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Open wide the lofty door,

Nor by yon fountain's side, Seek her on the marble floor:

Nor where its waters glide In vain ye search, she is not there;

Along the valley, can she now be found : In vain ye search the domes of Care! In all the wide-stretch'd prospect's ample Grass and flowers Quiet treads,

No more my mournful eye [bound, On the meads and mountain-heacha,

Can aught of her elpy, Along with Pleasure close allied,

But the sad sacred earth where her dear relics lis. Ever by each other's side; And often, by the murin’ring rill,

O shades of Hagley, where is now your boast i

2 Hears the thrush, while all is still,

Your bright inhabitant is loft. Within the groves of Grongar Hill.

Si You lhe preferr'd to all the gay resorts

Where female vanity might with to shine,

The pomp of cities, and the pride of courts. $95. A Monody on the Deatb of his Lady.

Her modest beauties Munn'd the public eye: By GEORGE LORD LYTTLETON.

To your sequester'd dales, • Ipse cava solans ægrum testudine amorem,

And flower-embroider'd vales, • Te, dulcis conjux, tc solo in littore secum,

From an admiring world the chose to fly. • Te veniente die, te decedente canebat.'

With Nature there retir'd, and Nature's God, AT length escap?d from ev'ry human eye: The silent paths of wisdom trod,

From ev'ry duty, ev'ry care, (thare, And banish'd every passion from her breast;
That in my mournful thoughits might claim a But thore, the geritlest and the best,
Or force my tears their flowing stream to dry; Whose holy Aames with energy divine
Beneath the gloom of this embow‘ring shade, The virtuous heart enliven and improve,
This lone retreat, for tender sorrow made, The conjugal and the maternal love.
I now may give my burden'd heart relief,
And pour forth all

my
stores of grief;

Sweet babes! who like the littleplayfulfawris, Of grief surpassing every other woe,

Where wont to trip along these verdant Far as the purest bliss, the happiest love,

By your delighted mother's side, (lawns, Can on th'ennobled mind bestow,

Who now your intant steps shall guide! Exceeds the vulgar joys that move

Ah! where is now the hand,whose tender care, Our gross desires, inelegant and low.

Toeveryvirtue would have form'd your youth,

And strew'd with flow'rs the thorny ways of Ye tufted groves, ye gently-falling rills,

truth? Ye high o'ershadowing hills,

O lofs beyond repair!
Ye lawns gay-siniling with eternal green,

O wretched father! left alone,
Oft have you my Lucy leen!
But never shall you now behold her more:

To weeep their dire misfortune, and thy own! Nor will she now, with fond delight,

How shall thy weaken'd mind, oppress'd with And taste refin'd, your rural charms explore.

And, dronping o'er thy Lucy's grave, (woe, Clos'd are those beauteous eyes in endless night,

Perform the duties that you doubly owe, Those beauteous eyes,whereheamingus dtoshiné From follyand from vice their helpless age to fave?

Now, sne, alas! is gone, Reason's pure light, and Virtue's spark divine. Oft would the Dryads of these woods rejoice Where were ye, Muses, when relentless Fate To hear her heavenly voice;

From these fond arms your fair disciple tore; For her despising, when the deign'd to sing,

From these fond arms, that vainly ftrove The sweetest longsters of the spring;

With hapless, ineffectual love, The woodlark and the linnet pleas'd no more:

To guard her bosom from the mortal blow? The nightingale was inute,

Could not your favouring pow'r, Aonian And ev'ry shepherd's flute

maids, Was cast in filent scorn away,

Could not,alas! your power prolong her date; While all attended to her sweeter lay.

For whom so oft, in these inspiring thades, Ye larks and linnets, now resume your song:

Or underCamden's moss-clad mountains hoar,
And thou, melodious Philomel,

You opend all your sacred store;
Again thy plaintive story tell;

Whate'er your ancient fages taught, For death has itopp'd that tuneful tongue,

Your ancient bards subliniely thought, Whose music could alone your warbling notes And bade her raptur'd breast with all your spirit In vain I look round,

[excel.

glow? O'er all the well-known ground,

Nor then did Pindus or Caftalia's plain, My Lucy's wonted footsteps to descry; Or Aganippe's fount, your fteps detain, Where oft we us d to walk;

Nor in the Thespian valleys did you play; Where oft in tender talk

Nor then on Mincio's* bank We saw the summer sun go down the sky;

Beset with osier's dank,

* The Mincio runs by Mantua, the birtb-place of Virgil.

Nor

(to all.

Nor where Clitumnus* rolls his gentle To every want, and every woe,
stream,

To guilt itself when in distress,
Nor where, through hanging woods, The balm of pity would impart;
Steep Aniot pours his floods,

And all relief that bounty could bestow! Nor yet where Melest or Iliffus Aray. E'en for the kid or lamb, that pour'd its life Il does it now beseem,

Beneath the bloody knife, That, of your guardian care bereft, Her gentle tears would fall; To dire disea!e and death your darling should Tears, from sweet Virtue's source, benevolent be left.

Not only good and kind,
Now what avails it, that in early bloom, But strong and elevated was her mind;
When light fantastic toys

A spirit that with noble pride
Are all her sex's jcys,

Could look superior down
With you she search'd the wit of Greece On Fortune's imile or frown;
and Rome;

That could, without regret or pain,
And all that in her latter days,

To Virtue's loweit duty sacrifice
To emulate her ancient praise,

O: Interest or Ambition's highest prize;
Italia's happy genius could produce; That, injur'd or offended, never tried
Or what the Gallic fire

Its dignity by vengeance to maintain,
Bright sparkling could inspire,

But by magnanimous disdain.
By all the Graces temper'd and refind; A wit that, temperately bright,
Or what, in Britain's ille,

With inoffensive light
Most favour'd vith your finile,

All pleasing shone; nor ever pass'd
The pow'rs of Reason and of Fancy join'd The decent bounds that wisdom's sober hand,
To fall perfection have conspir'd to raise? And tweet Benevolence's mild command,
Ab! what is now the use

And bashful Modesty, before it caft. Of all those treasures that enrich'd her mind, A prudence undeceivizy, undeceiv'd, To black Oblivion's gloom for ever now con- That nor too little nor too much believ'd; fignd!

That scorn'd unjust Suspicion's coward fear, At least, ye Nine, her spotless name

And, without weakness, knew to be sincere. 'Tis yours from death to save,

Such Lucy was, when in her fairest days, And in the temple of immortal Fame

Amidst th' acclaim of universal praise.
With golden characters her worth engrave. Death came remorseless on, and sunk her to the

In life's and glory's freshest bloom, (tomb.
Come then, ye virgin fifters, come,
And strew with choicest flow'rs her hal- So, where the filent streams of Liris glide,
loud tomb;

In the soft bofom of Campania's vale,
But foremost thou, in fable vestment clad, When now the wint'ry tempests all are fled,
With accents sweet and sad,

And genial summer breathes her gentle gale,
Thou plaintive Muse,whom o'er his Laura's The verdant orange lifts its beauteous head;

Unhappy Petrarch cali’d to mourn; (urn From ev'ry branch the balmy flow'rets rife,

O come, and to this fairer Laura pay On every bough the golden fruits are seen; A more impaffion'd tear, a more pathetic lay! With odours (weet it fills the smiling skies,

Tell how each beauty of her mind and face The wood-nymphs tend it, and th' Idalian Was brightend by fome sweet peculiar

queen: How eloquent in ev'ry look grace!

But, in the midst of all its blooming pride, Thro'her expressive eyes her soul distinctly

A Sudden blait from Apenninus blows, spoke!

Cold with perpetual snows;

(and dies.
Tell how her manners by the worldrefind, The tender blighted plant thrinks up its leaves,
Left all the taint of modifh vice behind, Arise, O Petrarch! from th’ Elysian bow'rs,
And made cach charm of polith'd courts With never-fading myrtles twin'd,
With candid Truth's fimplicity, [agree And fragrant with ambrotial flow'rs,
And uncorrupted Innocence !

Where to thy Laura thon again art join'd;
Tell how to more than manly sense

Arile, and hither bring the lilver lyre,
She join'd the soft'ning influence

Tun'd by thy skilful hand.
Of more than female tenderness:

To the soft notes of elegant defire,
How in the thoughtless days of wealth and joy, With which o'er many a land
Which oft the care of others' good destroy; Was spread the fame of thy difaft'rous love;
Her kindly-melting heart,

To me resign the vocal shell,

• The Clitumnus is a river of Umbria, the residence of Propertius.

The Anio runs through Tibur or Tivoli, where Horace had a villa,

The Meles is a river of lonia, froin whence Homer, supposed to be bora on its banks, is called Mellisigenes. The Dissus is a river at Athens.

And

more.

And teach my lorrows to relate

Yet, O my soul! thy rising murmurs stay; Their melancholy tale so well,

Nor dare th'all-wise Disposer to arraign, As may e'en things inanimate, [move. Or against his supreme decree Rough mountain oaks, and deiert rocks, to pity With impious grief complain, Whatwere,alas! thywoes,compar'dtomine?

That allthy full-blown joysatoncelhould fade, To thee thy mistress in the blissful band Was his moit righteous will--and be that will Of Hymen never gave her band;

obey'd. The joys of wedded love were never thine. Would thy fond love his grace to bercontroul, In thy domestic care

And, in these low ahodes of fin and pain,
She never bore a share,

Her pure exalted soul,
Nor with endearing art

Unjuftly, for thy partial good, detain? Would heal thy wounded heart No-rather strive thy grovelling mind to raise Of every secret grief that fester'd there :

Up to that unclouded blaze, Nor did her fond affection on the bed That heavenly radiance of eternal light, Of sickness watch thee,and thy languidhead In which enthron'd she now with pity fees, Whole nightson her unweariedarm sustain, How frail, how insecure, how flight, And charm away the fense of pain :

Is every mortal bliss ? Nor did the crown your' mutual flame Even Love itselt, if rising by degrees With pledges dear, and with a father's tender Beyond the bounds of this imperfect itate, name

Whose fleeting joys so soon must end, O best of wives! O dearer far to me

It does not to its sovereign guod ascend. Then when thy virgin charms

Rise then, my soul, with hope elate, Were yielded to my arms:

And seek those regions of serene delight, How can my soul endure the loss of thee? Whofe peaceful path, and ever-open gate, How in the world, to me a desert grown,

No feet ijut those of harden'd Guilt Mall miss: Abandon'd and alone,

There Death himself thy Lucy shall restore ; Without my sweet companion can I live! There yield up all his pow'r ne'er to divide you

Without thy lovely smile,
The dear reward of ev'ry virtuous toil,
What pleasures now can pallid Ambition give?
E'en the delightful sense of well-earn'd praise,

96. A Winter Piece. ANON. Unthard by thee, no more my lifeless thoughts IT

T was a winter's evening, and fast came down could raise.

the snuw,

(blow; For my distracted mind

And keenlyo'er the wide heath the bitterblastdid What succour can I find ?

When a damsel all forlorn, quite bewilderd in On whom for confolation shall I call?

[lav: Support me, ev'ry friend;

Press’d her baby to her bofom,and sadly thus did Your kind assistance land,

“Oh! cruel was my father, that shut his door To bear the weight of this oppreslive woe.

(could see; Alas! each friend of mine,

And cruel was my mother, that such a light My dear departed love, lo much was thine, And cruel is the wint'ry wind, that chills my That none has any comfort to beltow.

heart with cold;

{for gold! My books, the best relief

But crueller than all, the lad that left my love In every other grief, Are now with your idea sadden'd all: Hush, hush, my lovely baby, and warm thee in Each favourite author we together read

my brealt;

[distreft! My tortur'd memory wounds, and speaks of Ah, little thinks thy father how fadly we're Lucy dead.

For, cruel as he is, did he know but how we fare,

He'd thield us in his arms from this bitter We were the happiest pair of human kind:

piercing air. The rolling year its various course perform'd And back return'd again;

Cold, cold mydearest jewel! thy little life is gone Another, and another, siniling came,

Oh let my tears revive thee, so warm that trickle And law our happiness unchang'd remain.

down: Still in her golden chain

My tears that gush so warm, oh they freeze before Harmonious Concord did our wishes bind: Ah wretched, wretched mother! thou 'rt now Our studies, pleasures, taste the fame.

bereft of all." O fatal, fatal stroke!

Then down the funk despairing upon the driftThat all this pleasing fabric Love had rais d ed snow, Of rare felicity,

And, wrung with killing anguish, lamented On which even wanton Vice with envy gaz’d, She kiss'd her babe's pale lips, and laid it by Andevery schemeof blissourheartshadform’d, her fide; With footbing hope for many a future day? Then cut her eyes to heaven, then bow'd he? Is one lad moment broke!

head, and died.

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$.97. The School Miftress. In Imitation of Spenser. With dark distrust, and fad repentance fill’d,

SHENSTONE. And stedfast hate, and sharp affliction join'd, Auditæ roces, ragitus et ingens,

Andfuryuncontroul'd,andchaitisementunkind. Iztapiamqae apima fientes in limine primo. Virg. Few but have kenn'd, in semblance meet pour. A

tray'd, To think how modest worth neglected lies, The childish faces of old Æol's train, While partial Fame doth with her blasts adorn Libs, Notus, Auster*: these in frowns array'd.

Such deeds alone as pride and pomp disguise; How then would fare on earth,oríky,or main, Deeds of ill fort, and mischievous emprize : Were the stern God to give his flaves the rein?

Lend me thy clarion, Goddess ! let me try And were not the rebellious breasts to quell, To found the praise of merit ere it dies; And were not the her statutes to maintain, Such as I oft have chanced to espy,

The cot no more,Iween,were deem'd the cell Loft in the dreary shades of dull obscurity. Where comely peace of mind and decent order In ev'ry village, mark'd with little spire, (fame,

dwell. Embower' in trees, and hardly known to A ruslet stole was o'er her shoulders thrown; There dwells, in lowly shade and mean attire, A ruslet kirtle fenc'd the nipping air ; A matron old, whom we School-mistress 'Twas simple rullet, but it was her own, name;

'Twas her own countrybred the flock so fair; Who boasts unruly brats with birch to tame: 'Twas her own labour did the fleece prepare,

They, grieven fore, in piteous durance pent, And, footh to say,her pupils, rang'd around, Aw'd by the pow'r of this relentless dame, Thro' pious awe did term it passing rare ; And oft-times, on vagaries idly bent, [fhent.

For they in gaping wonderment abound, For unkempt hair, or talk unconn'd, are sorely And think, no doubt, the been the greatest wight And all in light doth rise a birchin tree,

on ground. Which Learningnearherlittledomedid stow,

Albeit, ne flatt'ry did corrupt her truth; Whilome a twig of small regard to see,

Ne pompous title did debauch her ear; Tho'now so wide its waving branches flow, Goody, good-woman, gotlip, n'aunt, forfooth, And work the simple vassals mickle woe; Or dame, the fole additions the did hear; For not a wind might curl the leaves that Yet there the challeng'd, these the held right hlew;

(low;

dear; But their limbs shudderd, and their pulse beat Ne would csteem him act as mought belove, And, as they look'd, they found their horror Wholhouldnot honour'd eld with these revere; grew,

For never title yet so mean could prove, And shapd it into rods, and tingled at the view. But there was ekea nindwhich did that title loie. So have I seen (who has not, may conceive) One ancient hen she took delight to feed,

A lifeless phantom near a garden plac'd; The plodding pattern of the busy dame, So doth it wanton birds of peace bereave, Which ever and inon, impelld by need,

Of sport, of song, of pleasure, of repast: Into her school, begirt with chickens, came; They Itart, they itare, they wheel, they look

Such favour did her past deportment claim : aghalt;

And if neglect had lavith'd on the ground Sad servitude! Such comfortless annoy Fragment of bread, fne would collect the same; May no bold Briton's riper age c'er taste! For well the new, and quaintly cold exNe fuperftition clog his dance of joy,

pound. Ne vition empty, vain, his native bliss destroy! What fin it were to waste the smallest crumb the Near to this dome is found a patch so green,

tound. On which the tribe their gambols do display; Herbs too she knew, and well of each could And at the door impris'ning board is seen,

speak, Leitweaklywights of smallersize(houlditray, That in her garden fipp'd the filv'ry dew, Eager, perdie, to balk in funny day! (sound, Where no vain flow'r disclos da gaudy itreak,

The noites intermix'd, which thence re- But herbs for use and phyfic not a few, Do Learning's little tenement betray ; Of grey renown, within thote borders grew; Where lits the dame, disguis d in look pro- The tufted basil, pur-provoking thyme, found

[around. Frelh baum, and marygold of cheetul bue, And eyes her Fairy throng, and turns her wheel

The lowly gill, that never dares to climb, Her cap, far whiter than the driven snow, And more I fain would fing, disdaining liere to

Emblem right meet of decency does yield, rhyme.
Her apron dyed in grain, as blue, I trowe, Yet euphrasy may not be left unsung,

As is the hare-bell that adorns the field : Thatgivesdimeyestowanderleagues round; And in her hand, for sceptre, the does wield And pungent raditi, biting intuit's tongue; Tway birchin sprays, with anxious fear en- And plaintain ribbd, that heals the reaper's iwind,

wound; * The south-west wind, south, &c.

And And marj'ram sweet,in fhepherd's pofie found; Lo! now with state the utters the command!

And lavender, whose spikes of azure bloom Eftfoons the urchins to their tasks repair; Shall be, erewhile, in arid bundles bound, Their books of stature small, they take in hand, To lurk amidst the labours of her loom,

Which with pellucid horn secured are, And crown her 'kerchiefs clean with mickle rare To fave from finger wet the letters tair. perfume.

[crown'd The work so gay that on their back is seen And here trim rosemarine, that whilom St. George's high achievements does declare, The daintielt garden of the proudest peer,

On which thilk wight that hasygızing been, Ere, driven from its envied site, it found Kens the forth-coming rod; unpleating light, [ A sacred shelter for its branches here,

ween! Where edg'd with gold its glittring skirts Ah! luckless he, and born beneath the beam appear.

Of evil star! it irks me whilft I write! O waffel days! O customs meet and well ! As erst the bard* by Mulla's silver Itream, Ere this was banish'd from its lofty sphere; Oft as he told of deadly dolorous plight,

Simplicity then fought this humble cell, Sigh’d as he sung, and did in tears indite; Nor ever would lhe more with thane and lord- For, brandishing the rod, she doth begin ling dwell.

To loofe the brogues, the stripling's late deHere oft the dame, on Sabbath's decent eve, light! Hymned such psalms as Steenhold forth And down they drop; appears his dainty skin, did mete.

Fair as the furry coat of whiteft ermilin. If winter 'twere she to her hearth did cleave: O ruthful scene! when from a nook obscure

But in her garden found a summer feat: His little filter doth his peril see: Sweet melody? to hear her then repeat All playful as the fate, the grows demure,

How Israel's sons, beneath a foreign king, She finds full soon her wonted spirits flee; While taunting foe-men did a long entreat, She meditates a pray'r to let him free:

All for the nonce unti ning every string, Nor gentle pardon could this dame deny Uphung their useless lyres-imall heart had (If gentle pardon could with dames agree) they to fing.

To her lad grief that swells in either eye, For she was just, and friend to virtuous lore, | And wrings her lo, that all for pity she could die.

And pass'd inuchtime in truly virtuousdeed; No longer crun the now her frieks command, Aud in those elhins' ears would oft deplore And hardly the forbears, thro' awful fear, The times when Truth by Popith rage did Torulhen forth, and, with presumptuous hand, bleed,

To stay harth justice in its mid career. And tortious death was true Devotion's meed; On thee ihe calls, on thee, her parent dear!

And Guple Faith in iron chains did mourn, (Ah! too remote towardtherhamefulblou:) That nould on wooden image place her creed; She fees no kind donieftic vitage near, And lawny faintsin sinould'ring fames did And soon a flood of tears begins to low, burn :

[return. And gives a loose at last to unavailing woe. Ah! deareftLord! forefend thilk days should e’er But,ah! what pen his piteous plight may trace In elbow chair, like that of Scottish ftem, Or what device his loud laments explain!

By the sharp tooth of cank'ring Eld desac'd, The form uncouth of his disguised face? In which, when he receives his diadem, The pallid hue that dves his looks aman?

Ourfov 'reignprinceand liefeft liege isplac'd, Theplenteousshow'rthatdoeshischeekdistria? The matron fate : and some with rank the When he in abject wile implores the dame, grac'd,

Ne hopeth aught of sweet reprieve tu gain; The source of children's and of courtier's Or when from high the levels well her aim, pride!

(pass’d) And, thro' the thatch, his cries each falling Redress'd affronts (for vile affronts there stroke proclaim,

And warn'd them not the fretiul to deride, The other tribe, agliast, witla fore dismay But love each other dear, whatever them betide. Attend,andconn theirtalkswithmickiecare, Right well the knew each temper to descry, By turns, astonied, ev'ry twig survey,

Tothwart the proud,and the tubmiss to raise; And from their fellows hateful wounds Some with vile copper prize exalt on high,

beware, And fome entice withpittancesmallof praile; Knowing, I win, how each the same may share; And other some with baleful sprig lhe frays: Till fear has taught them a performance E'en absent, the the reins of pow'rdoth hold,

meet, Wlule with quaint arts the giddy crowd Are And to the well-known chest the dame repair, sways;

Whence oft with sugar'd cates the doth 'em Forewarn 'd,if little bird their pranksbehold, *7 will whisper in her ear, and all the scene un- And gingerbread y-rare ; now, certes, doubly fold.

Tweet! * Spenser.

Sce,

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