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Italia's happy genius could produce;
Or what the Gallic fire
By all the Graces.temper'd and refin'd;
Most favour'd with your fmile,
The powers of Reafon and of Fancy join'd
Of all thefe treasures that enrich'd her mind,
At least, ye Nine, her fpotlefs name
And ftrew with choiceft flowers her hallow'd-tomb:
With accents fweet and fad,
Thou, plaintive Mufe, whom o'er his Laura's urn
Unhappy Petrarch call'd to mourn;
O come, and to this fairer Laura pay
Tell how each beauty of her mind and face
Was brighten'd by fome fweet peculiar grace!
Through her expreffive eyes her foul diftinctly spoke!
Tell how her manners, by the world refined,
And uncorrupted Innocence !
Tell how to more than manly fenfe
How, in the thoughtless days of wealth and joy,
Her kindly-melting heart,
To every want and every woe,,
The balm of pity would impart,
And all relief that bounty could bestow!
Beneath the bloody knife,
Her gentle tears would fall,
Tears. from fweet Virtue's fource, benevolent to all..
Not only good and kind,
But ftrong and elevated was her mind:
A fpirit that with noble pride
Could look fuperior down
On Fortune's fmile or frown;..
That could without regret or pain.
Or Intereft or Ambition's highest prize; ?
Its dignity by vengeance to maintain,
But by magnanimous difdain.
A wit that, temperately bright,
All pleafing fhone; nor ever past
The decent bounds that Wisdom's fober hand,
And bashful Modesty, before it cast.
Death came remorfelefs on, and funk her to the tomb.
So, where the filent ftreams of Liris glide,
Cold with perpetual fnows:
The tender blighted plant fhrinks up its leaves, and dies.
Arife, O Petrarch, from th' Elyfian bowers,
And fragrant with ambrofial flowers,
To the foft notes of elegant defire,
Was fpread the fame of thy disastrous love;
And teach my forrows to relate
As may ev'n things inanimate,.
Rough mountain oaks and defart rocks, to pity move.
What were, alas! thy woes compar'd to mine?
Of Hymen never gave her hand;
The joys of wedded love were never thine.
In thy domeftic care
She never bore a fhare,
Nor with endearing art
Would heal thy wounded heart
Of every fecret grief that fester'd there :
With pledges dear, and with a father's tender name.
O beft of wives! O dearer far to me
How can my foul endure the lofs of thee?
Without my fweet companion can I live?
The dear reward of every virtuous toil,
What pleasures now can pall'd Ambition give? Ev'n the delightful fenfe of well-earn'd praise, Unfhar'd by thee, no more my lifelefs thoughts could raife.
For my diftracted mind
What fuccour can I find?
On whom for confolation, fhall I call?
Support me, every friend;
Your kind affiftance lend,
To bear the weight of this oppreffive woe.
My dear departed love, fo much was thine,
My books, the beft relief
In every other grief,
Are now with your idea fadden'd all :
Each favourite author we together read
My tortur'd memory wounds, and fpeaks of Lucy dead.