III. In vain I call th' harmonious Nine, While spleen and care my reft invade, 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: How well the bard obeys, each valley tells; Where Where modeft art in filence lurks conceal'd: 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, 'Till on a day to weighty cares refign'd, All in a garden, on a currant-bufh, With wond'rous art they built their waving feat: 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! 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; 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! So wrapt in grief fome heart-ftruck matron ftands, O grief of griefs! with fhrieking voice she cry'd, "O! O! that I had a maiden-goldfinch died, 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? "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, Thus fang the mournful bird her piteous tale, |