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This unadorned stone was placed here
by the particular desire and express
directions of the Right Honourable
GEORGE Lord LYTTELTON,

who died August 22, 1775, aged 64.

Lord Lyttelton's poems are the works of a man of literature and judgment, devoting part of his time to versification. They have nothing to be despised, and little to be admired. Of his Progress of Love, it is sufficient blame to say that it is pastoral. His blank verse in Blenheim has neither much force nor much elegance. His little performances, whether songs or epigrams, are sometimes sprightly, and sometimes insipid. His epistolary pieces have a smooth equability, which cannot much tire, because they are short, but which seldom elevates or surprises. But from this censure ought to be excepted his Advice to Belinda, which, though for the most part written when he was very young, contains much truth and much prudence, very elegantly and vigorously expressed, and shows a mind attentive to life, and a power of poetry which cultivation might have raised to excellence.

POEMS

OF

LORD LYTTELTON.

THE PROGRESS OF LOVE,

IN FOUR ECLOGUES.

1. Uncertainty. To Mr. Pope.

2. Hope. To the hon. George Doddington. 3. Jealousy. To Edward Walpole, esq. Possession. To the right hon. the lord viscount

Cobham.

UNCERTAINTY.

ECLOGUE I.

TO ME. POPE,

POPE, to whose reed beneath the beachen shade,
The nymphs of Thames a pleas'd attention paid;
While yet thy Muse, content with humbler praise,
Warbled in Windsor's grove her sylvan lays;
Though now, sublimely borne on Homer's wing
Of glorious wars and godlike chiefs she sing:
Wilt thou with me revisit once again

The crystal fountain, and the flowery plain?
Wilt thou, indulgent, hear my verse relate
The various changes of a lover's state;
And, while each turn of passion I pursue,
Ask thy own heart if what I tell be true?

To the green margin of a lonely wood,
Whose pendent shades o'erlook'd a silver flood,
Young Damon came, unknowing where he stray'd,
Full of the image of his beauteous maid:
His flock, far off, unfed, untended, lay,
To every savage a defenceless prey;

No sense of interest could their master move,
And every care seem'd trifling now but love.
A while in pensive silence he remain'd,
But, though his voice was mute, his looks complain'd;
At length the thoughts within his bosom pent
Forc'd his unwilling tongue to give them vent.

"Ye nymphs," he cried, "ye Dryads, whoso long Have favour'd Damon, and inspir'd his song; For whom, retir'd, I shun the gay resorts Of sportful cities, and of pompous courts ; In vain I bid the restless world adieu, To seek tranquillity and peace with you. Though wild Ambition and destructive Rage No factions here can form, no wars can wage: Though Envy frowns not on your humble shades, Nor Calumny your innocence invades : Yet cruel Love, that troubler of the breast, / Too often violates your boasted rest; With inbred storms disturbs your calm retreat, And taints with bitterness each rural sweet.

"Ah, luckless day! when first with fond surprise 1 On Delia's face I fix'd my eager eyes! Then in wild tumults all my soul was tost, Then reason, liberty, at once were lost: And every wish, and thought, and care, was gone, But what my heart employ'd on her alone. Then too she smil'd: can smiles our peace destroy, Those lovely children of Content and Joy! How can soft pleasure and tormenting woe From the same spring at the same moment flow: Unhappy boy! these vain inquiries cease, Thought could not guard, nor will restore, thy peace: Indulge the frenzy that thou must endure, And sooth the pain thou know'st not how to cure. Come, flattering Memory! and tell my heart How kind she was, and with what pleasing art She strove its fondest wishes to obtain, Confirm her power, and faster bind my chain. If on the green we danc'd, a mirthful band; To me alone she gave her willing hand: Her partial taste, if e'er I touch'd the lyre, Still in my song found something to admire. By none but her my crook with flowers was crown'd, By none but her my brows with ivy bound: The world, that Damon was her choice, believ'd, The world, alas! like Damon, was deceiv'd. When last I saw her, and declar'd my fire In words as soft as passion could inspire, Coldly she heard, and full of scorn withdrew, Without one pitying glance, one sweet adieu.

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The frighted hind, who sees his ripen'd corn
Up from the roots by sudden tempests torn,
Whose fairest hopes destroy'd and blasted lie,
Feels not so keen a pang of grief as I.
Ah, how have I deserv'd, inhuman maid,
To have my faithful service thus repaid?
Were all the marks of kindness I receiv'd,
But dreams of joy, that charm'd me and deceiv'd?
Or did you only nurse my growing love,
That with more pain I might your hatred prove?
Sure guilty treachery no place could find
In such a gentle, such a generous mind:
A maid brought up the woods and wilds among
Could ne'er have learnt the art of courts so young:
No; let me rather think her anger feign'd,
Still let me hope my Delia may be gain'd;
'Twas only modesty that seem'd disdain,
And her heart suffer'd when she gave me pain."
Pleas'd with this flattering thought, the lovesick
Felt the faint dawning of a doubtful joy;
Back to his flock more cheerful he return'd,
When now the setting Sun more fiercely burn'd,
Blue vapours rose along the mazy rills,
And light's last blushes ting'd the dist: nt hills.

HOPE.

ECLOGUE II.

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TO MR. DODDINGTON, AFTERWARDS LORD MELCOMBE REGIS.

HEAR, Doddington, the notes that shepherds sing,
Like those that warbling hail the genial Spring.
Nor Pan, nor Phoebus, tunes our artless reeds:
From Love alone their melody proceeds.
From Love, Theocritus, on Enna's plains,
Learnt the wild sweetness of his Doric strains.
Young Maro, touch'd by his inspiring dart,
Could charm each ear, and soften every heart:
Me too his power has reach'd, and bids with thine
My rustic pipe in pleasing concert join '.

Damon no longer sought the silent shade,
No more in unfrequented paths he stray'd,
But call'd the swains to hear his jocund song,
And told his joy to all the rural throng.

"Blest be the hour," he said, "that happy hour,
When first I own'd my Delia's gentle power;
Then gloomy discontent and pining care
Forsook my breast, and left soft wishes there;
Soft wishes there they left, and gay desires,
Delightful languors, and transporting fires.
Where yonder limes combine to form a shade,
These eyes first gaz'd upon the charming maid;
There she appear'd, on that auspicious day,
When swains their sportive rites to Bacchus pay:
She led the dance-Heavens! with what grace she
mov'd!

Who could have seen her then, and not have lov'd?
I strove not to resist so sweet a flame,
But gloried in a happy captive's name;
Nor would I now, could Love permit, be free,
But leave to brutes their savage liberty.

Mr. Doddington had written some very pretty love verses, which have never been published.

Lyttelton.

"And art thou then, fond youth, secure of joy? Can no reverse thy flattering bliss destroy? Has treacherous Love no torment yet in store? Or hast thou never prov'd his fatal power? Whence flow'd those tears that late bedew'd thy cheek?

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Why sigh'd thy heart as if it strove to break?
Why were the desert rocks invok'd to hear
The plaintive accent of thy sad despair?
From Delia's rigour all those pains arose,
Delia, who now compassionates my woes,
Who bids me hope; and in that charming word
Has peace and transport to my soul restor❜d.
Begin my pipe, begin the gladsome lay;
A kiss from Delia shall thy music pay;
A kiss obtain'd 'twixt struggling and consent,
Given with forc'd anger, and disguis'd content.
No laureat wreaths I ask, to bind my brows,
Such as the Muse on lofty bards bestows:
Let other swains to praise or fame aspire;
I from her lips my recompense require.

66

Why stays my Delia in her secret bower? Light gales have chas'd the late impending shower; Th' emerging San more bright his beams extends; Oppos'd, its beauteous arch the rainbow bends! Glad youths and maidens turn the new-made hay: The birds renew their songs on every spray! Come forth, my love, thy shepherd's joys to crown: All nature smiles.-Will only Delia frown?

"Hark how the bees with murmurs fill the plain, While every flower of every sweet they drain: See, how beneath yon hillock's shady steep, The shelter'd herds on flowery couches sleep: Nor bees, nor herds, are half so blest as I, If with my fond desires my love comply; From Delia's lips a sweeter honey flows, And on her bosom dwells more soft repose.

"Ah! how, my dear, shall I deserve thy charms?
What gift can bribe thee to my longing arms?
A bird for thee in silken bands I hold,
Whose yellow plumage shines like polish'd gold;
From distant isles the lovely stranger came,
And bears the fortunate Canaries name;
In all our woods none boasts so sweet a note,
Not ev'n the nightingale's melodious throat.
Accept of this; and could I add beside
What wealth the rich Peruvian mountains hide :
If all the gems in eastern rocks were mine,
On thee alone their glittering pride should shine.
But, if thy mind no gifts have power to move,
Phoebus himself shall leave th' Aonian grove:
The tuneful Nine, who never sue in vain,
Shall come sweet suppliants for their favourite
swain.

For him each blue-ey'd Naiad of the flood,
For him each green-hair'd sister of the wood,
Whom oft beneath fair Cynthia's gentle ray
His music calls to dance the night away.
And you, fair nymphs, companions of my love,
With whom she joys the cowslip meads to rove,
I beg you, recommend my faithful flame,
And let her often hear her shepherd's name :
Shade all my faults from her inquiring sight,
And show my merits in the fairest light;
My pipe your kind assistance shall repay,
And every friend shall claim a different lay.

"But see! in yonder glade the heavenly far
Enjoys the fragrance of the breezy air-
Ah, thither let me fly with eager feet;
Adieu, my pipe; I go my love to meet-

O, may I find her as we parted last,
And may each future hour be like the past!
So shall the whitest lamb these pastures feed,
Propitious Venus, on thy altars bleed."

JEALOUSY.

ECLOGUE III.

TO MR. EDWARD WALPOLE.

THE gods, O Walpole, give no bliss sincere ;
Wealth is disturb'd by care, and power by fear:
Of all the passions that employ the mind,
In gentle love the sweetest joys we find :
Yet ev'n those joys dire Jealousy molests,
And blackens each fair image in our breasts.
O may the warmth of thy too tender heart
Ne'er feel the sharpness of his venom'd dart!
For thy own quiet, think thy mistress just,
And wisely take thy happiness on trust.

Begin, my Muse, and Damon's woes rehearse, In wildest numbers and disorder'd verse.

On a romantic mountain's airy head (While browzing goats at ease around him fed) Anxions he lay, with jealous cares opprest; Distrust and anger labouring in his breastThe vale beneath a pleasing prospect yields Of verdant meads and cultivated fields; Through these a river rolls its winding flood, Adorn'd with various tufts of rising wood; Here, half conceal'd in trees, a cottage stands, A castle there the opening plain commands; Beyond, a town with glittering spires is crown'd, And distant hills the wide horizon bound: So charming was the scene, a while the swain Beheld delighted, and forgot his pain: But soon the stings infix'd within his heart With cruel force renew'd their raging smart: His flowery wreath, which long with pride he wore, The gift of Delia, from his brows he tore, Then cried, "May all thy charms, ungrateful maid, Like these neglected roses, droop and fade! May angry Heaven deform each guilty grace, That triumphs now in that deluding face! Those alter'd looks may every shepherd fly, And ev'n thy Daphnis hate thee worse than I! "Say, thou inconstant, what has Damon done, To lose the heart his tedious pains had won? Tell me what charms you in my rival find, Against whose power no ties have strength to bind? Has he, like me, with long obedience strove To conquer your disdain, and merit love? Has he with transport every smile ador'd, And died with grief at each ungentle word? Ah, no! the conquest was obtain'd with ease; He pleas'd you, by not studying to please: H's careless indolence your pride alarm'd ; And, had he lov'd you more, he less had charm'd. "O pain to think! another shall possess Those balmy lips which I was wont to press: Another on her panting breast shall lie, And catch sweet madness from her swimming eye!I saw their friendly flocks together feed,

I saw them hand in hand walk o'er the mead: Would my clos'd eye had sunk in endless night, Ere I was doom'd to bear that hateful sight! Where'er they pass'd, be blasted every flower, And hungry wolves their helpless flocks devour!

Ah, wretched swain, could no examples move Thy heedless heart to shun the rage of love? Hast thou not heard how poor Menalcas died A victim to Parthenia's fatal pride?

Dear was the youth to all the tuneful plain,
Lov'd by the nymphs, by Phoebus lov'd in vain:
Around his tomb their tears the Muses paid;
And all things mourn'd, but the relentless maid.
Would I could die like him, and be at peace?
These torments in the quiet grave would cease;
There my vex'd thoughts a calm repose would find,
And rest, as if my Delia still were kind.

No, let me live, her falsehood to upbraid:
Some god perhaps my just revenge will aid.-
Alas! what aid, fond swain, wouldst thou receive?
Could thy heart bear to see its Delia grieve?
Protect her, Heaven! and let her never know
The slightest part of hapless Damon's woe:
I ask no vengeance from the powers above;
All I implore is never more to love.-
Let me this fondness from my bosom tear,
Let me forget that e'er I thought her fair.
Come, cool Indifference, and heal my breast;
Wearied, at length, I seek thy downy rest:
No turbulence of passion shall destroy
My future ease with flattering hopes of joy.
Hear, mighty Pan, and, all ye sylvans, hear
What by your guardian deities I swear;
No more my eyes shall view her fatal charms,
No more I'll court the traitoress to my arms;
Not all her arts my steady soul shall move,
And she shall find that reason conquers love!"—
Scarce had he spoke, when through the lawn below
Alone he saw the beauteous Delia go;
At once transported, he forgot his vow,
(Such perjuries the laughing gods allow!)
Down the steep hills with ardent haste he fiew;
He found her kind, and soon believ'd her true.

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Recall those years which time has thrown behind,
When smiling Love with Honour shar'd thy mind:
When all thy glorious days of prosperous fight
Delighted less than one successful night.
The sweet remembrance shall thy youth restore,
Fancy again shall run past pleasures o'er ;
And, while in Stowe's enchanting walks you stray,
This theme may help to cheat the summer's day.
Beneath the covert of a myrtle wood,

To Venus rais'd, a rustic altar stood.
To Venus and to Hymen, there combin'd,
In friendly league to favour human-kind.
With wanton Cupids, in that happy shade,
The gentle Virtues and mild Wisdom play'd,

See Mr. Gay's Dione.

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