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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."


AT-length efcap'd from every

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From every duty, every care,

That in my mournful thoughts might claim a fhare,

Or force my tears their flowing stream to dry;
Beneath the gloom of this embowering shade,
This lone retreat, for tender forrow made,
I now may give my burden'd heart relief,
And pour forth all my ftores of grief;
Of grief furpaffing every other woe,
Far as the pureft blifs, the happiest love

Can on th' ennobled mind beftow,
Exceeds the vulgar joys that move
Our grofs defires, inelegant and low.

II. Ye


Ye tufted groves, ye gently-falling rills,
Ye high o'erfhadowing hills,

Ye lawns gay-fmiling with eternal green,
Oft have you my Lucy feen!


never fhall you now behold her more:

Nor will the now with fond delight
And tafte refin'd your rural charms explore.
<Clos'd'are those beauteous eyes in endless night,
Those beauteous eyes where beaming us'd to shine
Reafon's pure light, and Virtue's spark divine.


Oft would the Dryads of thefe woods rejoice
To hear her heavenly voice;

For her defpifing, when she deign'd to sing,
The sweeteft fongfters of the fpring:
The woodlark and the linnet pleas'd no more;
The nightingale was mute,

And every fhepherd's flute

Was caft in filent fcorn away,

While all attended to her fweeter 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.

IV. In


In vain I look around

O'er all the well-known ground,

My Lucy's wonted footsteps to deiery;
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.


O fhades of Hagley, where is now your boaft?
Your bright inhabitant is loft.

You the preferr'd to all the gay reforts
Where 'female' vanity might wish to thine,


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 fhe chofe to fly :

With Nature there retir'd, and Nature's God,

The filent paths of wisdom trod,

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

VI. Swa


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

Who now your infant steps 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,


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
From these fond arms your fair difciple tore;
From thefe fond arms, that vainly strove
With hapless ineffectual love

To guard her bofom from the mortal blow?

Could not your favouring power, Aonian maids, Could not, alas! your power prolong her date, For whom so 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 breast with all your spirit glow?



Nor then did Pindus or Caftalia's plain,
Or Aganippe's fount, your steps detain,
Nor in the Thefpian vallies did you play;
Nor then on *Mincio's bank

Befet with ofiers dank,

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


Anio pours his floods,

Nor yet where | Meles or § Iliffus stray.

Ill does it now befeem,

That, of your guardian care bereft,

To dire difeafe and death your darling should be left.


Now what avails it that in early bloom,

When light fantastic toys

Are all her fex's joys,


you fhe fearch'd the wit of Greece and Rome; And all that in her latter days

To emulate her ancient praise

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


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.

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