To a handsome young LADY, much given to
HY does my Fair fo penfive look,
And pore upon that godly Book,
Or when her wishing Lover fighs,
Repay his Warmth with up-caft Eyes?
Those holy Looks ne'er yet became
So bright, fo beautiful a Dame;
They better fuit a furrow'd Brow,
Where haggar'd AGE has drove her Plow:
Referve your godly Sighs and Pray'rs,
Till Rheum fhall counterfeit your Tears;
Trust me, that Eye and heaving Breast
Will make us think you're but in Jest.
Elegiack ODE.
HE rifing Moon in Silver glow'd,
And Softnefs fmil'd on ev'ry Cloud,
When, round the Church, young Thyrfis
And thus his Lamentation made.
I'll wander round each fecret Glade,
And mourn in ev'ry darksome Shade,
Till all the Grottos and the Grove,
Shall found aloud difaft'rous Love.
The charming Beauty I admir'd,
Whofe brilliant Eyes my Love infpir'd,
Lies filent now, all Cold and Pale,
And Horror fills the flow'ry Vale.
The flow'ry Green where Cupids play'd,
And all the fofter Graces ftray'd,
Where beauteous Nymphs in Confort mov'd,
With neighb'ring Swains they dearly lov'd.
That Green has loft its gay Attire,
No blooming Nymph, no tuneful Choir,
But rifing Mifts the Vale o'er-fpread,
And Lillies bend their drooping Head.
The Bow'r of Beauty now is ftill,
The Birds amaz'd forget to trill,
But move the Veil from Lucia's Eyes,
And their fweet Notes fhall pierce the Skies.
But ah, alas! the envious Gloom
Still hovers round her filent Tomb;
She's laid to Reft, the Curtain's drawn,
And lafting Night expects no Dawn.
Farewel thou Darling of my Heart,
Fate has decreed that we should part,
For thy dear fake I'll weep and mourn,
Or watch in Silence near, thy Urn.
When Mortals bathe their Limbs in Sleep,
Upon thy Grave I'll Vigils keep,
Then figh to think, could't thou but rife,
What Joy would fparkle in my Eyes.
What Transports then would warm my Breaft,
Tho' now fo dismal and diftreft, ann?,
One Glance of thine would cure my Woe,
And make large Tides of Raptures flow.
But thou'rt detain'd in Icy Chains,
Death's cruel Hand has chill'd thy Veins
I never more must hear thy Voice,
At that dear Sound no more rejoyce.
Ev'n now, when Cynthia's chequer'd Beams,
With filver Paint adorn the Streams,
With paler Beauties fhade the Woods,
And dance upon the Chryftal Floods ok.
No chearful Ray can reach thy Face,
Or Beauty gild the darkfome Place,pof
Where Lucia lies in Shades below,
Nor once regards her Lover's Wochit robba
But could my Lucia view my Tears,
Did my loud Sighs once reach her Ears,
The tender Maid in hafte would rife,
With her foft Hand to wipe my Eyes.
I'll deck thy Tomb with ev'ry Flow`r,`
And turn it to a pleasant Bow'r,
The spotless Rose shall crown the reft,
And fhine as once on Lucia's Breast.
Attend fome Angel, as fhe lies,
With filken Charms to fhade her Eyes,
Soft be her Slumbers, fweet her Dreams,
Of lulling Joys, and blissful Themes.
When in the purling Stream I look,
With Tears Ifwell the bubbling Brook;
Sigh to the Mufick of the Wood,
And murmur to the rolling Flood,
And now, deluding World farewel,
I'll hide me in fome lonely Cell,
Still, and retir'd as Lucia's Grave,
And folemn as the Hermit's Cave.
Or rather, Sexton, take thy Spade,
And let my Grave be quickly made,
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