III.

In vain I call th' harmonious Nine,
In vain implore Apollo's aid;
Obdurate, they refuse a line,

While spleen and care my reft invade,
Say, fhall we Morpheus next implore,
And try if dreams befriend us more?
IV.

Wifely at least he'll flop my pen,

And with his poppies crown my brow;

Better by far in lonesome den

To fleep unheard of

than to glow

With treach'rous wildfire of the brain,

Th' intoxicated poet's bane...

*000000000000000000

Written at a Ferme Ornee near Birmingham; Auguft 7th, 1749.

"T

By the Same.

IS Nature here bids pleafing foenes arife,

And wifely gives them Cynthio, to revife:
To veil each blemish; brighten every grace;
Yet ftill preferve the lovely Parent's face.

How well the bard obeys, each valley tells;
Thefe lycid ftreams, gay meads, and lonely cells;

Where

Where modeft art in filence lurks conceal'd:
While Nature fhines, fo gracefully reveal'd,
That She triumphant claims the total plan;
And, with fresh pride, adopts the work of man.

XXXXXX

XXXX

The GOLDFINCHES. An Elegy.

By Mr. JAGO,

Ingenuas didicifle fideliter artes

Emollit mares, nec finit effe feros.

O you, whofe groves protect the feather'd quires, Who lend their artlefs notes a willing ear, To you, whom pity moves, and tafte infpires, The Doric strain belongs; O Shenstone, hear.

'Twas gentle spring, when all the tuneful race, By nature taught, in nuptial leagues combine: A goldfinch joy'd to meet the warm embrace,

And hearts and fortunes with her mate to join.

Thro' Nature's spacious walks at large they rang'd,
No fettled haunts, no fix'd abode their aim;
As chance or fancy led, their path they chang'd,
Themselves in ev'ry vary'd scene, the fame.

'Till on a day to weighty cares refign'd,
With mutual choice, alternate, they agreed,
On rambling thoughts no more to turn their mind,
But fettle foberly, and raife a breed."

All in a garden, on a currant-bufh,

With wond'rous art they built their waving feat:
In the next orchat liv'd a friendly thrush,
Nor distant far, a woodlark's soft retreat.

Here bleft with eafe, and in each other bleft,

With early fongs they wak'd the fprightly groves, ?Till time matur'd their blifs, and crown'd their neft With infant pledges of their faithful loves.

And now what tranfport glow'd in either's eye!
What equal fondness dealt th' allotted food!
What joy each other's likeness to defcry,
And future fonnets in the chirping brood!

But ah! what earthly happinefs can laft?

How does the fairest purpose often fail?

A truant-school-boy's wantonnefs could blaft

Their rifing hopes, and leave them both to wail.

The moft ungentle of his tribe was he;
No gen'rous precept ever touch'd his heart:
With concords falfe, and hideous profody

He fcrawl'd his talk, and blunder'd o'er his part.

On

On barb'rous plunder bent, with favage eye 'He mark'd where wrapt in down the younglins lay, Then rushing feiz'd the wretched family,

And bore them in his impious hands away.

But how fhall I relate in numbers, rude

*

The pangs for poor Chryfomitris decreed!
When from a neighb'ring fpray aghaft she view'd
The favage ruffian's inaufpicious deed!

So wrapt in grief fome heart-ftruck matron ftands,
While horrid flames furround her children's room
On heav'n fhe calls, and wrings her trembling hands,
Conftrain'd to fee, but not prevent their doom.

O grief of griefs! with fhrieking voice she cry'd,
"What fight is that I have liv'd to fee?

"O!

O! that I had a maiden-goldfinch died,
"From love's falfe joys, and bitter forrows free?

Was it for this, alas! with weary bill,

"Was it for this, I pois'd th' unwieldy ftraw? "For this I pick'd the mofs from yonder hill?" "Nor fhun'd the pond'rous chat along to draw?

"Was it for this, I cull'd the wool with care? "And strove with all my skill our work to crown? For this, with pain I bent the stubborn hair? "And lin'd our cradle with the thiftle's down?

* Chryfomitris, it feems, is the name for a geldfinch.

"Was

"Was it for this my freedom I refign'd;

"And ceas'd to rove from beauteous plain to plain? "For this I fate at home whole days confin'd,

"And bore the fcorching heat, and pealing rain ?.

"Was it for this, my watchful eyes grow dim?
"The crimfon roses on my cheek turn pale
"Pale is my golden plumage, once fo trim;
"And all my wonted fpirits 'gin to fail.

"O plund'rer vile! O more than weezel fell!

"More treach'rous than the cat with prudifh face! "More fierce than kites with whom the furies dwell! "More pilf'ring than the cuckow's prowling race!

For thee may plumb or goofb'ry never grow,
"No juicy currant cool thy clammy throat:
"But bloody birch-twigs work thee fhameful woe,
"Nor ever goldfinch cheer thee with her note."

Thus fang the mournful bird her piteous tale,
The pite
us tale her mournful mate return'd:
Then fide by fide they fought the diftant vale,
And there in filent fadnefs inly mournid,