ELEGY. Written at the approach of Spring.

S

TERN Winter hence with all his train removes;
And chearful skies and limpid streams are seen;
Thick-fprouting foliage decorates the groves;
Reviving herbage robes the fields in green.

Yet lovelier scenes fhall crown th' advancing year,
When blooming Spring's full bounty is display'd;
The smile of beauty ev'ry vale fhall wear;

The voice of fong enliven ev'ry shade.

O Fancy, paint not coming days too fair!
Oft for the profpects fprightly May should yield,
Rain-pouring clouds have darken'd all the air,
Or fnows untimely whiten'd o'er the field:

But should kind Spring her wonted bounty fhow'r,
The smile of beauty and the voice of fong;
If gloomy thought the human mind o'erpow'r,
Ev'n vernal hours glide unenjoy'd along.

I fhun the scenes where madd'ning paffion raves,
Where Pride and Folly high dominion hold,
And unrelentiug Avarice drives her flaves
O'er proftrate Virtue, in pursuit of gold:

The graffy lane, the wood-furrounded field,
The rude ftone fence with fragrant wall-flow'rs gay,
The clay-built cot, to me more pleasure yield
Than all the pomp imperial domes display:

And yet ev'n here amid these secret shades,
Thefe fimple scenes of unreprov'd delight,
Affliction's iron hand my breast invades,

And death's dread dart is ever in my fight.

While genial funs to genial fhowers fucceed;

(The air all mildness, and the earth all bloom ;) While herds and flocks range sportive o'er the mead, Crop the sweet herb, and fnuff the rich perfume :

O why alone to hapless man deny'd

To taste the blifs inferior beings boaft?

O why this fate, that fear and pain divide
His few short hours on earth's delightful coast?
Ah cease-no more of Providence complain!
'Tis fenfe of guilt that wakes the mind to woe,
Gives force to fear, adds energy to pain,

And palls each joy by heav'n indulg'd below i

Why

Why else the smiling infant-train so blest,

Ere dear-bought knowledge ends the peace within, Or wild defire inflames the youthful breast,

Orill propenfion ripens into fin ?

As to the bleating tenants of the field,

As to the sportive warblers on the trees,
To them their joys fincere the seasons yield,
And all their days and all their profpects please;

Such joys were mine, when from the peopled streets,
Where on Thamefis' banks I liv'd immur'd,

The new-blown fields that breath'd a thousand fweets,
To Surry's wood-crown'd hills my steps allur'd:

O happy hours, beyond recov'ry fled!

What share I

66
now that can your lofs repay,"
While o'er my mind thefe glooms of thought are fpread,
And veils the light of life's meridian ray?

Is there no power this darkness to remove?
The long-lost joys of Eden to restore ?
Or raise our views to happier feats above,

Where fear and pain and death fhall be no more?
Yes, thofe there are who know a Saviour's love
The long-loft joys of Eden can restore,
And raise their views to happier feats above,
Where fear and pain and death fhall be no more:
These grateful share the gift of nature's hand;

And in the varied fcenes that round them shine, (The fair, the rich, the aweful, and the grand) Admire th' amazing workmanship divine.

Blows not a flow'ret in th' enamell'd vale,
Shines not a pebble where the riv'let strays,
Sports not an infect in the spicy gale,

But claims their wonder and excites their praife?

For them e'en vernal Nature looks more gay,
For them more lively hues the fields adorn;

To them more fair the fairest smile of day,

To them more fweet the fweetest breath of morn. They feel the blifs that faith and hope fupply; They pafs ferene th' appointed hours that bring The day that wafts them to the realms on high, The day that centers in eternal fpring.

To SICKNESS; an Elegy. By Mr. DELAP.

OW blithe the flow'ry graces of the Spring

HFrom Nature's wardrobe come! and hark how gay

Each glittering infect, hovering on the wing,
Sings their glad welcome to the fields of May!
They gaze, with greedy eye, each beauty o'er;
They fuck the fweet breath of the blushing rofe;
Sport in the gale, or fip the rainbow fhow'r;

Their life's fhort day no pause of pleasure knows.
Like their's, dread Pow'r! my chearful morn display'd
The flattering promise of a golden noon,
'Till each gay cloud, that sportive Nature spread,
Dy'd in the gloom of thy diftemper'd frown.

Yes, ere I told my two-and-twentieth year,
Swift from thy quiver flew the deadly dart;
Harmless it pafs'd 'mid many a blithe compeer,
And found its fated entrance near my heart.

Pale as I lay beneath thy ebon wand,

I saw them rove thro' Pleasure's flowery field; I faw Health paint them with her rofy hand, Eager to burst my bonds, but forc'd to yield. Yet, while this mortal cot of mould'ring clay

Shakes at the ftroke of thy tremendous pow'r, Ah! muft the tranfient tenant of a day

Bear the rough blast of each tempestuous hour? Say; fhall the terrors thy pale flag unfolds,

Too rigid queen! unnerve the foul's bright pow'rs,
Till with a joylefs fmile the eye beholds

Art's magic charms, and Nature's fairy bow'rs?
No, let me follow ftill, thofe bow'rs among,
Her flow'ry footsteps as the goddess goes;
Let me, juft lifted 'bove th' unletter'd throng,
Read the few books the learned few compose..

And fuffer, when thy aweful pleasure calls

The foul to fhare her frail companion's fmart,

Yet fuffer me to taste the balm that falls,

From Friendship's tongue, fo fweet upon the heart.
Then, tho' each trembling nerve confefs thy frown,
Ev'n till this anxious being shall become

But a brief name upon a little stone,
Without one murmur I embrace my

doom.

For

For many a virtue, shelter'd from mankind,

Lives calm with thee, and lord o'er each defire;
And many a feeble frame, whose mighty mind
Each mufe has touch'd with her immortal fire.

Ev'n* He, fole terror of a venal age,

The tuneful bard, whofe philofophic foul
With fuch bright radiance glow'd on Virtue's page,
Learn'd many a leffon from thy moral school.
He † too, who" mounts and keeps his distant way,"
His daring mind thy humanizing glooms
Have temper'd with a melancholy ray,

And taught to warble 'mid the village tombs.
Yes, goddess, to thy temple's deep recefs
I come, and lay for ever at its door
The fyren throng of follies numberless,

Nor wish their flattering fongs fhould foothe me more.
Thy decent garb fhall o'er my limbs be spread,
Thy hand fhall lead me to thy fober train,
Who here retir'd, with penfive pleasure tread
The filent windings of thy dark domain.
Hither the cherub Charity fhall fly,

From her bright orb, and brooding o'er my mind,
For mifery raise a fympathizing figh,

Pardon for foes, and love for human kind,

Then, while Ambition's trump, from age to age
Its flaughter'd millions boafts; while fame shall rear
Her deathlefs trophies o'er the bard and fage;
Be mine the widow's figh, the orphan's pray'r.

ODE, for the NEW YEAR 1760. By William Whitehead, #3

A

Poet Laureat.

Strophe.

GAIN the fun's revolving sphere
Wakes into life th' impatient year,
The white-wing'd minutes hafte:-
And spite of fortune's fickle wheel,
Th' eternal fates have fix'd their feal
Upon the glories of the past.

VOL. III.

* Mr. Pope.

+ Mr. Gray,

Suf

Sufpended high in memory's fane
Beyond even envy's foaring rage,
The deeds furvive, to breathe again
In faithful history's future page; .
Where diftant times fhall wond'ring read
Of Albion's ftrength, of battles won,
Of faith reitor'd, of nations freed,
Whilft round the globe her conquefts run:
From the first blush of orient day

To where defcend his noontide beams
On fable Afric's golden ftreams,
And where at eve the gradual gleams decay.
Antiftrophe.

So much already haft thou prov'd
Of fair fuccefs, O best belov'd,
O firft of favour'd ifles!

What can thy fate affign thee more,
What whiter boon has heav'n in store
To bless thy monarch's ceaseless toils?
Each rifing feafon, as it flows,

Each month exerts a rival claim,
Each day with expectation glows,
Each fleeting hour demands its fame.
Around thy genius waiting ftands.

Each future child of anxious time;
See! how they prefs in fhadowy bands
As from the fleecy rocks, fublime

He rolls around prophetic eyes,

And earth, and fea, and heaven furveys; "O grant a portion of thy praife,"

"O bid us all," they cry,

"with luftre rife."

Epode.

Genius of Albion, hear their pray'r!

O bid them all with luftre rife!

Beneath thy tutelary care

The brave, the virtuous, and the wife
Shall mark each moment's winged fpeed.
With fomething that difdains to die,

The hero's, patriot's, poet's meed,
And paffport to eternity.

Around thy rocks while ocean raves,
While yonder fun revolves his radiant car,
The land of freedom with the land of flaves,
As nature's friend, muft wage illuftrious war,
Then be each deed with glory crown'd,
'Till fmilling peace refume her throne,
'Till not on Albion's fhores alone,
The voice of freedom fhall refound;

But