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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;
For her, a goat-herd, climb the mountain's brow,

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 defire,

And equal rapture glows thro' ev'ry night!

Beauty and worth in her alike contend,

To charm the fancy and to fix the mind :
In her, my wife, my mistress, and my friend,

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 ;

Tho' I am dead, my foul shall love thee ftill!

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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 !..

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Let them, extended on the decent bier,

Convey the corse in melancholy state;
Thro' all the village spread the tender tear,

While pitying maids our wond'rous loves relate !

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WH

HAT: scenes of bliss my raptur'd fancy fram'de

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!

1

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 ļ 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 sacred lines,

Sense rais'a by genius, fancy ruld by art;
Where all the glory of the Godhead shines,

And earlief 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 ftill answers to his song:

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bed! 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 shall feel,

And glow with love where weakness has no part,

Thy heart, O Lyttelton, fhall 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 sense, and soft as woman's love.

And you, O West! with her your partner dear,

Whom social mirth and useful fense commend;
With learning's feast my drooping mind shall chear,

Glad to escape from Love to such a friend.

Fancy to

see Te

d!

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.

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OH, form'd alike to serve us and to please;

Polite with honesty, and learn'd with ease;
With heart to act, with genius to retire ;
Open, yet wise; tho' gentle, full of fire:
With thee I scorn the low constraint of art,
Nor fear to trust the follies of my heart !
Hear then from what my long despair arose,
The faithful story of a lover's woes,
When, in a sober melancholy hour,
Reduc'd by Sickness under Reason's pow's,
I view'd my state, too little weigh'd before,
And Love himself could flatter me no more,

My

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My Delia's hopes I would no more deceive,
But whom my passion hurt, thro’ friendship leave:
I chose the coldest words my heart to hide,
And cure her fex's weakness thro' it's pride.
The prudence which I taught, I ill pursu'd;
The charm my reason broke, my heart renew'd.
Again, submissive to her feet I came;
And prov'd, too well, my passion, by my fame;
While she, secure in coldness, or disdain,
Forgot my love, or triumph'd in it's pain;
Began with higher views her thoughts to raise,
And scorn'd the humble poet of her praise !
She let each little lye o'er truth prevail,
And strengthen'd, by her faith, each groundless tale;
Believ'd the groflest arts that malice try'd ;
Nor once, in thought, was on her lover's side.
Oh, where were then my scenes of fancy'd life !
Oh, where the friend, the mistress, and the wife!
Her years of promis'd love were quickly paft;
Not too revolving moons could see them laft!
To Stow's delightful scenes I now repair,
In Cobham's smile to lose the gloom of care !
Nor fear that he my weakness should despise,
In nature learned, and humanely wise.
There Pit, in manners soft, in friendship warm,
With mild advice my liftning grief shall charm;
With sense to counsel, and with wit to please;
A Roman's virtue, with a courtier's ease!
Nor you, my friend, whose heart is still at rest,
Contemn the human weakness of

my

breast :
Reason may chide the faults she cannot cure,
And pains, which long we fcorn'd, we oft endure,
Tho' wiser cares employ your studious mind;
Form’d with a foul so elegantly kind,
Your breast may lose the calm it long has known,
And learn my woes to pity, by it's own.

THE

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* To Doctor Priestley: 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 againit 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 æconomy, than of philosophical curiosity. † Now Mrs. Barbauld.

The

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