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Olofs beyond repair !
their dire misfortune, and thy own! How shall thy weaken'd mind, oppress’d with woe,
And drooping o'er thy Lucy's grave, Perform the duties that you doubly owe, Now fhe, alas! is
gone, From folly, and from vice, their helplefs age to save?
From these fond arms that vainly strove
With hapless ineffectual Love
Could not your fav’rite pow'r, Aonion maids, Could not, alas! your pow'r prolong her date,
For whom so oft in these inspiring shades,
You open'd all your sacred store,
Your ancient bards sublimely thought,
Nor then did Pindus' or Castalia's plain,
Nor then on * Mincio's bank
* The Mincio runs by Mantua, the birth-place of Virgil.
Nor where * Clitumnus rolls his gentle stream,
Nor where through hanging woods
Steep + Anio pours his foods,
Ill does it now beseem,
Now what avails it that in early bloom,
When light fantafic toys
Are all her sex's joys, With you
she search'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 sparkling could inšpire ;
Or what in Britain's ille
smile The pow'rs of reason and of fancy join'd To full perfection have conspir’d to raise ?
* The Clitumnus is a river of Umbria, the residence of Propertius.
+ The Anio runs through Tibur or Tivoli, where Horace had a villa.
# The Meles is a river of Ionia, from whence Homer, supposed to be born on its banks, is called
1 The Ilissus is a river at Athens.
Ah! what is now the use Of all those treasures that enrich'd her mind; To black oblivion's gloom for ever now consign'd?
'Tis yours from death to save,
Come then, ye virgin filters, come, And Itrew with choifeft flow'rs her hallow'd tomb. But foremost thou, in sable vestments clad,
With accents sweet and sad, Thou, plaintive Mufe, whom o'er his Laura's urn Unhappy Petrarch call'd to mourn.
and to this fairer Laura pay A more impafion'd tear, a more pathetic lay.
How eloquent in every look
Tell how her manners by the world relin'd
With candid Truth's simplicity,
Of more than female tenderness :
Her kindly-melting heart,
The balm of pity would impart,
Ev’n for the kid or lamb that pour'd its life
Beneath the bloody knife,
Her genile tears would fall, Tears from sweet Virtue's source, benevolent to all.
Could look fuperior down
On Fortune's smiles or frown ;
But by magnanimous disdain.
With inoffensive light
In life's and glory's freshest bloom
From every branch the balmy flow'rets rife,
Cold with perpetual snows :
With never-fading myrtles twin'd,
And fragrant with amhrofial flowers, Where to thy Laura thou again art join'd; Arise, and hither bring the filver lyre,
Tun’d by thy skilful hand, To the foft notes of elegant desire, With which o'er
To me resign the vocal shell ;
As may ev'n things inanimate,
Of Hymen never gave her hand ;
In thy domestic care
Would heal thy wounded heart