'Twas there of juft and good he reason'd ftrong,
Clear'd fome great truth, or rais'd fome ferious fong;
There patient show'd us the wife course to steer,
A candid cenfor, and a friend severe;
There taught us how to live; and (oh! too high
The price for knowledge) taught us how to die.
Thou hill, whofe brow the antique ftructures grace,
Rear'd by bold chiefs of Warwick's noble race,
Why, once fo lov'd, when-e'er thy bower appears,
O'er my dim eye-balls glance the fudden tears!
How sweet were once thy prospects fresh and fair,
Thy floping walks, and unpolluted air!
How sweet the glooms beneath thy aged trees,
Thy noon-tide fhadow, and thy evening breeze!
His image thy forsaken bowers restore;
Thy walks and airy profpects charm no more;
No more the fummer in thy glooms allay'd,
Thy evening breezes, and thy noon-day shade.
From other ills, however fortune frown'd,
Some refuge in the mufe's art I found;
Reluctant now I touch the trembling string,
Bereft of him, who taught me how to fing,
And these fad accents, murmur'd o'er his urn,
Betray that absence, they attempt to mourn.
Oh! must I then (now fresh my bofom bleeds,
And Craggs in death to Addifon fucceeds)
The verse, begun to one loft friend, prolong,
And weep a fecond in th' unfinish'd fong!
These words divine, which, on his death-bed laid,
To thee, O Craggs, th' expiring fage convey'd,
Great, but ill-omen'd monument of fame,
Nor he furviv'd to give, nor thou to claim.
Swift after him thy social spirit flies,
And close to his, how foon! thy coffin lies.
Bleft pair! whofe union future bards shall tell
In future tongues: each others boast! farewel.
Farewel! whom join'd in fame, in friendship try'd,
Ah! have you feen a lily pale
When beating rains descend?
So droop'd this flow-confuming maid,
Her life now near its end.
By Lucy warn'd, of flatt'ring fwains
Take heed, ye easy fair;
Of vengeance due to broken vows,
Yet flatt'ring fwains, beware!
V.
Three times all in the dead of night,
A bell was heard to ring;
And at her window, fhrieking thrice,
The raven flap'd his wing.
VI.
Full well the love-lorn maiden knew
The folemn-boding found,
And thus in dying words bespoke
The virgins weeping round.
VII.
"I hear a voice you cannot hear,
"That cries I must not stay;
"I fee a hand you cannot see, "That beckons me away.
"Of a falfe fwain, and broken heart, "In early youth I die;
"Am I to blame, because the bride
"Is twice as rich as I?
"Ah, COLIN, give not her thy vows, "Vows due to me alone!
"Nor thou, rafh girl, receive his kifs, "Nor think him all thy own!
"To-morrow in the church, to wed,
Impatient both prepare:
"But know, falfe man, and know, fond maid,
"Poor Lucy will be there.
XI.
"Then bear my corfe, ye comrades dear,
"The bridegroom blithe to meet ;
"He in his wedding-trim fo gay,
"I in my winding-fheet.
She fpoke, fhe dy'd, her corfe was borne,
The bridegroom blithe to meet ;
He in his wedding-trim so gay,
She in her winding-sheet.
What then were COLIN's dreadful thoughts?
How were these nuptials kept?
The bride's-men flock'd round Lucy dead,
And all the village wept.
XIV.
Compaffion, fhame, remorse, despair,
At once his bofom fwell :
The damps of death bedew'd his brow,
He groan'd, he shook, he fell.
XV.
From the vain bride, a bride no more,
The varying crimson fled;
When ftretch'd befide her rival's corse,
She faw her lover dead.
He to his Lucy's new-made grave,
Convey'd by trembling fwains;
In the fame mould, beneath one fod,
For-ever now remains.
Oft at this place the constant hind
And plighted maid are seen;
With garlands gay, and true love knots
They deck the facred green.
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