portance. The world has an admirable example of its beauty in a collection of elegies not long fince published; the product of a gentleman of the moft exact tafte, and whofe untimely death merits all the tears that elegy can shed. It is not impoffible that fome may think this metre too lax and profaic: others, that even a more diffolute variety of numbers may have fuperior advantages. And, in favour of thefe laft, might be produced the example of Milton in his Lycidas, together with one or two recent and beautiful imitations of his verfification in that monody. But this kind of argument, I am apt to think, must prove too much; fince the writers I have in view feem capable enough of recommending any metre they fhall chufe; though it must be owned also, that the choice they make of any, is at the fame time the ftrongest prefumption in its favour. Perhaps it may be no great difficulty to compromife the difpute. There is no one kind of metre that is diftinguished by rhymes, but is liable to fome objection or other. Heroic verfe, where every fecond line is terminated by a rhyme, (with which the judgment requires that the fenfe fhould in fome measure alfo terminate) is apt to render the expreffion either fcanty or conftrained. And this is fometimes obfervable in the writings of a poet lately deceased; though I believe no one ever threw so much sense toge, ther with fo much eafe into a couplet as Mr. Pope. But, as an air of constraint too often accompanies this metre, it seems by no means proper for a writer of elegy. The previous rhyme in Milton's Lycidas is very frequently placed at fuch a distance from the following, that it is often dropt by the memory (much better employed in attending to the fentiment) before it be brought to join its partner: and this feems to be the greatest objection to that kind of verfification. But then the peculiar cafe and variety it admits of, are no doubt fufficient to overbalance the objection, and to give it the preference to any other, in an elegy of length. The chief exception to which flanza of all kinds is liable, is, that it breaks the sense too regularly, when it is continued through a long poem. And this may be perhaps the fault of Mr. Waller's excellent panegyric. But if this fault be lefs difcernible in fmaller compofitions, as I fuppofe it is, I flatter myself, that the advantages I have before mentioned refulting from alternate rhyme (with which stanza is, I think, connected) may, at least in shorter elegies, be allowed to outweigh its imperfections. I fhall fay but little of the different kinds of elegy. The melancholy of a lover is different, no doubt, from what we feel on other mixed occafions. The mind in which love and grief at once predominate, is foftened to an excefs. Love-elegy therefore is more negligent of order and defign, and being addreffed chiefly to the ladies, requires little more than tenderness and perfpicuity. Elegies, that are formed upon promifcuous incidents, and addreffed to the world in general, inculcate fome fort of moral, and admit a different degree of reafoning, thought, and ardour. The author of the following elegies entered on his fubjects occafionally, as particular incidents in life fuggefted, or difpofitions of mind recommended them to his choice. If he defcribes a rural landskip, or unfolds the train of fentiments it infpired, he fairly drew his picture from the spot; and felt very fenfibly the affection he communicates. If hs fpeaks of his humble fhed, his flocks and his fleeces, he does not counterfeit the scene; who having (whether through choice or neceffity, is not material) retired betimes to country-folitudes, and fought his happiness in rural employments, has a right to confider himself as a real fhepherd. The flocks, the meadows, and the grottos, are his own, and the embellishment of his farm his fole amufement. As the fentiments therefore were inspired by nature, and that in the earlier part of his life, he hopes they will retain a natural appearance: diffufing at least fome part of that amufement, which he freely acknowledges he received from the compofition of them. There will appear perhaps a real inconfiftency in the moral tenor of the feveral elegies; and the fubfequent ones may fometimes feem a recantation of the preceding. The reader will scarcely impute this to overfight; but will allow, that men's opinions. as well as tempers vary; that, neither public nor private, active nor fpeculative life, are unexceptionably happy, and confequently that any change of opinion concerning them may afford an additional beauty to poetry, as it gives us a more ftriking reprefentation of life. If the author has hazarded, throughout, the use of English or modern allufions, he hopes it will not be imputed to an entire ignorance, or to the leaft difefteem, of the ancient learning. He has kept the ancient plan and method in his eye, though he builds his edifice with the materials of his own nation. In other words, through a fondness for his native country, he has made use of the flowers it produced, though, in order to exhibit them to the greater advantage, he has endeavoured to weave his garland by the beft model he could find: with what fuccefs, beyond his own amufement, must be left to judges less partial to him than either his acquaintance or his friends.—If any of thofe fhould be fo candid, as to approve the variety of subjects he has chosen, and the tenderness of fentiment he has endeavoured to imprefs, he begs the metre alfo may not be too fuddenly condemned. The public ear, habituated of late to a quicker measure, may perhaps confider this as heavy and languid; but an objection of that kind may gradually lofe its force, if this measure fhould be allowed to fuit the nature of elegy. If it fhould happen to be confidered as an object with others, that there is too much of a moral caft diffused through the whole; it is replied, that he endeavoured to animate the poetry fo far as not to render this objection too obvious; or to rifque excluding the fashionable reader: at the fame time never deviating from a fixed principle, that poetry without morality is but the bloom of a fruit-tree. Poetry is indeed like that fpecies of plants, which may bear at once both fruits and bloffoms; and the tree is by no means in perfection without the former, however it may be embellished by the flowers which furround it. E LE GI E S. O lov'd fimplicity, be thine the prize! Still may the mourner, lavish of his tears For lucre's venal meed, invite my scorn! Soft as the line of love-fick Hammond flows, So fair a fountain, or so lov'd a stream. Ye lovelefs bards intent with artful pains But thou, my friend! while in thy youthful foul Love's gentle tyrant feats his awful throne, Write from thy bosom-let not art controul The ready pen, that makes his edicts known. Pleafing, when youth is long expir'd, to trace, The forms our pencil, or our pen defign'd! "Such was our youthful air, and shape, and face! "Such the foft image of our youthful mind! Soft whilft we fleep beneath the rural bowers, Curfe the fad fortune that detains thy fair; Praise the foft hours that gave thee to her arms; Where with Oenone thou haft worn the day, The faithful Mufe fhall meet thee in the grovė. Shall then our youths, who fame's bright fabric raife, To life's precarious date confine their care? O teach them you, to fpread the facred base, To plan a work, through latest ages fair! Is it small transport, as with curious eye You trace the story of each Attic sage, To mark the day, when through the bulky tome, Ah let not Britons doubt their social aim, Whose ardent bofom catch this ancient fire! E LE GY III. ON THE N GRIEF of griefs! that envy's frantic ire When the free spirit quits her humble frame, Or, hearing, fancy sweetness in the found? Perhaps ev'n genius pours a flighted lay; And fondly graces Hammond's mournful bier. No, fhould his Delia votive wreaths prepare, Once crown'd his pleasures, and difpell'd his pain. Yes the fair profpect of surviving praise He little knew to ward the fecret wound; He little knew that mortals could enfnare; To fing her glories, and to paint her fair! And, for his friend, his very crook were fold. Ye fons of wealth! protect the Muse's train; He lov'd a nymph: amidst his slender store, He dar'd to love; and Cynthia was his theme; He breath'd his plaints along the rocky fhore, They only echo'd o'er the winding stream; His nymph was fair! the sweetest bud that blows Sweet bird! enamour'd of the fweeteft flower! He lov'd the Mufe; fhe taught him to complain; She guides the foot that treads on Parian floors; Of vice's brothel, forth to virtue's fane. He wish'd for wealth, for much he wifh'd to give ; He griev'd that virtue might not wealth obtain; Piteous of woes, and hopeless to relieve, The penfive profpect fadden'd all his strain. I faw him faint! I faw him fink to rest! Like one ordain'd to fwell the vulgar throng; As though the virtues had not warm'd his breast, As though the Muses not infpir'd his tongue. I faw his bier ignobly cross the plain; Saw peafant hands the pious rite fupply: The generous ruftics mourn'd the friendly fwain, But power and wealth's unvarying cheek was dry! Haply thy Mufe, as with unceafing fighs Then elegance, with coy judicious hand, Shall cull fresh flowrets for Ophelia's tomb : And beauty chide the Fates' fevere command, That fhew'd the frailty of fo fair a bloom! And fancy then, with wild ungovern'd woe, Shall her lov'd pupil's native tafte explain; For mournful fable all her hues forego, And afk fweet folace of the Mufe in vain! F ROM love, from angry love's inclement reign I pass a while to friendship's equal skies ; Thou, generous maid, reliev'ft my partial pain, And chear'ft the victim of another's eyes. 'Tis thou, Meliffa, thou deferv'ft my care: How can my will and reafon disagree? How can my paffion live beneath defpair! How can my bofom figh for aught but thee? Ah dear Meliffa! pleas'd with thee to rove, Love is a pleafing, but a various clime! So fmiles immortal Maro's favourite shore, Oh blifsful regions! oh unrival'd plains! When Maro to these fragrant haunts retir'd! So fmiles the furface of the treacherous main, Yon' plains are govern'd by a peerless maid; And fee pale Cynthia mounts the vaulted sky, A train of lovers court the checquer'd shade; Sing on, my bird, and hear thy mate's reply. Erewhile no fhepherd to these woods retir'd; No lover bleft the glow-worm's pallid ray: But ill-ftar'd birds, that liftening not admir'd, Or listening envy'd our fuperior lay. Chear'd by the fun, the vaffals of his power, Let fuch by day unite their jarring strains! But let us chufe the calm, the filent hour, Nor want fit audience while Dione reigns." Inftant a grateful form appear'd confeft; White were his locks with awful scarlet crown'd, And livelier far than Tyrian feem'd his veft, That with the glowing purple ting'd the ground. "Stranger, he said, amid this pealing rain, Benighted, lonesome, whither would't thou stray? Does wealth or power thy weary step constrain? I bade low hinds the towering ardour share; I fnatch'd the fhepherd from his fleecy care, I faw proud empires my decifion wait; He, the dear youth, to whofe abodes I roam, Which oaks embosøm, and which hills defend. |