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Yet ev'n thele bones from insult to prote&t
Some frail memorial still erected nigh,
With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture

Implores the passing tribute of a figh.


years, spelt by th' unletter'd

The place of fame and elegy supply:
And many a holy text around she strews,
That teach the rustic moralift to die.


For who to dumb Forgetfulness a prey,
This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd,
Left the warm precincts of the chearful day,
Nor cast one longing ling'ring look behind?

On some fond breast the parting foul relies,
- Sonie pious drops the closing eye requires;
Ev'n from the tomb the voice of nature cries,
Ev'n in our Ashes live their wonted Fires.

For thou, who, mindful of th''unhonour'd Dead
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate;
If chance, by lonely Contemplation led,
Some kindred spirit i hall enquire thy fate,

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Haply some hoary-headed (wain may say,

Oft' have we seen him at the peep of dawn „Brushing with hasty step the dews away To meet the fun upon the upland lawn.

There at the foot of yonder nodding beech That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, „His listless length at noontide would he stretch, „And pore upon the brook that babbles by. „Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, Muttring his wayward fancies he would rove; Now drooping, woeful, wan, like one forlorn, „Or craz'd with care, or crois'd in hopeless love.

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One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill,
„Along the heath and near his fav’rite tree;
Another came; nor yet beide the rill,

up the lawn, nor at the wood was he.
„The next with dirges due in fad array
„Slow thro' the church-way path we saw him born.
„ Approach and read (for thou can'st read) the Lay,
„Gray'd on the stone beneath yon aged thorn!"


Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth,
A Youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown:
Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth
And Melancholy mark'd him for her own.
Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,
Heay'n did a recompence as largely fend;
He gave to Mis’ry all he had a tear,
He gain'd from Heav'n ('twas all he wish'd) a friend.

No farther leek his merits to disclose.
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode,
(There they alike in trembling hope repose)
The bosom of his Father and his God.

Vetsp.Samml. 4. B.



S er ning h a' m.


S. B. I. S. 83. Folgende Elegie von ihm ist offens bar eine Nachahmung der vorhergehenden von Gray, der fie indeß durch Rührung und leidenfchaftliche Schilderung nas Her kommt, als durch Schønheit und Harmonie der Spra: che. Sie wurde im J. 1762 zuerst einzeln gedruckt. Man sieht bald, daß unter den niagdalenen reuige gefallene Personen des andern Geschlechts verstanden werden, deren traurige Lage und bedauernswerther Zustand von den Dichs ter überaus treffend geschildert wird. Jene Benennung ist in England ziemlich gelduñg, Reitdem das bekaunte Magda: lenenspital in London, als Zuflucht jener Unglücklichen, eta richtet ist.


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See, to your fane the suppliant nymphs repair,
At virtue's 1 hrine to breathe Contrition's figh,
Their youthful cheek is paid with early care,
And forrow dwells in their dejected eye.

Hark! they awake a solemn plaintive lay,
Where Grief with Harmony delights to meet:
Not Philomela from her lonely spray,
Trills her clear note more querulously sweet.

Are these the fair (late Pleasure's youthful quire)
Who wont the dome of Luxury to tread ?
Appear in all the fplendor of attire?
And vie in beauty with the high-born maid?

The smiling scenes of Pleasure they forsake,
Obey no more Anrufement's idle cali,
Nor rningling with the lons of mirth partake
The treat voluptuous, or the festive ball.





51 For sober weeds they change their Aowing train, Jerningham. Of the pearl bracelet ftrip the graceful arm, Conceal the breast that glow'd in ev'ry vein, And madden'd' into joy at Love's alarm.

No longer now the diamond's dazzling ray
Darts from the cunning treffes of the hair;
Nor do those tresles any more display
The colour'd plumes that iported in the air.

Yet Beauty lingers on their mournful brow,
As loth to leave the cheek fuffus'd with tears,
Which scarcely blushing with a languid glow,
Like Morn's faint beam thro' gath'ring mist appears.

No more compare them to the gaudy flow'r, Whose painted foliage wantons in the gale: They look the lily drooping from the show'r, Or the pale violet fick’ning in the vale.

If fond of empire and of conquest vain, They frequent votries to their altars drew, Yet blaz'd those splendid altars to their bane The idol they, and they the victim too!

Once deftitute of counsel, aid, or food,
Some helpless orphans in this dome refide,
Who (like the wand’ring children in the wood)
Trod the rude paths of life without a guide.

Some who encircled by the great and rich
Were won by wiles and deep designing art,
By fplendid bribes, and soft perluasive speech,
Of pow'r to cheat the young unguarded heart.
Some on whom Beauty breath'd her radiant

While adverse stars all other gifts remoy'd;
Who hurried from the dungeon's living tomb,
To scenes their inborn virtue disapprov’d.

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What tho' their youth imbib’d an early stain,
A second innocence is now their claim;
While in the precincts of this bless'd domain,
They bask beneath the rays of rising Fame.

So the young myrtles in Misfortune's day,
Nipt by the blast thať swept their vernal bed,
In i heltring walls their tender leaves display,
And wak’ning into life new fragrance shed.

Tho'white-wing'd Peace protect this calm abode,
Tho' each tumultuous paflion be suppress'd,
Still Recollection wears a sting to goad,
Still Conscience wakes to rob their soul of rest.

See one the tort'ring hour of mem'ry prove
Who wrapt in pensive fecrecy forlorn,
Sits musing on the pledges of her love,
Who fell the victims of paternal scorn.

Forgot, deserted in th' extremest need,
By him who shou'd have reard their tender age:

Was this, Seducer, this the promis'd meed?"
She cries then sinks beneath Afri&ion's rage.

Her bufy mind recalls the fatal plain,
Which with A low lab’ring steps she journey'd o'er,
Half-yielding to the fierce impetuous rain,
While in her arms two helpless babes í he bore.

Her mind recalls how at that awful hour
The dismal owlet feream'd her shiv'ring note,
How shriek'd the spirit from the haunted tow'r, -
While other sounds of woe were heard remote.

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