound, Nor had I bid thefe vernal fweets, farewel. But led by fortune's hand, her darling child, My youth her vain licentious blifs admir'd; In fortune's train the fyren flattery smil'd,

And rafhly hallow'd all her queen inspir'd.
Of folly ftudious, ev'n of vices vain,

Ah vices gilded by the rich and gay!
I chas'd the guilelefs daughters of the plain.
Nor dropt the chafe, till Jeffy was my prey.
Poor artless maid! to ftain thy fpotlefs name,

Expence, and art, and toil, united strove;
To lure a breaft that felt the purest flame,

Suftain'd by virtue, but betray'd by love.
School'd in the fcience of love's mazy wiles,
I cloath'd each feature with affected fcorn;
I fpoke of jealous doubts, and fickle fmiles,
And, feigning, left her anxious and forlorn.
Then, while the fancy'd rage alarm'd her care,
Warm to deny, and zealous to disprove;

I bade my words the wonted foftnefs wear,
And feiz'd the minute of returning love.
To thee, my Damon, dare I paint the reft?
Will yet thy love a candid ear incline?
Affur'd that virtue, by misfortune preft,

Feels not the fharpnefs of a pang like mine.
Nine envious moons matur'd her growing fhame;
Ere-while to flaunt it in the face of day;
When, fcorn'd of virtue, ftigmatiz'd by fame,
Low at my feet defponding Jeffy lay.
"Henry, the faid, by thy dear form fubdued,
See the fad reliques of a nymph undone !

I find, I find this rifing fob renew'd:
I figh in fhades, and ficken at the fun.

Amid the dreary gloom of night, I cry,

When will the morn's once pleafing fcenes return?

Yet what can morn's returning ray fupply,
But foes that triumph, or but friends that mourn!
Alas! no more that joyous morn appears

That led the tranquil hours of spotlels fame;
For I have steep'd a father's couch in tears,
And ting'd a mother's glowing check with
fhame.

The vocal birds that raise their matia ftrain,
The sportive lambs, increase my pealive moan;

All feem to chafe me from the chearful plain, And talk of truth and innocence alone.

If through the garden's flowery tribes Iftray, Where bloom the Jafmines that could once

allure,

Hope not to find delight in us, they fay,

For we are spotlefs, Jeffy; we are pure. Ye flowers! that well reproach a nymph fo frail; Say, could ye with my virgin fame compare? The brightest bud that fcents the vernal gale Was not fo fragant, and was not so fair. Now the grave old alarm the gentler young; And all my fame's abhorr'd contagion flee; Trembles each lip, and faulters every tongue, That bids the morn propitious smile on me. Thus for your fake 1 fhun each human cye;

I bid the fweets of blooming youth adieu; To die I languish, but I dread to die.

Left my fad fate fhould nourish pangs for you. Raife me from earth; the pains of want remove. And let me filent feek fome friendly fhore; There only, banish'd from the form I love, My weeping virtue fhall relapfe no more. Be but my friend; I afk no dearer name;

Be fuch the meed of fome more artful fair; Nor could it heal my peace, or chase my shame, That pity gave, what love refus'd to fhare.

Force not my tongue to ask its feanty bread;
Nor hurl thy Jeffy to the vulgar crew:
Not fuch the parent's board at which I fed!
Not fuch the precept from his lips I drew!
Haply, when age has filver'd o'er my hair,
Malice may learn to fcorn fo mean a spoil;
Envy may flight a face no longer fair;

And pity, welcome, to my native foil."
She fpoke-nor was I born of favage race;
Nor could thefe hands a niggard boon affign;
Grateful the clafp'd me in a last embrace,
And vow'd to waste her life in prayers før

mine.

I faw her foot the lofty bark afcend;

I faw her breaft with every paffion heave; I left her-torn from every earthly friend Oh my hard bofom, which could bear to leave!

Brief let me be; the fatal ftorm arose;

The billows rag'd, the pilot's art was vain O'er the tall maft the circling furges close;

My Jeffy-floats upon the watery plain! And fee my youth's impetuous fires decay; Seek not to ftop reflection's bitter tear; But warn the frolic, and inftruct the gay, From Jeffy floating on her watery bier!

RURAL ELEGANCE.

He fees his flock-no more in circles feed 4 Haply beneath your ravage bleed,

WHI

fet, written 1750.

HILE orient skies reftore the day,
And dew-drops catch the lucid ray;

Amid the fprightly fcenes of morn,
Will aught the Muse inspire!
Oh! Peace to yonder clamorous horn
That drowns the facred lyre!

Ye rural thames that o'er the moffy down
Some panting, timorous hare purfue;
Does nature mean your joys alone to crown?
Say, does the fmooth her lawns for you?
For you does echo bid the rocks reply,
And urg'd by rude constraint refound the jovial
cry?

See from the neighbouring hill, forlorn
The wretched fwain your sport survey;

He finds his faithful fences torn,

He finds his labour'd crops a prey;

Nor yet, ye fwains, conclude

That nature smiles for you alone;

Your bounded fouls, and your conceptions crude,
The proud, the selfish boast disown:
Yours be the produce of the foil:
O may it ftill reward your toil!
Nor ever the defenceless train

Of clinging infants afk fupport in vain?

But though the various harvest gild your plains,
Does the mere landscape feast your eye?
Or the warm hope of diftant gains
Far other caufe of glee fupply?"
Is not the red freak's future juice
The fource of your delight profound,
Where Ariconium pours her gems profuse,
Purpling a whole horizon round?
Athirst ye praife the limpid stream, 'tis true
But though, the pebbled shores among,
It mimic no unpleasing song,

The limpid fountain murmurs not for you.

Unpleas

Nor yet ye learn'd, nor yet ye courtly train,
If haply from your haunts ye fray
To waste with us a fummer's day.
Exclude the taste of every swain,
Nor our untutor'd fenfe difdain:
'Tis nature only gives exclufive right
To relifh her fupreme delight;

She, where the pleases kind or coy,
Who furnishes the scene, and forms us to enjoy.
Then hither bring the fair ingenuous mind,
By her aufpicious aid refin'd;

Lo! not an hedge-row hawthorn blows,
Or humble hare-bell paints che plain,
Or valley winds, or fountain flows,

Or purple heath is ting'd in vain :
For fuch the rivers dafh the foaming tides,
The mountain fweells, the dale subsides;
Ev'n thriftiefs furze detains their wandering
fight,

And the rough barren rock grows pregnant with delight.

With what fufpicious fearful care

The fordid wretch fecures his claim,

If haply fome luxurious heir

Should alienate the fields that wear his name!

What fcruples left fome future birth

Should litigate a span of earth!
Bonds, contracts, feoffments, names unmeet
for profe,

The towering Mufe endures not to disclose ;
Alas! her unrevers'd decree,

More comprehenfive and more free,

Her lavish charter, tafte, appropriates all we fee.

Let gondolas their painted flags unfold,
And be the folemn day enroll'd,
When, to confirm his lofty plea,

In nuptual fort, with bridal gold,
The grave Venetian weds the fea :
Each laughing Mufe derides the vow;

Ev'n Adria fcorns the mock embrace,

To fome lone hermit on the mountain's brow,
Allotted, from his natal hour,

With all her myrtle fhores in dower.
His breast to admiration prone
Enjoys the fmile upon her face,

Enjoys triumphant every grace,
And finds her more his own.
Fatigu'd with form's oppreffive laws,
When Somerlet avoids the great;
When, cloy'd with merited applause,

She feeks the rural calm retreat;
Does the not praise each moffy cell,
And feel the truth my numbers tell?

Ah, can fhe covet there to fee The fplendid flaves, the reptile race,

That oil the tongue, and bow the knee, That flight her merit, but adore her-place? Far happier, if aright I deem, When from gay throngs, and gilded fpires, To where the lonely halcyons play,

Her philofophic step retires: While, ftudious of the moral theme, She, to fome fmooth fequefter'd ftream Likens the fwain's inglorious day; Pleas'd from the flowery margin to furvey, How cool. ferene, and clear, the current glides

away.

O blind to truth, to virtue blind,
Who flight the fweetly penfive mind!
On whose fair birth the Graces mild,
And every Mufe prophetic fmil'd,
Not that the poet's boafted fire

Should fame's wide-echoing trumpet fwell,
Or, on the music of his lyre.

Each future age with rapture dwell; The vaunted fweets of praise remove, Yet fhall fuch bofoms claim a part In all that glads the human heart; Yet these the spirits, form'd to judge and prove

All nature's charms immenfe, and heaven's ugbounded love.

And oh the transport, most ally'd to fong,
In fome fair villa's peaceful bound,
To catch foft hints from nature's tongue,,
And bid Arcadia bloom arouud:
Whether we fringe the floping hill,

Or smoothe below the verdant mead
Whether we break the falling rill,

Or through meandering mazes lead;
Or in the horrid bramble's room
Bid careless groups of rofes bloom;
Or let fome fhelter'd lake ferene
Reflect flowers, woods, and fpires, and brighten
all the scene.

O fweet difpofal of the rural hour!

O beauties never known to cloy!
While worth and genius haunt the favour'd

bower,

Why brand thefe pleafures with the name
Of soft unfocial toils, of indolence and shame?
Search but the garden or the wood,
Let yon admir'd carnation own,

Not all was meant for raiment or for food, Not all for needful ufe alone; There while the feeds of future bloffoms dwell, 'is colour'd for the fight, perfum'd to please the fmell.

Why knows the nightingale to fing?

Vhy flows the pine's nectareous juice?
Why Shines with paint the linnet's wing?
For fuftenance alone? For ufe?
For prefervation? Every sphere
Shall bid fair pleasure's rightful claim appear.
And fure there feem, of human kind,

Some born to fhun the folemn ftrife;
Some for amufive tasks defign'd,

To footh the certain ills of life;

Grace its lone vales with many a budding rofe,
New founts of blifs difclofe,

Call forth refreshing fhades, and decorate repofe.

From plains and woodlands; from the view
Of rural nature's blooming face,
Smit by the glare of rank and place,
To courts the fons of fancy flew;
There long had art ordain'd a rival feat;
There had the lavifh'd ali her care
To form a fcene more dazzling fair,
And call'd them from their green retreat
To fhare her proud control;
Had given the robe with grace to flow,
Had taught exotic gems to glow;

And, emulous of nature's power,
Mimick'd the plume, the leaf, the flow-

er;

Chang'd the complexion's native hue,
Moulded each rustic limb anew,

And warp'd the very foul.

A while her magic ftrikes the novel cye,
A while the fairy forms delight;
And now a loof we feem to fly
On purple pinions through a purer sky,
where all his wonderous, all is bright:
Now landed on fome spangled fhore

A while each dazzled maniac roves
By faphite lakes, through emerald groves.
Paternal acres please no more;
Adieu the fimple, the fincere delight-

Th' habitual scene of hill and dale, The rural herds, the vernal gale, The tangle'd vetch's purple bloom, The fragrance of the bean's perfume, Be theirs alone who cultivate the foil,

And drink the cup of thirst, and eat the bread of toil.

Pants for the scenes that charm'd her youthful

eyes,

Where truth maintains her court, and banishes difguife.

Then hither oft, ye fenators, retire,

With nature here high converfe ho'd;
For who like Stamford her delights admire,
Like Stamford fhall with fcorn behold
Th' unequal bribes of pageantry and gold;
Beneath the British oak's majestic fhade,
Shall fee fair truth, immortal maid,
Friendship in artlefs guife array'd,
Honour and moral beauty fhine
With more attractive charmis, with radiance
more divine.

Yes, here alone did highest heaven ordain
The lafting magazine of charms,
Whatever wins, whatever warms,
Whatever fancy feeks to fhare
The great, the various and the fair,
For ever fhould remain !

Her impulfe nothing may reftrain-
'Or whence the joy 'mid columns, towers,
'Midst all the city's artful trim,
To rear fome breathlefs vapid flowers
Or fhrubs fuliginously grim:
From rooms of filken foliage vain,
To trace the dun far diftant grove,
Where, fmit with undiffembled pain,
The wood-lark mourns her abfent love,
Borne to the dufty town from native air,
To mimic rural life, and foothe fome vapour'd

fair.

But how must faithless art prevail,
Should all who tafte our joy fincere,
To virtue, truth, or fcience dear,
Forego a court's alluring pale,

For dimpled brook and leafy grove,
For that rich luxury of thought they love:
Ah no, from these the public sphere requires
Examples for its giddy bands:

From thefe impartial heaven demands
To spread the flame itself infpires;

To fift opinions mingled mafs,

Imprefs a nation's tafte, and bid the sterling pass.

Happy, thrice happy they,

Whofe graceful deeds have exemplary fhone
Round the gay precincts of a throne,

With mild effective beams!
Who bands of fair ideas bring,
By folemn grot, or fhady spring,

To join their pleafing dreams!

Theirs is the rural blifs without alloy,
They only that deserve, e joy

What though nor fabled dryad haunt their

grove.

Nor naiad near their fountain rove,

Yet all embody d to the mental fight, A train of fmiling virtues bright Shall there the wife retreat allow, Shall twine triumphant palms to deck the wanderer's brow.

And

That nothing fhould my foul inspire
But frienfhip warm, and love entire.
Dull to the fenfe of new delight,

On thee the drooping Mufe attends;
As fome fond lover, robb'd of fight,
On thy expreffive power depends;
Nor would exchange thy glowing lines,
To live the lord of all that fhines.
But let me chafe thofe vows away

Which at ambition's fhrine I made; Nor ever let thy skill difplay

Thofe anxious moments ill repaid: Oh from my breaft that feafon rafe, And bring my childhood in its place. Bring me the bells, the rattle bring,

And bring the hobby I beftrode; When, pleas'd in many a fportive ring, Around the room I jovial rode: Ev'n let me bid my lyre adieu,

And bring the whistle that I blew. Then wil! I mufe, and penfive fay,

Why did not thefe enjoyments last; How iweetly wafted I the day,

While innecence allow'd to waste! Ambition's toils alike are vain, But ah! for pleasure yield us pain.

Memory! celeftial maid!

Who glean't the flowerets cropt by time; And, fuffering not a leaf to fade,

Preferv'ft the bloffoms of our prime; Bring, bring thofe moments to my mind When life was new, and Lesbia kind.

And bring that garland to my fight,

With which my favour'd crook the bound;
And bring that wreath of roses bright
Which then my feftive temples crown'd;
And to my raptur'd ear convey
The gentle things she deign'd to say.
And sketch with care the Mufe's bower,
Where Ifis rolls her filver tide;
Nor yet omit one reed or flower

That fhines on Cherwell's verdant fide;
If fo thou may't thofe hours prolong,
When polish'd Lycon join d my fong.
The fong it 'vails not to recite-

But fure, to foothe our youthful dreams,
Those banks and ftreams appear'd more bright
Than other banks, than other streams:
Or, by the foftening pencil fhewn,
Affume thy beauties not their own?
And paint that sweetly vacant scene,
When, all beneath the poplar bough,
My fpirits light, my foul ferene,

I breath'd in verfe one cordial vow:

The PRINCESS ELIZABETH,

A BALLAD alluding to a flory recorded of her, when he was prifoner at Woodstock, 1554.

WILL

ILL you hear how once repining
Great Eliza
captive lay?
Each ambitious thought religning,
Foe to riches, ponip, and fway.
While the nymphs and fwaius delighted
Tript around in all their pride;
Envying joys by others flighted,

Thus the royal maiden cry'd.
"Bred on plains, or born in vallies,
Who would bid thofe fcenes adicu?
Stranger to the arts of malice,

Who would ever courts purfue?
Malice never taught to treasure,

Cenfure never taught to bear: Love is all the shepherd's pleafare; Love is all the damfel's care. How can they of humble station Vainly blame the powers above? Or accuse the difpentation

Which allows them all to love? Love like air is widely given,

Power nor chance can thefe refrain; Trucft, nobleft gifts of heaven! Only pureit on the plain!

Peers