4 Though weeping virgins haunt his favour'd urn,
Renew their chaplets, and repeat their sighs;
Though near his tomb Sabæan odours burn,
The loit'ring fragrance will it reach the skies?
5 No; should his Delia votive wreaths prepare,
Delia might place the votive wreaths in vain:
Yet the dear hope of Delia's future care
Once crown'd his pleasures, and dispell'd his pain.
6 Yes the fair prospect of surviving praise
Can every sense of present joys excel;
For this, great Hadrian chose laborious days;
Through this, expiring, bade a gay farewell.
7 Shall then our youths, who Fame's bright fabric raise,
To life's precarious date confine their care?
O teach them you to spread the sacred base,
To plan a work through latest ages fair!
8 Is it small transport, as with curious eye
You trace the story of each Attic sage,
To think your blooming praise shall time defy?
Shall waft, like odours, through the pleasing page?
9 To mark the day when, through the bulky tome,
Around your name the varying style refines?
And readers call their lost attention home,
Led by that index where true genius shines?
10 Ah! let not Britons doubt their social aim,
Whose ardent bosoms catch this ancient fire;
Cold interest melts before the vivid flame,
And patriot ardours but with life expire.
ON THE UNTIMELY DEATH OF A CERTAIN LEARNED
1 If proud Pygmalion quit his cumbrous frame,
Funereal pomp the scanty tear supplies;
Whilst heralds loud, with venal voice, proclaim,
Lo! here the brave and the puissant lies.
2 When humbler Alcon leaves his drooping friends,
Pageant nor plume distinguish Alcon's bier;
The faithful Muse with votive song attends,
And blots the mournful numbers with
3 He little knew the sly penurious art;
That odious art which Fortune's favourites know: Form'd to bestow, he felt the warmest heart,
But envious Fate forbade him to bestow.
4 He little knew to ward the secret wound;
He little knew that mortals could ensnare :
Virtue he knew; the noblest joy he found
To sing her glories, and to paint her fair.
5 Ill was he skill'd to guide his wandering sheep;
And unforeseen disaster thinn'd his fold;
Yet at another's loss the swain would weep;
And, for his friend, his very crook was sold.
6 Ye sons of Wealth! protect the Muses' train; From winds protect them, and with food supply : Ah! helpless they, to ward the threaten'd pain, The meagre famine, and the wintry sky!
7 He loved a nymph; amidst his slender store
He dared to love, and Cynthia was his theme:
He breathed his plaints along the rocky shore;
They only echo'd o'er the winding stream!
8 His nymph was fair! the sweetest bud that blows Revives less lovely from the recent shower; So Philomel enamour'd eyes the rose ;
Sweet bird! enamour'd of the sweetest flower.
9 He loved the Muse; she taught him to complain; He saw his timorous loves on her depend:
He loved the Muse, although she taught in vain;
He loved the Muse, for she was Virtue's friend.
10 She guides the foot that treads on Parian floors;
She wins the ear when formal pleas are vain;
She tempts Patricians from the fatal doors
Of Vice's brothel, forth to Virtue's fane.
11 He wish'd for wealth, for much he wish'd to give ; He grieved that virtue might not wealth obtain: Piteous of woes, and hopeless to relieve,
The pensive prospect sadden'd all his strain.
12 I saw him faint! I saw him sink to rest!
Like one ordain'd to swell the vulgar throng;
As though the Virtues had not warm'd his breast,
As though the Muses not inspired his tongue.
13 I saw his bier ignobly cross the plain;
Saw peasant hands the pious rite supply:
The generous rustics mourn'd the friendly swain,
But Power and Wealth's unvarying cheek was dry!
14 Such Alcon fell; in meagre want forlorn!
Where were ye then, ye powerful Patrons, where?
Would ye the purple should your limbs adorn?
Go wash the conscious blemish with a tear.
OPHELIA'S URN. TO MR GRAVES.
1 Through the dim veil of evening's dusky shade,
Near some lone fane, or yew's funereal green,
What dreary forms has magic Fear survey'd!
What shrouded spectres Superstition seen!
2 But you, secure, shall pour your sad complaint,
Nor dread the meagre phantom's wan array;
What none but Fear's officious hand can paint,
What none, but Superstition's eye, survey.
3 The glimmering twilight and the doubtful dawn
Shall see your step to these sad scenes return:
Constant, as crystal dews impearl the lawn,
Shall Strephon's tear bedew Ophelia's urn.
4 Sure nought unhallow'd shall presume to stray
Where sleep the relics of that virtuous maid ;
Nor aught unlovely bend its devious way,
Where soft Ophelia's dear remains are laid.
5 Haply thy Muse, as with unceasing sighs
She keeps late vigils, on her urn reclined,
May see light groups of pleasing visions rise,
And phantoms glide, but of celestial kind.
6 Then Fame, her clarion pendent at her side,
Shall seek forgiveness of Ophelia's shade;
Why has such worth, without distinction, died? Why, like the desert's lily, bloom'd to fade?"
7 Then young Simplicity, averse to feign,
Shall, unmolested, breathe her softest sigh,
And Candour with unwonted warmth complain,
And Innocence indulge a wailful cry.
8 Then Elegance, with coy judicious hand,
Shall cull fresh flowerets for Ophelia's tomb;
And Beauty chide the Fate's severe command,
That show'd the frailty of so fair a bloom!
9 And Fancy then, with wild ungovern'd woe,
Shall her loved pupil's native taste explain;
For mournful sable all her hues forego,
And ask sweet solace of the Muse in vain!
10 Ah! gentle Forms! expect no fond relief;
Too much the sacred Nine their loss deplore :
Well may ye grieve, nor find an end of grief—
Your best, your brightest favourite is no more.
HE COMPARES THE TURBULENCE OF LOVE WITH THE TRAN
QUILLITY OF FRIENDSHIP. TO MELISSA HIS FRIEND.
1 From Love, from angry Love's inclement reign
awhile to Friendship's equal skies;
Thou, generous Maid! reliev'st my partial pain,
And cheer'st the victim of another's eyes.
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