Her balmy breath, and all her blooming store
Of rural blifs, was here before :

Oft have I met her on the verdant fide
Of Norwood-hill, and in the yellow meads,
Where Pan the dancing Graces leads,
Array'd in all her flowery pride.

No fweeter fragrance now the gardens yield,
No brighter colours paint th' enamel'd field.

III.

Is it to Love these new delights I owe?
Four times has the revolving fun
His annual circle through the zodiac run;
Since all that Love's indulgent power
On favour'd mortals can bestow,
Was given to me in this aufpicious bower.

IV.

Here firft my Lucy, fweet in virgin charms,
Was yielded to my longing arms;
And round our nuptial bed,

Hovering with purple wings, th' Idalian boy
Shook from his radiant torch the blissful fires
Of innocent defires,

While Venus scatter'd myrtles o'er her head.

Whence then this ftrange increase of joy? He, only he, can tell, who, match'd like me, (If fuch another happy man there be)

Has by his own experience tried

How much the wife is dearer than the bride.

то

THE SAME LADY.

A MONO D Y. A. D. 1747.

Ipfe cavà folans ægrum teftudine amorem, "Te dulcis conjux, te folo in littore fecum, "Te veniente die, te decedente canebat."

A

I.

T length escap'd from every human eye,
From every duty, every care,

That in my mournful thoughts might claim a fhare,
Or force my tears their flowing ftream to dry;
Beneath the gloom of this embowering shade,
This lone retreat, for tender forrow made,
I now may give my burden'd heart relief,
And pour forth all my ftores of grief;
Of grief furpaffing every other woe,
Far as the pureft blifs, the happiest love

Can on th' ennobled mind bestow,
Exceeds the vulgar joys that move
Our grofs defires, inelegant and low.

II.

Yet tufted groves, ye gently-falling rills,
Ye high o'ershadowing hills,

Ye lawns gay-fmiling with eternal green,
Oft have you my Lucy feen!

But never fhall you now behold her more:
Nor will the now with fond delight

And tafte refin'd your rural charms explore.
Clos'd are those beauteous eyes in endless night,
Those beauteous eyes where beaming us'd to shine
Reafon's pure light and Virtue's spark divine.

III.

Oft would the Dryads of thefe woods rejoice
To hear her heavenly voice;

For her defpifing, when she deign'd to fing,
The fweeteft fongfters of the fpring:
The woodlark and the linnet pleas'd no more;
The nightingale was mute,

And every fhepherd's flute
Was caft in filent fcorn away,

While all attended to her fweeter lay.

Ye larks and linnets, now refume your fong

And thou, melodious Philomel,

Again thy plaintive story tell;

For death has ftopt that tuneful tongue,

Whofe mufic could alone your warbling notes excel.

. IV.

In vain I look around

O'er all the well-known ground,

My Lucy's wonted footsteps to descry;

Where oft we us'd to walk,

We faw the fummer fun go down the sky ;

Nor by yon fountain's fide,

Nor where its waters glide

Along the valley, can she now be found :
In all the wide-ftretch'd profpect's ample bound
No more my mournful

Can aught of her efpy,

eye

But the fad facred earth where her dear relicks lie.

V.

O fhades of Hagley, where is now your boaft?

Your bright inhabitant is loft.

You fhe 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 fhunn'd the public eye :
To your fequefter'd dales

And flower embroider'd vales

From an admiring world fhe chofe 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 thofe, the gentlest and the best,
Whofe holy flames with energy divine
The virtuous heart enliven and improve,
The conjugal and the maternal love.

313

VI. Sweet

VI.

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

Who now your infant steps shall guide?
Ah! where is now the hand whofe tender care
To every virtue would have form'd your youth,
And ftrew'd with flowers the thorny ways of truth?
O lofs beyond repair!

O wretched father! left alone,

To weep their dire misfortune, and thy own!
How fhall thy weaken'd mind, opprefs'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 helpless 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 ftrove
With hapless ineffectual love

To guard her bofom from the mortal blow?

Could not your favouring power, Aonian maids, Could not, alas.! your power prolong her date, For whom fo oft in these inspiring fhades, Or under Camden'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 breaft with all your fpirit glow?

VIII, Nor