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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 fubject of her gentle reign,
By love alone diftinguish'd from the reft,

For her I'll yoke my oxen to the plow,

In gloomy forefts tend my lonely flock;
For her, a goat-herd, climb the mountain's brow,
And fleep extended on the naked rock!

Ah! what avails to prefs the ftately bed,

And far from her midft taftelefs grandeur weep;
By marble fountains lay the penfive 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 tafte the joys of sense and reason join'd.

On her I'll gaze when others' loves are o'er,
And dying, prefs her with my clay-cold hand!—

Thou weep't 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 fharper torments kill! Wound not thy cheeks, nor hurt that flowing hair; Tho' I am dead, my foul fhall love thee still!

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Oh, quit the room! oh, quit the deathful bed!

Or thou wilt die-fo 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 corfe in melancholy ftate;
Thro' all the village fpread the tender tear,
While pitying maids our wond'rous loves relate!

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HAT fcenes of bliss my raptur'd fancy fram'd,
In fome lone spot with Peace and thee retir'd!
Tho' Reason then my fanguine fondness blam'd,
I ftill believ'd what flatt'ring Love infpir'd!

But now my wrongs have taught my humbled mind,
To dangerous blifs no longer to pretend:
In books, a calm but fix'd content to find-
Safe joys, that on ourselves alone 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,
Senfe rais'd by genius, fancy rul'd by art;
Where all the glory of the Godhead fhines,
And earliest innocence inchants the heart.

Now, fir'd by Pope and virtue, leave the age
In low purfuit of felf-undoing wrong;
And trace the author thro' his moral page,
Whose blameless life ftill anfwers to his fong.

If time and books my lingering pain can heal,

And reafon fix it's empire o'er my heart;
My patriot breaft a nobler warmth shall feel,
And glow with love where weakness has no part,

Thy heart, Lyttelton, fhall be my guide;

It's fire fhall warm me, and it's worth improve: Thy heart, above all envy, and all pride,

Firm as man's fenfe, and foft as woman's love.

And you, O Weft! 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 fuch a friend.

But why fo 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 ferve us and to please ;

Polite with honefty, and learn'd with ease;

With heart to act, with genius to retire ;
Open, yet wife; tho' gentle, full of fire:
With thee I fcorn the low constraint of art,
Nor fear to truft the follies of my heart!
Hear then from what my long defpair arose,
The faithful story of a lover's woes.
When, in a fober melancholy hour,
Reduc'd by Sickness under Reason's pow'r,
I view'd my state, too little weigh'd before,
And Love himself could flatter me no more,

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My

My Delia's hopes I would no more deceive,

But whom my paffion hurt, thro' friendship leave:
I chofe the coldest words my heart to hide,
And cure her fex's weakness thro' it's pride.
The prudence which I taught, I ill purfu'd;
The charm my reafon broke, my heart renew'd.
Again, fubmiffive to her feet I came ;

And prov'd, too well, my paffion, by my flame;
While fhe, fecure in coldness, or disdain,

Forgot my love, or triumph'd in it's pain;
Began with higher views her thoughts to raise,
And fcorn'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 groffeft arts that malice try'd ;
Nor once, in thought, was on her lover's fide.
Oh, where were then my fcenes of fancy'd life!
Oh, where the friend, the miftrefs, and the wife!
Her years of promis'd love were quickly paft;
Not too revolving moons could fee them laft!
To Stow's delightful scenes I now repair,
In Cobham's fmile to lose the gloom of care!
Nor fear that he my weaknefs fhould defpife,
In nature learned, and humanely wife.

There Pit, in manners foft, in friendship warm,
With mild advice my lift'ning grief shall charm:
With fenfe to counfel, and with wit to please;
A Roman's virtue, with a courtier's ease!
Nor you, my friend, whofe heart is still at rest,
Contemn the human weakness of my breast:
Reafon may chide the faults the cannot cure,
And pains, which long wè scorn'd, we oft endure,
Tho' wiser cares employ your studious mind;
Form'd with a foul fo 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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The author is concerned to find, that what was intended as the petition of Mercy against Juftice, has been conftrued 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 fuffered more as the victim of domestick œconomy, than of philofophical curiosity.

† Now Mrs. Barbauld.

The

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