IV.

In vain I look around

O'er all the well-known ground,

My Lucy's wonted footsteps to defcry;
Where oft we us'd to walk,

Where oft in tender talk

We faw the fummer fun go down the sky;
Nor by yon fountain's fide,

Nor where its waters, glide

Along the valley, can fhe now be found:
In all the wide-ftretch'd profpect's ample bound
No more my mournful eye

Can aught of her efpy,

But the fad facred earth where her dear relicks lie.

V.

O shades of Hagley, where is now your

boast?

Your bright inhabitant is loft.
You fhe preferr'd to all the gay reforts
Where female vanity might wish to shine,
The pomp of cities, and the pride of courts.
Her modeft beauties fhunn'd the public eye:
To your fequefter'd dales

And flower-embroider'd vales

From an admiring world the chose to fly :
With Nature there retir'd, and Nature's God,
The filent paths of wifdom trod,

And banish'd every paffion from her breast,
But thofe, the gentlest and the best,
Whofe holy flames with energy divine
The virtuous heart enliven and improve,
The conjugal and the maternal love.

F

VI. Swee

VI.

Sweet babes, who, like the little playful Fawns,
Were wont to trip along thefe verdant lawns
By your delighted mother's fide,

Who now your infant fteps fhall guide?
Ah! where is now the hand whofe tender care
To every virtue would have form'd your youth,
And ftrew'd with flowers the thorny ways of truth?
O lofs beyond repair!

O wretched father! left alone,

To weep 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 fhe, alas! is gone,

From folly and from vice their helpless age to fave?
VII.

Where were ye, Mufes, when relentless Fate
From these fond arms your fair difciple tore;
From these fond arms, that vainly ftrove
With hapless ineffectual love

To guard her bofom from the mortal blow?

Could not your favcuring power, Aonian maids,
Could not, alas! your power prolong her date,
For whom fo oft in thefe infpiring fhades,
Or under Camden's mofs-clad mountains hoar,
You open'd all your facred store,

Whate'er your ancient fages taught,
Your ancient bards fublimely thought,

And bade her raptur'd breaft with all your spirit glow?

VIII. Nor

VIII.

Nor then did Pindus or Caftalia's plain,
Or Aganippe's fount, your steps detain,
Nor in the Thespian vallies did

you play; Nor then on * Mincio's bank

Befet with ofiers dank,

Nor where + Clitumnus rolls his gentle stream,
Nor where, through hanging woods,

Steep

Anio pours his floods,

Nor yet where || Meles or § Iliffus stray.

Ill does it now befeem,

That, of your guardian care bereft, To dire disease and death your darling should be left.

IX.

Now what avails it that in early bloom,

When light fantastic toys

Are all her fex's joys,

With you

the fearch'd the wit of Greece and Rome;

And all that in her latter days

To emulate her ancient praise

* The Mintio runs by Mantua, the birth-place of Virgil.

The Clitumnus is a river of Umbria, the refidence of Propertius.

The Anio runs through Tibur or Tivoli, where Horace had a villa.

The Meles is a river of Ionia, from whence Homer, fuppofed to be born on its banks, is called Melifigenes. The Iliffus is a river at Athens.

Italia's happy genius could produce;

Or what the Gallic fire

Bright sparkling could inspire,

By all the Graces temper'd and refin'd;'
Or what in Britain's ifle,

Moft favour'd with your fmile,

The powers of Reafon and of Fancy join'd
To full perfection have confpir'd to raise?
Ah! what is now the ule

Of all these treasures that enrich'd her mind,
To black Oblivion's gloom for ever now confign'd?

X.

At least, ye Nine, her spotless name
'Tis yours from death to fave,
And in the temple of immortal Fame
With golden characters her worth engrave.

Come then, ye virgin fifters, come,

And ftrew with choiceft flowers her hallow'd tomb : But foremost thou, in fable vestment clad,

With accents fweet and fad,

Thou, plaintive Muse, whom o'er his Laura's urn
Unhappy Petrarch call'd to mourn;

O come, and to this fairer Laura pay
A more impaffion'd tear, a more pathetic lay.

XI.

Tell how each beauty of her mind and face

Was brighten'd by fome fweet peculiar grace!
How eloquent in every look.

Through her expreffive eyes her foul diftinctly spoke!

Tell

Tell how her manners, by the world refin'd,
Left all the taint of modifh vice behind,
And made each charm of polish'd courts agree
With candid Truth's fimplicity,

And uncorrupted Innocence!

Tell how to more than manly sense.
She join'd the foftening influence

Of more than female tenderness :

How, in the thoughtless days of wealth and joy,
Which oft the care of others' good destroy,

Her kindly-melting heart,

To every want and every woe,
To guilt itself when in distress,

The balm of pity would impart, .
And all relief that bounty could bestow!
Ev'n for the kid or lamb that pour'd its life

Beneath the bloody knife,

Her gentle tears would fall,

Tears from sweet Virtue's fource, benevolent to all..

XII.

Not only good and kind,

But strong and elevated was her mind

A spirit that with noble pride

Could look fuperior down

On Fortune's fmile or frown;
That could without regret or pain
To Virtue's lowest duty facrifice
Or Intereft or Ambition's highest prize ;
That, injur'd or offended, never tried
Its dignity by vengeance to maintain,,