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The smallest gleam of hope I ne'er could boast;
And raptur'd love in that dire moment fled,
Which shew'd my dearest wish for ever loft,
Which gave my Delia to a rival's bed.
Yet shall thy memory, dear departed shade,
In this sad breast a place for ever find; For in thy form each beauty was display'd,
To charm the senses, and to fix the mind.'
O! were I skill'd the immortal note to raise,
And down the stream of time to waft thy name!
Then would I fing thy worth in matchless lays,
Bright as thine eyes, and spotless as thy fame.
But, though the Muse such arduous flights denies,
Nor bids with fire divine my fancy glow,
These plaintive numbers nobler truth fupplies,
The artless voice of unaffected woe.
E L E GIE, S.
E L'EGY VI.
WRITTEN IN THE SPRING, 1766.
O W has bright Sol fulfill’d his circling
course, Again to Taurus roll'd his burning car, Since, cruel Prudence, thy refiftless force
Tore me from happiness and Cynthia far.
How did I then, or pensively complain,
Or in the maniac's frantic accents rave!
How often vow to prove resistance vain,
And, spite of prudence, live my Cynthia's slave!
Her much-lov'd form did every thought employ;
My daily wish she was, and nightly dream;
No more I wish'd, where Isis' clear waves flow,
I long'd to climb the CAMBRIAN mountain's brow,
Since CAMBRIA's mountains hid my favorite maid.
In vain from cruel love's tyrannic reign
To friendship and to wisdom I appeal ;
For such my sufferings, that the amorous pain
Nor wisdom could assuage, nor friendship’heal.
Now three revolving moons had rollid away,
Still faded forrow bent my drooping head;
Each fire extinguish'd, and each virtue dead:
When forced to seek a more laborious field,
And mingle chearful with a social train,
To toil and mirth those woes began to yield,
Which thought and care had combated in vain. In other scenes I now delight could find,
And, far from CYNTHIA, found my heart at rest; Till love at length the dubious strife declin'd,
And reason fix'd her empire in my breast.
Then, as by sacred truth's unflattering light,
I saw the follies of my former flame,
Struck with remorse, and mortified with shame.
I found imagination's magic wand
Had all my CYNTHIA's dazzling charms fupplied, And love, misjudging love, with partial hand,
Had given those beauties nature's touch denied.