The various bleffings bounteous Heaven beftows With gratitude and charity repay,

Relieve thy fuffering friend, or fhare his woes,

But from his failings turn thine eyes away.

So, when the wintry ftorms of death are paft,
In brighter skies, and ether more ferene,
Thy wither'd boughs fhall bud again, to last
For ever blooming, and for ever green.

ELEGY

EL EGY III.

WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1763.

T

HE dewy morn her faffron mantle spreads

High o'er the brow of yonder eaftern hill; Each blooming fhrub a roseate fragrance sheds,

And the brifk fky-lark fings his carol fhrill.

Not all the sweets that fcent the morning air,

Not all the dyes that paint the vernal year, Can from my breast divert it's weighty care,

Can from my pale cheeks charm the trickling tear.

Here, where the willows to the rivulet bend,

That winds it's channel thro' the enamell'd mead,

I'll o'er the turf my waining form extend,

And reft on fedges dank

my

liftlefs head.

In

1

In vain the ftream o'er pebbles glide along,

And murmurs fweetly-lulling as it flows;

In vain the flock-dove chaunts her gurgling fong,
Inviting flumber foft and calm repose.

How at the fragrant hour of rifing morn
Would eager transport throb in ev'ry vein,
To hear the fwelling fhout and jocund horn
Invite the hunter to the sportive plain!

But, ah, the gay delights of youth are fled!—
In fighs and tears my fading life I wear;

So the pale lily hangs it's drooping head,
When frofts untimely blaft the opening year.

Philofophy, thou guardian of the heart,

O come in all thy rigid virtue drefs'd!

With manly precept ease my killing smart,

And drive this tyrant from my wounded breaft.

Oft

1

Oft would my eyes, difdaining balmy sleep,

The awful labors of thy fons explore, Fathom with reftlefs toil each maxim deep, And hang inceffant o'er the facred lore:

Alas! oppos'd to love how weak, how frail

Is all the reasoning of the unfeeling fage! No forceful arm can o'er his power prevail,

No lenient hand the wounds he gives affuage.

Yes, tyrant, yes; thou must retain thy power,

Till my torn bofom yields to stronger Death: Still must I love, even in that fatal hour,

And call on DELIA with my latest breath.

And when all pale my lifeless limbs extend,

And fate has feal'd the irrevocable doom,

May then my memory find a faithful friend,
To write these votive numbers on my tomb:

• Here

• Here refts a youth, who Love and Sorrow's flave,

Gave up his early life to pining care,

Till worn with woe he fought, in this calm grave, A fafe retreat from comfortless Defpair."

So, when the ftone lays o'er my clay-cold head, If chance fair DELIA to the place draw near, With one fad figh fhe may lament me dead,

And bathe the fenfelefs marble with a tear.

ELEGY