Now what avails it, that in early bloom.

When light fantastic toys,

Are all her fex's joys

With you the fearch'd the wit of Greece and Rome,

And all that in her latter days,

To emulate her ancient praise,
Italia's happy genius could produce ;
Or what the Gallic fire,

Bright fparkling could infpire,
By all the graces temper'd and refin'd;
Or what in Britain's isle,

Moft favour'd with your smile,

The powers of Reafon and of Fancy join'd
To full perfection have confpir'd to raise;

Ah! what is now the ufe

Of all these treasures that enrich'd her mind,
To black Oblivion's gloom for ever now confign'd.

At least, ye Nine, her spotlefs name

'Tis your's from death to fave,

And in the temple of immortal Fame

With golden characters her worth engrave.

Come, then, ye virgin-fifters come,

And ftrew with choiceft flowers her hallow'd tomb;
But foremost thou in fable veftment clad,

With accents fweet and fad,

N

Thou plaintive Mufe, whom o'er his Laura's urn,

Unhappy Petrarch call'd to mourn :

O come, and to this fairer Laura pay

A more impaffion'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 look

Thro' her expreffive eyes her soul distinctly spoke!
Tell how her manners, by the world refined,
Left all the taint of modifh vice behind,
And made each charm of polish'd courts agree
Wih candid Truth's fimplicity,

And uncorrupted Intiocence,

Tell how to more than manly fenfe

She join❜d the foftening influence

Of more than female tenderness :

How in the thoughtlefs days of wealth and joy,
Which oft the care of others good destroy,
Her kindly-melting heart,

To every want and every woe,

To guilt itself when in diftrefs,

The balm of pity would impart,

And all relief that bounty could beftow!

E'en for the kid or lamb, that pour'a its life

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 clevated 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,
To Virtue's loweft duties facrifice,
Or Interest or Ambition's highest prize;
That, injur'd or offended, never tried

Its dignity, by vengeance, to maintain,
But by magnanimous disdain.
A wit that, temperately bright,
With inoffenfive light

All pleafing fhone, nor ever past

The decent bounds that Wisdom's fober hand, And fweet Benevolence's mild command, And bashful Modefty, before it caft. A prudence undeceiving, undeceiv'd, That nor too little nor too much believ'd, That scorn'd unjuft Sufpicion's coward fear, And, without weakness, knew to be fincere. Such Lucy was when in her fairest days Amidft-th' acclaim of univerfal praise, In life's and glory's frefheft bloom,

Death came remorfelefs on, and funk her to the

tomb.

N 2

So, where the filent ftreams of Liris glide,
In the foft bofom of Campania's vale,
When now the wint❜ry tempests all are fled.

And genial fummer 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 feen;
With odours fweet it fills the fmiling (kies,
The wood-nymphs tend it, and the Idalian queen ;
But in the midst of all its blooming pride,

A fudden blast from Appeninus blows,

Cold with perpetual fnows;

Edies.

The tender blighted plant shrinks up its leaves, and

Arife, O Petrach from th' Elyhan bowers,

With never-fading myrtles twin'd,

And fragrant with ainbrofial flowers,

Where to thy Laura thou again art join'd;
Arife, and hither bring the filver lyre,
Tun'd by thy skilful hand,

To the foft notes of elegant defire, i

With which o'er many a land
Was fpread the fame of thy difaftrous love;
To me refign the vocal thell,

And teach my forrows to relate
Their melancholy tale fo well,

As may e'en things inanimate,

Rough mountain oaks, and defart rocks, to pity move,

What were, alas! thy woes compar'd to mine?
To thee thy miftrefs in the blissful band
Of Hymen never gave her hand;

The joys of wedded love were never thine,

In thy domeftic care

She never bore a share,

Nor with endearing art

Would heal thy wounded heart
Of every fecret grief that fefter'd there:
Nor did her fond affection on the bed

Of fickness watch thee, and thy languid head
Whole nights on her unwearied arm sustain,
And charm away the fenfe of pain:
Nor did the crown your mutual flame

With pledges dear, and with a father's tender name. O best of wives! Oh! dearer far to me.

Than when thy virgin charms

Were yielded to my arms: 1

How can my foul endure the lofs of thee?
How in the world, to me a defert grown,

Abandon'd and alone,

Without my sweet companion can I live?
Without thy lovely fmile,

The dear reward of every virtuous toil,

What pleasures now can pall'd Ambition give? E'en the delightful fense of well-earn'd praise,

Uniha:'d by thee, no more my lifeless thought could

raife.