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Her balmy breath, and all her blooming store
Oft have I met her on the verdant fide
No fweeter fragrance now the gardens yield,
Is it to Love these new delights I owe?
Here firft my Lucy, fweet in virgin charms,
And round our nuptial bed,
Hovering with purple wings, th' Idalian boy
While Venus fcatter'd myrtles o'er her head.
Whence then this ftrange increase of joy He, only he, can tell, who, match'd like me, (If fuch another happy man there be)
Has by his own experience tried
How much the wife is dearer than the bride.
TO THE MEMORY
THE SAME LADY.
A MONOD Y. A.D. 1747.
"Ipfe cavâ folans ægrum teftudine amorem, "Te dulcis conjux, te folo in littore fecum, "Te veniente die, te decedente canebat."
T length efcap'd from
From every duty, every care,
That in my mournful thoughts might claim a share,
Ye tufted groves, ye gently-falling rills,
Ye lawns gay-fmiling with eternal green,
But never fhall you now behold her more:
And taste refin'd your rural charms explore.
Oft would the Dryads of thefe woods rejoice
For her defpifing, when the deign'd to fing,
And every shepherd's flute
Was caft in filent fcorn away,
While all attended to her sweeter lay.
Ye larks and linnets, now refume your fong:
And thou, melodious Philomel,
Again thy plaintive story tell;
For death has ftopt that tuneful tongue,
Whofe mufic could alone your warbling notes excel.
In vain I look around
>O'er all the well-known ground,
My Lucy's wonted footsteps to defcry;
Where oft in tender talk
We faw the fummer fun go down the sky;
Nor where its waters, glide
Along the valley, can fhe now be found:
Can aught of her efpy,
But the fad facred earth where her dear relicks lie.
O fhades of Hagley, where is now your boaft?
You the preferr'd to all the gay resorts
And flower-embroider'd vales
From an admiring world the chofe to fly :
And banish'd every paffion from her breaft,
Sweet babes, who, like the little playful Fawns,
Who now your infant fteps fhall guide?
O wretched father! left alone,
their dire misfortune, and thy own! How shall thy weaken'd mind, opprefs'd with woe,
And drooping o'er thy Lucy's grave, Perform the duties that you doubly owe!
Now the, alas! is gone,
From folly and from vice their helpless age to fave?
Where were ye, Mufes, when relentless Fate
To guard her bofom from the mortal blow?
Could not your favouring power, Aonian maids,
Whate'er your ancient fages taught,
And bade her raptur'd breast with all your spirit glow?