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Her's be the care of all my little train,
While I with tender indolence am bless’d, The fav'rite subject of her gentle reign,
By love alone distinguish'd from the rest.
For her I'll yoke my oxen to the plow,
In gloomy forests tend my lonely flock ;
And sleep extended on the naked rock!
Ah! what avails to press the stately bed,
And far from her midst tasteless grandeur weep; By marble fountains lay the pensive head,
And, while they murmur, ftrive in vain to sleep!
Delia alone can please, and never tire,
Exceed the paint of thought in true delight; With her, enjoyment wakens new desire,
And equal rapture glows thro' ev'ry night!
Beauty and worth in her alike contend,
To charm the fancy and to fix the mind :
I taste the joys of sense and reason join'd.
On her I'll gaze when others' loves are o'er,
And dying, press her with my clay-cold hand! Thou weep'st already, as I were no more ;.
Nor can that gentle breast the thought withstand,
Oh, when I die, my latest moments spare,
Nor let thy grief with sharper torments kill! Wound not thy cheeks, nor hurt that flowing hair 5
Tho' I am dead, my soul fall love thee Itill!
Oh, quit the room! oh, quit the deathful bed !
Or thou wilt die--so tender is thy heart! O leave me, Delia, ere thou see me dead;
These weeping friends will do thy mournful part!
Let them, extended on the decent bier,
Convey the corse in melancholy ftate; Thro' all the village spread the tender tear,
While pitying maids our wond'rous loves relate !
HAT: scenes of bliss my raptur'd fancy fram’d,
In some lone spot with Peace and thee retir'd! Tho' Reason then my fanguine fondness blam'd,
I still believ'd what flatt’ring Love inspir'd!
But now my wrongs have taught my humbled mind,
To dangerous bliss no longer to pretend: In books, a calm but fix'd content to find
Safe joys, that on ourselves along depend,
With them, the gentle moments I beguile
In learned ease and elegant delight; Compare the beauties of each different style,
Each various ray of wit's diffusive light:
Now mark the strength of Milton's facred lines,
Sense rais'a by genius, fancy rul'd by art; Where all the glory of the Godhead shines,
And earliest innocence inchants the heart.
Now, fir’d by Pope and virtue, leave the age
In low pursuit of self-undoing wrong; And trace the author thro' his moral
page, Whose blameless life still answers to his forig.
If If time and books my lingering pain can heal,
And reason fix it's empire o'er my heart; My patriot breast a nobler warmth Mall feel,
And glow with love where weakness has no part,
Thy heart, O Lyttelton, shall be my guide;
It's fire shall warm me, and it's worth improve : Thy heart, above all envy, and all pride,
Firm as man's fenfe, and soft as woman's love.
And you, o West! with her your partner dear,
Whom social mirth and useful fenfe commend; With learning's feast my drooping mind shall chear,
Glad to escape from Love to such a friend.
But why so long my weaker heart deceive!
Ah, ftill I love in Pride and Reason's spite! No books, alas ! my painful thoughts relieve ;
And while I threat, this Elegy I write.
OH, form'd alike to serve us and to please;
Polite with honesty, and learn'd with ease;
My Delia's hopes I would no more deceive,
* To Doctor Priestleys The author is concerned to find, that what was intended as the petition of Mercy against Justice, has been construed as the plea of Humanity against Cruelty. She is certain that cruelty could never be apprehended from the gentleman to whom this is addressed; and the poor animal would have suffered more as the victim of domestick economy, than of philosophical curiosity. † Now Mrs. Barbauld.