You she preferr'd to all the

gay reforts

Where female vanity might wish to fhine,.
The pomp of cities, and the pride of courts.
Her modest beauties fhun'd the public eye:
To your fequefter'd dales

And flow'r-embroider'd vales

From an admiring world fhe chose to fly;
With Nature there retir'd, and Nature's GOD,
The filent paths of wisdom trod

And banish'd every paffion from her breast,
But those, the gentleft and the best,

Whofe holy flames with energy divine
The virtuous heart enliven and improve,

The conjugal and the maternal love.

VI.

Sweet babes, who, like the little playful fawns,
Were wont to trip along thefe verdant lawns
By your delighted Mother's fide,

Who now your infant steps fhall guide?
Ah! where is now the hand whofe tender care

To every Virtue would have form'd your Youth,
And ftrew'd with flow'rs the thorny ways of Truth?
Olofs beyond repair!

O wretched

O wretched Father left alone

Το weep their dire misfortune, and thy own!

How shall thy weaken'd mind, opprefs'd with woe,

And drooping o'er thy Lucy's grave,

Perform the duties that you doubly owe,

From folly, and from vice, their helplefs age to fave?

VII.

Where were ye, Muses, when relentless Fate
From these fond arms your fair disciple tore,
From thefe fond arms that vainly strove
With hapless ineffectual Love

To guard her bofom from the mortal blow?
Could not your fav'ring power, Aonian maids,
Could not, alas! your power prolong her date,
For whom so oft in these inspiring fhades,
Or under Campden's mofs-clad mountains hoar,
You open'd all your facred ftore,

Whate'er your ancient fages taught,

Your ancient bards fublimely thought,

And bade her raptur'd breast with all your spirit glow? VIII,

Nor then did Pindus' or Caftalia's plain,

Or Aganippe's fount your steps detain,

Nor in the Thefpian vallies did you play,

a

Nor then on Mincio's bank

Befet with ofiers dank,

Nor where Clitunnus rolls his gentle stream,

Nor where through hanging woods

Nor

e

yet where Meles or Iliffus ftray.

Ill does it now befeem,

That, of your guardian care bereft,

To dire disease and death your darling should be left,

IX.

Now what avails it that in early bloom,

With

When light fantastic toys

Are all her fex's joys,

you fhe fearch'd the wit of Greece and Rome? And all that in her latter days

To emulate her ancient praise

a The Mincio runs by Mantua, the birth-place of VIRGIL. The Clitumnus is a river of Umbria, the refidence of PRO

PERTIUS.

The Anio runs through Tibur or Tivoli, where HORACE had a villa.

d The Meles is a river of Ionia, from whence HOMER, fupposed to be born on its banks, is called Melifigenes.

• The Iliffus is a river at Athens.

Italia's

Italia's happy genius could produce;
Or what the Gallic fire

Bright-sparkling could infpire,

By all the Graces temper'd and refin'd;
Or what in Britain's isle,

Most favour'd with your smile,

The pow'rs of reason and of fancy join'd
To full perfection have confpir'd to raise?
Ah! what is now the use

Of all these treasures that enrich'd her mind,
To black oblivion's gloom for ever now confign'd?

X.

At least, ye Nine, her spotless name

'Tis yours from death to fave,

And in the temple of immortal Fame

With golden characters her worth engrave.

Come then, ye virgin fifters, come,

And ftrew with choiceft flow'rs her hallow'd tomb. But foremost thou, in fable vestment clad,

With accents sweet and fad,

Thou, plaintive Mufe, whom o'er his Laura's urn Unhappy Petrarch call'd to mourn,

O come, and to this fairer Laura pay

A more impaffion'd tear, a more pathetic lay.

XI. Tell

XI.

Tell how each beauty of her mind and face

Was brighten'd by fome fweet, peculiar grace.

How eloquent in every look

Through her expreffive eyes her foul diftinctly spoke

Tell how her manners by the world refin'd

Left all the taint of modifh vice behind,

And made each charm of polish'd courts agree
With candid Truth's fimplicity,

And uncorrupted Innocence !
Tell how to more than manly sense
She join'd the foft'ning influence

Of more than female tenderness :

How in the thoughtless days of wealth and joy,
Which oft the care of others' good deftroy,

Her kindly-melting heart,

To every want, and every woe,
To guilt itself when in distress

The balm of pity would impart,

And all relief that bounty could bestow!

Ev'n for the kid or lamb that pour'd its life

Beneath the bloody knife,

Her gentle tears would fall,

Tears from sweet Virtue's fource, benevolent to all.

4

XII. Not