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Alas! each friend of mine,

My dear departed love, fo much was thine,
That none has any comfort to bestow.
My books, the best relief

In every other grief,

Are now with your idea fadden'd all :
Each fav'rite author we together read
My tortur'd mem'ry wounds, and fpeaks of Lucy dead.
We were the happiest pair of human kind:
The rolling year its various courfe perform'd,
And back return'd again;
Another, and another, fmiling came,
And faw our happinefs unchang'd remain,
Still in her golden chain

Harmonious concord did our wishes bind :
Our ftudies, pleasures, tafte, the fame.
O fatal, fatal stroke!

That all this pleafing fabric love had rais'd
Of rare felicity,

On which e'en wanton vice with envy gaz'd,
And every scheme of blifs our hearts had form'd,
With foothing hope for many a future day,
In one fad moment broke !

Yet, O my foul! thy rifing murmur stay :
Nor dare th' all-wife Difpofer to arraign,
Or against his fupreme decree
With impious grief complain

That all thy full-blown joys at once fhould fade, Was his most righteous will-and be that will obey'd Would thy fond love his grace to her control; And, in these low abodes of fin and pain,

Her pure exalted foul,
Unjustly, for thy partial good, detain ?
No-rather strive thy grov'lling mind to raise
Up to that unclouded blaze,

That heavenly radiance of eternal light,
In which enthron'd, the now with pity fees,
How frail, how infecure, how flight,

Is every mortal blifs :

Ev'n love itself, if rifing by degrees Beyond the bounds of this imperfect state, Whose fleeting joys fo foon must end, It does not to its fovereign good afcend.

Rife then, my foul, with hope elate,
And seek thofe regions of ferene delight,

Whofe peaceful path, and ever-open gate,
No feet but those of harden'd guilt shall mifs
There death himself thy Lucy fhall reftore ;

;

There yield up all his pow'r, ne'er to divide you more,

LORD LYTTELTON.

CHAP. V.

PROMISCUOUS PIECES.

SECTION I.

Hymn to contentment.

LOVELY, lafting peace of mind!
Sweet delight of human kind !
Heav'nly born, and bred on high,
To crown the fav'rites of the sky,
With more of happiness below,
Than victors in a triumph know!
Whither, oh whither art thou fled,
To lay thy meek contented head?
What happy region dost thou please
To make the feat of calms and ease?
Ambition fearches all its fphere

Of pomp and ftate, to meet thee there :
Increafing avarice would find

Thy prefence in its gold enshrin'd :
The bold advent'rer ploughs his way
Through rocks, amidst the foaming fea,
To gain thy love; and then perceives
Thou wert not in the rocks and waves.
The filent heart with grief affails,

Treads foft and lonefome o'er the vales,
Sees daifies open, rivers run,

And seeks (as I have vainly done)
Amufing thought; but learns to know
That folitude's the nurfe of wo.

No real happiness is found

In trailing purple o'er the ground:
Or in a foul exalted high,

Το range the circuit of the sky,
Converfe with ftars above, and know
All nature in its forms below:

The reft it feeks, in feeking dies;
And doubts at laft for knowledge rife.
Lovely, lafting peace, appear;
This world itself, if thou art here,
Is once again with Eden bleft,
And man contains it in his breaft.
'Twas thus, as under fhade I ftood,
I fung my wishes to the wood,
And, loft in thought, no more perceiv'd
The branches whifper as they wav'd;
It seem'd as all the quiet place
Confefs'd the prefence of the grace:
When thus fhe fpoke :-"Go rule thy will,
Bid thy wild paffions all be ftill;
Know God, and bring thy heart to know
The joys which from religion flow;
Then every grace fhall prove its guest,
And I'll be there to crown the reft."
Oh! by yonder moffy feat,
In my hours of sweet retreat,
Might I thus my foul employ,
With fenfe of gratitude and joy,
Rais'd as ancient prophets were,
In heavenly vifion, praife and prayer;
Pleafing all men, hurting none,
Pleas'd and ble with God alone;
Then while the gardens take my fight,
With all the colours of delight ;
While filver waters glide along,
To please my ear, and court my fong;
I'll lift my voice, and tune my ftring,
And thee, Great Source of Nature, fing.
The fun that walks his airy way,
To light the world, and give the day;
The moon that fhines with borrow'd light;
The stars that gild the gloomy night;
The feas that roll unnumber'd waves ;
The wood that fpreads its fhady leaves;
The field whofe ears conceal the grain,
The yellow treasure of the plain :
All of these, and all I fee,

Should be fung, and fung by me:
They fpeak their Maker as they can,
But want, and ask the tongue of man.

Go fearch among your idle dreams,
Your bufy or your vain extremes :
And find a life of equal bliss,

Or own the next begun in this.
SECTION II.

PARNELL.

An elegy written in a country church-yard. THE Curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds flowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. Now fades the glimm'ring landfcape on the fight, And all the air a folemn ftillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his drony flight,. And drowsy tinklings lull the diftant folds; Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tower, The moping owl does to the moon complain Of fuch, as wand'ring near her secret bower, Moleft her ancient folitary reign.

Beneath thofe rugged elms, that yew-tree's fhade, Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, Each in his arrow cell forever laid,

The rude forefathers of the hamlet fleep.

The breezy call of incenfe-breathing morn,

The fwallow twitt'ring from the straw-built fhed,
The cock's fhrill clarion, or the echoing horn,

No more fhall rouse them from their lowly bed.
For them no more the blazing hearth fhall burn,
Or bufy housewife ply her evening care:
Nor children run to lifp their fire's return,
Or'climb his knees the envied kifs to fhare.

Oft did the harvest to their fickle yield;

Their furrow oft the stubborn giebe has broke ; How jocund did they drive their teams afield!

How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy ftroke !

Let not ambition mock their useful toil,

Their homely joys, and destiny obfcure;
Nor grandeur hear with a difdainful fmile
The fhort and fimple annals of the poor.
The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
Await alike, th' inevitable hour;

The paths of glory lead but to the grave !

Nor you, ye proud, impute to thefe the fault,
If mem'ry o'er their tomb no trophies raise,
Where thro' the long-drawn aifle and fretted vault,
The pealing anthem fwells the note of praise.
Can ftoried urn, or animated bust,

Back to its manfion call the fleeting breath?
Can honour's voice provoke the filent duft,

Or flatt'ry footh the dull cold ear of death ? Perhaps in this neglected fpot is laid

Some heart once pregnant with celeftial fire; Hands, that the rod of empire might have fway'd, Or wake to ecftacy the living lyre.

But knowledge to their eyes her ample page,
Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll;
Chill penury reprefs'd their noble rage,

And froze the genial current of the foul.
Full many a gem, of pureft ray serene,
The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear :
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And wafte its sweetness on the defert air.
Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breaft
The little tyrant of his fields withstood;
Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest;
Some Cromwell guiltlefs of his country's blood.
Th' applaufe of lift'ning fenates to command,
The threats of pain and ruin to defpife,
To fcatter plenty o'er a fmiling land,

And read their hiftory in a nation's eyes,

Their lot forbade ! nor circumfcrib'd alone

Their growing virtues; but their crimes confin'd, Forbade to wade through flaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind; The ftruggling pangs of confcious truth to hide, To quench the blushes of ingenuous fhame, Or heap the fhrine of luxury and pride

With incenfe kindled at the mufe's flame. Far from the madding crowd's ignoble ftrife, Their fober wishes never learn'd to ftray; Along the cool fequefter'd vale of life

They kept the noiseless tenour of their way. Yet e'en thefe bones from infult to protect, Some frail memorial till erected nigh,

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