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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 ille,
Most favour'd with
smile, The powers
of Reason and of Fancy join'd To full perfection have conspir'd to raise?
Ah! what is now the use Of all these treasures that enrich'd her mind, To black Oblivion’s gloom for ever now consignod?
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 strew with choicest flowers her hallow'd-tomb: But foremost thou, in fable vestment clad,
With accents sweet and sad,
Tliou, plaintive Muse, whom o'er his Laura's urn
Unhappy Petrarch callid to mourn;
O come, and to this fairer Laura pay
A more impassion’d tear, a more pathetic lay.
Tell how each beauty of her mind and face
Was brighten'd by some sweet peculiar grace!
How eloquent in every lock
Through her expreslive eyes her soul distinctly spoke!
Tell how her manners, by the world refinidos
Left all the taint of modifh vice behind,
And made each charm of polith'd courts agree
With candid Truthis fimplicity,
And uncorrupted Innocence !.
Tell, how to more than manly fenfe.
She join'd the softening influence
Of more.than female tenderness :.
How, in the thoughtless days of wealth and joys
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 imparter
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 source, benevolent to all..
: Not only good and kind,
But strong and elevated was her mind:
A fpirit that with noble pride
Could look superior down
On Fortune's smile or frown;,
That could without regret or pain.
To Virtue's lowest duty facrifice
Or Interest or Ambition's highest prize ; :
That, injur'd or offended, never tried..
Its digpity by vengeance to maintain,.,
But by magnanimous disdain.
A wit that, temperately bright,
With inoffensive light
All pleasing phone; nor ever past
The decent bounds that Wisdom's sober hand,
And sweet Benevolence's mild command,
And bashful Modesty, before it caft.
A prudence undeceiving, undeceiv'd,
'That nor too little nor too much believ'd,
That fcorn'd unjust Suspicion's coward fear,
And without weakness knew to be sincere.
Such Lucy was, when, in her fairest days,
Amidit th' acclaim of universal praise,
In life's and glory's freshest bloom,
Death came remorseless on, and sunk her to the tomb.
So, where the filent streams of Liris glide,
In the soft bofom of Campania's vale,
When now the wintery tempests all are fled,
And genial Summer breathes her gentle gale,
The verdant orange lifts its beauteous head :
From every branch the balmy flowerets rife,
On every bough the golden fruits are seen;
With odours sweet it fills the siniling skies,
The wood-nymphs tend it, and th’ Idalian queen.
But, in the midst of all its blooming pride,
A sudden blast from Apenninus blows,
Cold with perpetual snows:
The tender blighted plant shrinks up its leaves, and dies.
Arise, o Petrarch, from th' Elysian bowers,
With never-fading myrtles twind,
And fragrant with ambrosial flowers,
Where to thy Laura thou again art join'd;
Arise, and hither bring the silver lyre,
Tun’d by thy skilful hand,
To the soft notes of elegant desire,
With which o'er many a land
Was spread the fame of thy disastrous love;
To me resign the vocal shell,
And teach my sorrows to relate
Their melancholy tale so well,
may ev’n things inanimate, Rough mountain oaks and desart rocks, to pity move.
What were, alas! thy woes compar'd to niine?
To thee thy mistress in the blissful band
Of Hymen never gave her land;
The joys of wedded love were never thine. .
In thy domestic care
She never bore a share,
Nor with endearing art:
Would heal thy wounded heart:
Of every secret grief that fester'd there :
Nor did her fond affection on the bed
Of sickness watch thee, and thy languid head
Whole nights on her unwearied arm sustain,
And charm away the sense of pain :
Nor did the crown your mutual flame With pledges dear, and with a father's tender name.
O belt of wives! O dearer far to me
Than when thy virgin charms,
Were yielded to my arms,
How can my soul endure the loss of thee?
How in the world, to me a desart grown,
Abandon'd and alone,
my sweet companion can I live?
Without thy lovely smile,
The dear reward of every virtuous toil,
What pleasures now can pallid Ambition give?
Ev’n the delightful sense of well-earn'd praise, Unshar'd by thee, no more my lifeless thoughts could raise.
What succour can I find ?
On whom for confolation shall I call ?
Support me, every friend;
Your kind afiiftance lend,
To bear the weight of this oppressive woe.
Alas! each friend of mine,
My dear departed love, so much was thine,
That none has any comfort to bestow.
My books, the best relief
In every other grief,
Are now with your idea faclden'd all :
Each favourite author we together read
My tortur'd memory wounds, and speaks of Lucy dead.