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Quin potius ftudiis confpirent omnia junctis
Phyllida blanditis iterum revocare tenellis.
Spina rofas, viridans cerealia munera fruges
Terra ferat; volucrum refonet clamoribus aether
Blandidulis; pecudum mugitus fidera pulfent.
Pabula felices caprae genialia carpant,
Balantefque greges ovium: nova gaudia vobis
Usque renafcantur, paftores: tempora brumae
Perpetuum vernent, modicifque caloribus aeftas
Suggerat armento foecundus graminis herbas.

Talia dicentem circumque gregefque bovefque, Circum paftores, circumque ftetere bubulci, Et lachrymis maduere genae: ferus ipfe Cupido Condoluit, caecis mons ingemuitque cavernis.

No! let the tender blandishments of all,
Unite their charms my Phyllis to recal.
Let the rough thorn with fragrant rofes blow,
And the green earth with golden harvests glow;
Let the soft air the feather'd songsters fill
With wood-notes warbled from each dale and hill;
Let the glad herds their joyful lowings raise,
And blythfome flocks in foodful pastures graze;
Ye fwains, for you may pleasures new appear,
And spring perpetual rule the circling year;
May winter's face with lafting green be crown'd,
And gentle funs enrich the fruitful ground.

Thus, as he fung, the herdfmen, flocks and fwains,

Bedew'd their cheeks to hear his moving ftrains; Cupid himself (the savage archer) moan'd,

And from its caves the hollow mountain groan'd.

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ELEGY,

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Auguft 3d, 1763.

DEATH! thou victor of the human
frame !

The foul's poor fabric trembles at thy name!
How long shall man be urg'd to dread thy sway,
For those whom thou untimely tak❜ft away ?
Life's blooming fpring juft opens to our eyes,
And ftrikes the fenfes with a fweet furprize,
When thy fierce arm uplifts the fatal blow
That hurls us breathlefs to the earth below.

Sudden, as darts the lightning thro' the sky, Around the globe thy various weapons fly. Here war's red engines heap the field with flain, And pallid ficknefs there extends thy reign; Here the foft virgin weeps her lover dead, There maiden beauty finks the graceful head;

Here

Here infants grieve their parents are no more,
There rev'rend fires their childrens' deaths deplore
Here the fad friend- O! fave the facred name,
Yields half his foul to thy relentless claim;
O pardon, pardon the defcending tear!
Friendship commands, and not the muses here.
O fay, thou much lov'd dear departed fhade,
To what celeftial region haft thou ftray'd?
Where is that vein of thought, that noble fire
Which fed thy foul, and bade the world admire ?
That manly ftrife with fortune to be just,
That love of praise ? an honourable thirst!
The Soul, alas! has fled to endless day,
And left its house a mould'ring mafs of clay.

There, where no fears invade, nor ills moleft, Thy foul fhall dwell immortal with the bleft; In that bright realm, where dearest friends no more Shall from each other's throbbing breasts be tore, Where all thofe glorious fpirits fit enfshrin'd, The juft, the good, the virtuous of mankind. There shall fair angels in a radiant ring, And the great Son of heav'n's eternal KING, Proclaim thee welcome to the blissful skies, And wipe the tears for ever from thy eyes.

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How did we hope- alas! the hope how vain!
To hear thy future more enripen'd strain ;
When fancy's fire with judgment had combin'd
To guide each effort of th' enraptur❜d mind.
Yet are those youthful glowing lays of thine
The emanations of a foul divine;

Who heard thee fing but felt fweet mufic's dart
In thrilling transports pierce his captiv'd heart?
Whether foft melting airs attun'd thy song,
Or pleas'd to pour the thundring verse along,
Still nobly great, true offspring of the Nine,
Alas! how blafted in thy glorious prime !
So when first opes the eye-lids of the morn,
A radiant purple does the heav'ns adorn,
Fresh fmiling glory ftreaks the skies around,
And gaily filvers each enamel'd mound,
Till fome black ftorm o'erclouds the æther fair,
And all its beauties vanish into air.

Stranger, who e'er thou art, by fortune's hand Toft on the baleful Carolinian ftrand,

Oh! if thou feeft perchance the POET's grave,
The facred fpot with tears of forrow lave ;
Oh! fhade it, fhade it with ne'er-fading bays.
Hallow'd's the place where gentle GODFREY lays.
(So may no fudden dart from death's dread bow
Far from the friends thou lov'ft e'er lay thee low)

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