But by magnanimous difdain.

A wit that, temperately bright,
With inoffenfive light

All pleafing fhone; nor ever past

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

Death came remorfelefs on, and funk her to the tomb.
XIII.

So, where the filent ftreams of Liris glide,
In the foft bofom of Campania's vale,
When now the wintery tempefts 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 feen;
With odours fweet it fills the fmiling fkies,
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 fhrinks up its leaves, and dies.

2

XIV. Arife,

XIV.

Arife, O Petrarch, from th' Elyfian bowers,
With never-fading myrtles twin’d,

And fragrant with ambrofial flowers,
Where to thy Laura thou again art join'd;
Arife, and hither bring the silver lyre,
Tun'd by thy skilful hand,
To the foft notes of elegant defire,

With which o'er many a land

Was spread the fame of thy disastrous love;
To me refign the vocal fhell,

And teach my forrows to relate

Their melancholy tale fo well,

As may ev'n things inanimate,

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

What were, alas! thy woes compar'd to mine?
To thee thy mistress 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 sickness 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.

XVI.

O beft of wives! O dearer far to me
Than when thy virgin charms,
Were yielded to my arms,

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

Abandon'd and alone,

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

The dear reward of every virtuous toil,

What pleasures now can pall'd Ambition give ? Ev'n the delightful fenfe of well-earn'd praise, Unfhar'd by thee, no more my lifelefs thoughts coul raife.

XVII.

For my distracted mind

What fuccour can I find?

On whom for confolation fhall I call?

Support me, every friend;

Your kind affiftance lend,

To bear the weight of this oppreffive woe.
Alas! each friend of mine,

My dear departed love, fo much was thine,
That none has any comfort to bestow.

My books, the best relief

In every other grief,

Are now with your idea fadden'd all :

Each favourite author we together read

My tortur'd memory wounds, and fpeaks of Lucy dead.

XVIII. We

XVIII.

We were the happiest pair of human kind:
The rolling year its varying courfe performed,
And back return'd again;
Another and another fmiling came,

And faw our happiness unchang'd remain :
Still in her golden chain

Harmonious Concord did our wishes bind
Our ftudies, pleasures, tafte, the fame.
O fatal, fatal ftroke,

That all this pleafing fabric Eove had rais'd
Of rare felicity,

On which ev'n wanton Vice with envy gaz'd,
And
every fcheme of blifs our hearts had form'd
With foothing hope, for many a future day,
In one fad moment broke!

Yet, O my foul, thy rifing murmurs stay;
Nor dare the all-wife Difpofer to arraign,
Or against his supreme decree,
With impious grief complain.

That all thy full-blown joys at once, should fader Was his most righteous will-and be that will obey'd.

ΧΙΧ.

Would thy fond love his grace to her control,
And in these low abodes of fin and pain

Her pure exalted foul

Unjustly for thy partial good detain ?

No-rather strive thy groveling mind to raise
Up to that unclouded blaze,

That

That heavenly radiance of eternal light,
In which enthron'd fhe now with pity fees
How frail, how infecure, how flight,
Is every mortal bliss;

Ev'n Love itself, if rifing by degrees
Beyond the bounds of this imperfect state,
Whofe fleeting joys so foon must end,
It does not to its fovereign good ascend.
Rife then, my foul, with hope elate,
And feek thofe regions of ferene delight,
Whofe peaceful path and ever-open gate
No feet but thofe of harden'd Guilt shall miss.
There death himself thy Lucy fhall restore,
There yield up all his power e'er to divide you more.

V

ERS E S,

MAKING PART OF

AN EPITAPH ON THE SAME LADY.

MA

ADE to engage all hearts, and charm all eyes;
Though meek, magnanimous; though witty,

wife;

Polite, as all her life in courts had been ;
Yet good, as the the world had never feen;
The noble fire of an exalted mind,
With gentle female tenderness combin'd.
Her fpeech was the melodious voice of Love,
Her fong the warbling of the vernal grove;

Her