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While calmly poor I trifle life away,
Enjoy sweet leisure by my chearful fire,
No wanton hope my quiet shall betray,
But, cheaply bleft, I'll fcorn each vain defire.
With timely care I'll fow my little field,
And plant my orchard with its master's hand,
Nor blush to spread the hay, the hook to wield,
Or range my sheaves along the funny land.
If late at dusk, while careleffly I roam,
I meet a ftrolling kid, or bleating lamb,
Under my arm I 'Il bring the wanderer home,
And not a little chide its thoughtless dam.

What joy to hear the tempeft howl in vain,
And clafp a fearful mistress to my breast?
Or, lull'd to flumber by the beating rain,
Secure and happy, fink at last to reft ?
Or, if the fun in flaming Leo ride,
By fhady rivers indolently stray,

And with my Delia, walking fide by fide,
Hear how they murmur, as they glide away?
What joy to wind along the cool retreat,
To stop, and gaze on Delia as I go?
To mingle fweet discourse with kisses sweet,
And teach my lovely scholar all I know?

Thus pleas'd at heart, and not with fancy's dream,
In filent happiness I rest unknown;

Content with what I am, not what I feem,

for Delia and myself alone.

Ah,

Ah, foolish man, who thus of her poffeft,
Could float and wander with ambition's wind,
And if his outward trappings spoke him bleft,
Not heed the fickness of his confcious mind!
With her I fcorn the idle breath of praise,
Nor truft to happiness that's not our own;
The finile of fortune might fufpicion raise,
But here I know that I am lov'd alone.

Stanhope, in wisdom as in wit divine,
May rife, and plead Britannia's glorious caufe,
With steady rein his eager wit confine,
While manly sense the deep attention draws.
Let Stanhope speak his liftening country's wrongs,
My humble voice fhall please one partial maid;
For her alone I pen my tender fong,

Securely fitting in his friendly shade.

Stanhope fhall come, and grace his rural friend,
Delia fhall wonder at her noble guest,
With blushing awe the riper fruit commend,
And for her husband's patron cull the best.
Hers be the care of all my little train,
While I with tender indolence am blest,
The favourite subject of her gentle reign,
By love alone distinguish'd from the rest.
For her I'll yoke my oxen to the plough,
In gloomy forests tend my lonely flock;
For her a goat-herd climb the mountain's brow,
And fleep extended on the naked rock :

Ah,

Ah, what avails to press the stately bed,

And far from her 'midst tasteless grandeur weep,
By marble fountains lay the penfive head,
And, while they murmur, strive in vain to sleep?
Delia alone can please, and never tire,
Exceed the paint of thought in true delight;
With her, enjoyment wakens new defire,
And equal rapture glows through every night:
Beauty and worth in her alike contend,
To charm the fancy, and to fix the mind;
In her, my wife, my mistress, and my friend,
I taste the joys of fenfe and reafon join'd.

On her I'll gaze, when others loves are o'er,
And dying prefs her with my clay-cold hand—
Thou weep't already, as I were no more,
Nor can that gentle breast the thought withstand.
Oh, when I die, my latest moments spare,
Nor let thy grief with sharper torments kill,
Wound not thy cheeks, nor hurt that flowing hair,
Though I am dead, my soul shall love thee still :

Oh, quit the room, oh, quit the deathful bed,
Or thou wilt die, fo tender is thy heart;,
Oh, leave me, Delia, ere thou fee me dead,
Thefe weeping friends will do thy mournful part:
Let them, extended on the decent bier,
Convey the corfe in melancholy ftate,

Through all the village fpread the tender tear,
While pitying maids our wondrous loves relate.

ELEGY

WH

ELE GY XIV.

To Delia.

HAT scenes of bliss my raptur'd fancy fram'd, In fome lone spot with Peace and thee retir'd! Though reafon then my fanguine fondness blam'd, I still believ'd what flattering love infpir'd:

But now my wrongs have taught my humbled mind,
To dangerous bliss no longer to pretend,

In books a calm, but fix'd content to find,
Safe joys, that on ourselves alone depend:
With them the gentle moments I beguile,
In learned ease, and elegant delight;
Compare the beauties of each different stile,
Each various ray of wit's diffufive light:

Now mark the ftrength of Milton's facred lines,
Senfe rais'd by genius, fancy rul❜d by art,
Where all the glory of the Godhead fhines,
And earliest innocence enchants the heart.
Now, fir'd by Pope and Virtue, leave the age
In low pursuit of felf-undoing wrong,

And trace the author through his moral page,
Whose blameless life ftill answers to his fong.

If time and books my lingering pain can heal,
And reafon fix its empire o'er my heart,
My patriot breast a noble warmth fhall feel,
And glow with love, where weakness has no part.

VOL. II.

Thy

Thy heart, O Lyttelton, shall be my guide,
Its fire shall warm me, and its worth improve;
Thy heart, above all envy, and all pride,
Firm as man's sense, and foft as woman's love.

And you, O West, with her your partner dear,
Whom social mirth and useful sense commend,
With learning's feast my drooping mind shall chear,
Glad to escape from love to fuch a friend.
But why, fo long my weaker heart deceive?
Ah, still I love, in pride and reason's spite,
No books, alas! my painful thoughts relieve,
And while I threat, this Elegy I write.

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To Mr. George Grenville.

OH, 'form'd alike to ferve us, and to please;

Polite with honesty, and learn'd with ease ;

With heart to act, with genius to retire ;
Open, yet wife; though gentle, full of fire:
With thee I fcorn the low constraint of art,
Nor fear to trust the follies of my heart;
Hear then from what my long despair arose,
The faithful story of a lover's woes.
When, in a sober melancholy hour,
Reduc'd by fickness under reason's power,
I view'd my state, too little weigh'd before,
And Love himself could flatter me no more,

My

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