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POETRY:

WH

ELEGY, by Mr. SHENSTONE.

THY mourns my friend? Why weeps his downcaft eye ?
That eye where mirth, where fancy us'd to fhine?"

Thy cheerful meads reprove that fwelling figh;
Spring ne'er enamell'd fairer meads than thine.

Art thou not lodg'd in Fortune's warm embrace?
Wert thou not form'd by Nature's partial care?
Bleft in thy fong, and bleft in ev'ry grace

That wins the friend, or that enchants the fair?

Damon, faid he, thy partial praise restrain !

Not Damon's friendship can my peace restore; Alas! his very praise awakes my pain,

And my poor wounded bofom bleeds the more :

School'd in the fcience of love's mazy wiles,
I cloath'd each feature with affected scorn;
I fpoke of jealous doubts, and fickle smiles,
And, feigning, left her anxious and forlorn.

Then, while the fancy'd rage alarm'd her care,
Warm to deny, and zealous to disprove;
I bade words their wonted foftnefs wear,
my
And feiz'd the minute of returning love.

To thee, my Damon, dare I paint the reft?
Will yet thy love a candid ear incline ?
Affur'd that virtue, by misfortune preft,
Feels not the sharpness of a pang like mine.

Nine envious moons matur'd her growing fhame;
Ere while to flaunt it in the face of day;
When fcorn'd of virtue, ftigmatiz'd by fame,
Low at my feet defponding Jeffy lay.

"Henry," the faid, "by thy dear form fubdu'd,
See the fad reliques of a nymph undone !
I find, I find this rifing fob renew'd :

I figh in fhades, and ficken at the fun!

Amid the dreary gloom of night, I cry,

When will the morn's once-pleafing fcenes return? Yet what can morn's returning ray supply,

But foes that triumph, or but friends that mourn?

Alas! no more that joyous morn appears

That led the tranquil hours of fpotlefs fame; For I have steep'd a father's couch in tears,

And ting'd a mother's glowing cheek with shame!

The vocal birds that raise their matin ftrain,
The sportive lambs, increase my penfive moan;
All seem to chafe me from the cheerful plain,
And talk of truth and innocence alone.

If through the garden's flow'ry tribes I ftray,
Where bloom the jafmins that could once allure,
Hope not to find delight in us, they say,
For we are spotlefs, Jeffy; we are pure.

Ye flow'rs that well reproach a nymph fo frail,
Say, could ye with my virgin fame compare?
The brightest bud that scents the vernal gale
Was not fo fragrant, and was not fo fair.

VOL. VII.

Now

Now the grave old alarm the gentler young;

And all my fame's abhorr'd contagion flee
Trembles each lip, and falters every tongue,
That bids the morn propitious fmile on me.

Thus for your fake I fhun each human eye;
I bid the sweets of blooming youth adieu ;
To die I languish, but I read to die,

Left my fad fate should nourish pangs for you.

Raife me from earth; the pains of want remove,
And let me filent feek fome friendly shore !
There only, banish'd from the form I love,
My weeping virtue shall relapse no more.

Be but my friend; I ask no dearer name;

Be fuch the meed of fome more artful fair:
Nor could it heal my peace, or chase my shame,
That pity gave, what love refus'd to share.

Force not my tongue to ask its scanty bread,
Nor hurl thy Jeffy to the vulgar crew;
Not fuch the parent's board at which I fed !
Not fuch the precept from his lips I drew !

Haply, when age has filver'd o'er my hair,
Malice may learn to fcorn fo mean a spoil;
Envy may flight a face no longer fair:

And pity, welcome, to my native foil."

She spoke-nor was I born of favage race;
Nor could thefe hands a niggard boon affign;
Grateful fhe clafp'd me in a last embrace,

And vow'd to waste her life in pray'rs for mine.

I faw her foot the lofty bark afcend;

I faw her breaft with every paflion heave;
I left her-torn from every earthly friend;
Oh ! my hard bofom, which could bear to leave!

Brief let me be; the fatal ftorm arose;

The billows rag'd; the pilot's art was vain O'er the tall maft the circling furges clofe ; My Jeffy-floats upon the wat'ry plain ! And-fee my youth's impetuous fires decay, Seek not to ftop reflection's bitter tear; But warn the frolic, and inftruct the gay, From Jeffy floating on her wat'ry bier!

;

The

The NUN, an Elegy: by the Author of the Magdalen.

7ITH each perfection dawning on her mind,

WITH

All beauty's treasure opening on her cheek,
Each flatt'ring hope fubdued, each with refign'd,
Does gay Ophelia this lone mansion seek ?

Say, gentle maid, what prompts thee to forfake
The paths thy birth and fortune ftrew with flow'rs?
Thro' nature's kind endearing ties to break,
And waste in cloyfter'd walls thy penfive hours?

Let fober thought restrain thine erring zeal,
That guides thy footsteps to the vestal gate,
Left thy foft heart (this friendship bids reveal)
Like mine unbleft fhou'd mourn like mine too late.

Does fome angelic lonely-whifp'ring voice,
Some facred impulfe, or fome dream divine,
Approve the dictates of thy early choice?--
Approach with confidence the awful shrine.

There kneeling at yon altar's marble base
(While tears of rapture from thine eye-lids steal,
And fmiling Heav'n illumes thy foul with grace)
Pronounce the vow thou never can'ft repeal.

Yet, if mifled by falfe-entitled friends,

Who fay-"That Peace with all her comely train,
"From starry regions to this clime defcends,
"Smooths ev'ry frown, and foftens every pain :

"That veftals tread Contentment's flow'ry lawn,
"Approv'd of Innocence, by Health careft:
"That rob'd in colours bright, by Fancy drawn,
"Celestial hope fits fmiling at their breast."

Sufpect their fyren fong and artful style,

Their pleafing founds fome treach'rous thought conceal;
Full oft does Pride with fainted voice beguile,

And fordid Int'reft wear the mask of zeal.

A tyrant abbefs here perchance may reign,
Who, fond of pow'r, affects th' imperial nod,
Looks down difdainful on her female train,
And rules the cloyster with an iron rod.