"For thee, Amyntas, all these pains were borne, "For thee these hands were wrung, these hairs were torn; "For thee my foul to figh shall never leave, "Thefe eyes to weep, this throbbing heart to heave. "To mourn thy fall, I'll fly the hated light, "And hide my head in fhades of endless night: “For thou wert light, and life, and health to me; "The fun but thanklefs fhines that fhews not thee. "Wert thou not lovely, graceful, good, and young? "The joy of fight, the talk of every tongue? "Did ever branch fo fweet a bloffom bear? "Or ever early fruit appear fo fair?

“Did ever youth so far his years transcend ? "Did ever life fo immaturely end? “For thee the tuneful fwains provided lays, "And every Muse prepar'd thy future praise. "For thee the bufy nymph ftripp'd every grove, "And myrtle wreaths and flowery chaplets wove. "But now, ah difmal change! the tuneful throng "To loud lamentings turn the chearful fong. "Their pleasing task the weeping virgins leave, “And with unfinish'd garlands ftrew thy grave. "There let me fall, there, there lamenting lie, "There grieving grow to earth, defpair, and die.” This faid, her loud complaint of force the ceas'd, Excess of grief her faultering speech fupprefs'd. Along the ground her colder limbs fhe laid, Where late the grave was for Amyntas made; Then from her fwimming eyes began to pour Of foftly-falling rain a filver fhower;

Her loosely-flowing hair, all radiant bright,
O'er-spread the dewy grafs like streams of light :
As if the fun had of his beams been fhorn,
And caft to earth the glories he had worn.
A fight fo lovely fad, fuch deep diftrefs,
No tongue can tell, no pencil can exprefs.

And now the winds, which had fo long been still,
Began the fwelling air with fighs to fill :
The water-nymphs, who motionless remain'd,
Like images of ice, while fhe complain'd,

Now loos'd their streams; as when descending rains
Roll the steep torrents headlong o'er the plains.
The prone creation, who so long had gaz'd,
Charm'd with her cries, and at her griefs amaz'd,
Began to roar and howl with horrid yell,

Difmal to hear, and terrible to tell

;

Nothing but groans and fighs were heard around,
And Echo multiplied each mournful found.
When all at once an univerfal pause

Of grief was made, as from fome fecret caufe.
The balmy air with fragrant scents was fill'd,
As if each weeping tree had gums distill'd.
Such, if not fweeter, was the rich perfume
Which swift afcended from Amyntas' tomb:
As if th' Arabian bird her neft had fir'd,
And on the spicy pile were now expir'd.

And now the turf, which late was naked feen,
Was fudden spread with lively-fpringing green;
And Amarillis faw, with wondering eyes,
A flowery bed, where the had wept, arifes

Thick as the pearly drops the fair had shed,
The blowing buds advanc'd their purple head;
From every tear that fell, a violet grew,

And thence their sweetness came, and thence their 1 mournful hue.

Remember this, ye nymphs and gentle maids,
When folitude ye feek in gloomy shades ;
Or walk on banks where filent waters flow,
For there this lonely flower will love to grow.
Think on Amyntas, oft as ye shall stoop
To crop the stalks and take them foftly up.
When in your fnowy necks their fweets you wear,
Give a foft figh, and drop a tender tear :

To lov'd Amyntas pay the tribute due,
And blefs his peaceful grave, where first they grew.

TO CYNTHI A,

WEEPING, AND NOT SPEAKING.

E L

E G

Y.

WHY are thofe hours, which Heaven in pity lent

To longing love, in fruitless forrow spent ?

Why fighs my fair? why does that bosom move
With any paffion ftirr'd, but rifing love?
Can Discontent find place within that breast,
On whofe foft pillows ev'n Despair might rest?

Divide thy woes, and give me my fad part.
I am no ftranger to an aching heart;
Too well I know the force of inward grief,
And well can bear it to give you relief:
All Love's fevereft pangs I can endure:
I can bear pain, though hopeless of a cure.
I know what 'tis to weep, and figh, and pray,
To wake all night, yet dread the breaking day;
I know what 'tis to wifh, and hope, and all in vain,
And meet, for humble Love, unkind Disdain;
Anger and Hate I have been forc'd to bear,
Nay, Jealoufy---and I have felt Despair.
Thefe pains for you I have been forc'd to prove,
For cruel you, when I began to love.
Till warm Compaffion took at length my part,
And melted to my wish your yielding heart.
O the dear hour, in which you did refign!
When round my neck your willing arms did twine,
And, in a kifs, you faid your heart was mine.
Through each returning year may that hour be
Diftinguish'd in the rounds of all eternity;
Gay be the fun that hour in all his light,
Let him collect the day to be more bright,
Shine all that hour, and let the reft be night.
And fhall I all this heaven of blifs receive
From you, yet not lament to fee you grieve!
Shall I, who nourish'd in my breaft defire,
When your cold fcorn and frowns forbid the fire;
Now when a mutual flame you have reveal'd,
And the dear union of our fouls is feal'd,

}

}

When

When all my joys complete in you I find,
Shall I not share the forrows of your mind?
O tell me, tell me all---whence does arise

This flood of tears? whence are these frequent fighs
Why does that lovely head, like a fair flower
Opprefs'd with drops of a hard-falling fhower,
Bend with its weight of grief, and seem to grow
Downward to earth, and kifs the root of woe?
Lean on my breaft, and let me fold thee faft,
Lock'd in these arms, think all thy forrows past;
Or what remain think lighter made by me;
So I should think, were I fo held by thee.
Murmur thy plaints, and gently wound my ears;
Sigh on my lip, and let me drink thy tears;
Join to my cheek thy cold and dewy face,
And let pale grief to glowing love give place.
O fpeak--- for woe in filence most appears;
Speak, ere my fancy magnify my fears.
Is there a caufe, which words can not exprefs!
Can I not bear a part, nor make it less ?

I know not what to think---am I in fault?
I have not, to my knowledge, err'd in thought,
Nor wander'd from my love; nor would I be
Lord of the world, to live depriv'd of thee.
You weep afresh, and at that word you start!
Am I to be depriv'd then ?---must we part?
Curfe on that word fo ready to be spoke,
For through my lips, unmeant by me, it broke.
Oh no, we muft not, will not, can not part,
And my tongue talks, unprompted by my heart.