A winged virtue, through th' etherial sky,
From world to world unweary'd does he fly,
Or curious trace the long laborious maze
Of heav'n's decrees, where wond'ring angels gaze?
Does he delight to hear bold feraphs tell,
How Michael battled, and the Dragon fell?
Or, mix'd with milder cherubim, to glow
In hymns of love, not ill effay'd below?
Or dost thou warn poor mortals left behind,
A tak well fuited to thy gentle mind?
Oh, if sometimes thy fpotless form descend,
To me thy aid, thou guardian genius, lend!
When age mifguides me, or when fear alarms.
When pain diftreffes, or when pleasure charms,
In filent whisp'rings purer thoughts impart,
And turn from ill a frail and feeble heart;
Lead through the paths thy virtue trod before,
'Till blifs fhall join, nor death can part us more.
That awful form (which, fo the heav'ns decree,
Muft ftill be lov'd, and ftill deplor'd by me)
In nightly vifions feldom fails to rife,
Or rous'd by fancy, meets my waking eyes.
If bufinefs calls, or crowded courts invite,
Th' unblemish'd statesman feems to ftrike my fight;
If in the stage I feek to scoth my care,
I meet his foul which breathes in Cato there
If penfive to the rural fhades I rove,
His fhape o'ertakes me in the lonely grove :
'Twas there of juft and good he reafon'd strong,
Clear'd fome great truths, or rais'd fome ferious fong;
There patient show'd us the wife course to steer,
A candid cenfor, and a friend fincere ;
There taught us how to live; and (oh! too high
The price for knowledge) taught us how to die ".
Thou hill, whofe brow the antique ftructures grace,
Rear'd by bold chiefs of Warwick's noble race,
Why, once fo lov'd, whene'er thy bower appears,
O'er my dim eye-balls glance the fudden tears?
How sweet were once thy prospects fresh and fair,
Thy floping walks, and unpolluted air!
How fweet the glooms beneath thy aged trees,
Thy noon-tide shadow, and the evening breeze!
His image thy forfaken bowers restore;
Thy walks and airy profpects charm no more;
No more the fummer in thy glooms allay'd,
Thy evening breezes, and thy noon-day shade.
From other ills, however fortune frown'd,
Some refuge in the Mufe's art I found;
Reluctant now I touch the trembling ftring,
Bereft of him, who taught me how to fing;
And these fad accents, murmur'd o'er his urn,
Betray that abfence they attempt to mourn.
• See Dr. Young's Conjectures on Original Composition, where the sircumstance here alluded to is very fully explained.
Holland Houfe, where Mr. Addifon died.
Oh! muft I then (now fresh my bofom bleeds,
And Craggs f in death to Addison fucceeds)
The verfe, begun to one loft friend, prolong,
And weep a fecond in th' unfinish'd fong!
These words divine, which, on his death-bed laid,
To thee, O Craggs, th' expiring fage convey'd,
Great, but ill-omen'd monument of fame,
Nor he furviv'd to give, nor thou to claim.
Swift after him thy social spirit flies,
And close to his, how foon! thy coffin lies.
Bleft pair! whose union future bards shall tell
In future tongues: each other's boast! farewel.
Farewel! whom join'd in fame, in friendship try'd,
No chance could fever, nor the
grave divide.
f James Craggs, the younger, Efq; who fucceeded Mr. Addison as fecretary of state, and furvived him but a fhort time. He was a gentleman much efteemed by the first writers of the times in which he lived, and is frequently celebrated in their works. He died the 16th of February 1720-1, and was buried in Westminster Abbey, where a monument is erected to his memory, with an infcription thereon written by Mr. Pope.
F Leinfter fam'd for maidens fair,
Bright Lucy was the grace;
Nor e'er did Liffy's limpid ftream
Reflect a fairer face;
'Till luckless love and pining care
Impair'd her rofy hue,
Her dainty lip, her damask cheek,
And eyes of gloffy blue.
III.
Ah! have you feen a lily pale
When beating rains descend?
So droop'd this flow-confuming maid,
Her life now near its end.
By Lucy warn'd, of flatt'ring swains
Take heed, ye easy fair;
Of vengeance due to broken vows,
Ye flatt'ring fwains, beware!
Three times all in the dead of night,
A bell was heard to ring;
And at her window, croaking thrice,
The raven flap'd his wing.
VI.
Full well the love-lorn maiden knew
The folemn-boding found,
And thus in dying words bespoke
The virgins weeping round.
VII.
"I hear a voice you cannot hear,
66 That cries, I must not stay;
"I fee a hand you cannot fee,
"That beckons me away.
"Of a false swain, and broken heart,
"In early youth I die;
"Am I to blame, because the bride
Is twice as rich as I?
"Ah, CoLIN, give not her thy vows, "Vows due to me alone!
"Nor thou, rafh girl, receive his kiss, " Nor think him all thy own!
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