VIII.

Nor then did Pindus or Caftalia's plain,
Or Aganippe's fount your steps detain,
Nor in the Thefpian vallies did you play;
Mincio's bank

Nor then on

Befet with ofiers dank,

Nor where + Clitumnus rolls his gentle ftream,
Nor where through hanging woods,

Steep Anio pours his floods,

Nor yet where Meles or § Iliffus ftray.
Ill does it now beseem,

That, of your guardian care bereft,

To dire disease and death your darling should be left.

tius.

IX.

Now what avails it that in early bloom,

When light fantastic toys

Are all her fex's joys,

With you fhe fearch'd the wit of Greece and Rome;

And all that in her latter days
To emulate her ancient praise

The Mintio runs by Mantua, the birth-place of Virgil.
The Clitumnus is a river of Umbria, the refidence of Proper-

The Anio runs through Tibur or Tivoli, where Horace had a vilia.

The Meles is a river of Ionia, from whence Homer, supposed 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 fparkling could inspire,

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

Moft favour'd with your smile,

The powers of Reafon and of Fancy join'd
To full perfection have conspir'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 spotlefs 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 flowers her hallow'd tomb :
But foremost thou, in fable vestment clad,

With accents fweet 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 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

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 foftening influence

Of more than female tenderness:

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

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. XII.

Not only good and kind,

But ftrong and elevated was her mind :

A fpirit that with noble pride

Could look fuperior down

On Fortune's fmile or frown;
That could without regret or pain
To Virtue's loweft duty facrifice
Or Interest or Ambition's highest prize;
That, injur'd or offended, never tried
Its dignity by vengeance to maintain,
But by magnanimous disdain.

A wit that, temperately bright,.
With inoffenfive light

All pleafing fhone; nor ever past

The decent bounds that Wisdom's fober hand,
And fweet Benevolence's mild command,
And bashful modefty, before it caft.

A prudence undeceiving, undeceiv'd,
That nor too little nor too much believ'd,
That fcorn'd unjuft Sufpicion's coward fear,
And without weakness knew to be fincere.
Such Lucy was,. when, in her fairest days,
Amidft th' acclaim of universal praise,
In life's and glory's fresheft bloom,

Death came remorfelefs on, and funk her to the tomb..

XIII.

So, where the filent streams of Liris glide,
In the foft bofom of Campania's vale,
When now the wintery tempefts all are fled,
And genial Summer breathes her gentle gale,
The verdant orange lifts its beauteous head;
From every branch the balmy flowerets rife,
On every bough the golden fruits are feen;
With odours fweet it fills the fmiling fkies,
The wood-nymphs tend, and th' Idalian queen.
But, in the midst of all its blooming pride,
A fudden blaft from Apenninus blows,

Cold with perpetual fnows:

The tender blighted plant fhrinks up its leaves, and dies.

XIV. Arife,

XIV.

Arife, O Petrarch, from th' Elyfian bowers,
With never-fading myrtles twin'd,

And fragrant with ambrofial flowers,
Where to thy Laura thou again art join'd;

Arife, and hither bring the filver lyre,
Tun'd by thy fkilful hand,

To the foft notes of elegant defire,
With which o'er many a land

Was fpread the fame of thy disastrous love;
To me refign the vocal shell,
And teach my forrows to relate
Their melancholy tale fo well,
As may ev'n things inanimate,

Rough mountain oaks and defart rocks, to pity move.

XV.

What were, alas! thy woes compar'd to mine?
To thee thy mistress in the blissful band

Of Hymen never gave her hand;

The joys of wedded love were never thine
In thy domestic care

She never bore a share,

Nor with endearing art

Would heal thy wounded heart

Of every fecret grief that fester'd there:

Nor did her fond affection on the bed
Of ficknefs watch thee, and thy languid head
Whole nights on her unwearied arm sustain,
And charm away the fenfe of pain:

Nor did the crown your mutual flame

With pledges dear, and with a father's tender name.