Won by his hospitable friend's desire,

He soothed his pains of exile with the lyre.
Then shook the hills, then trembled Peneus' shore,
Nor Eta felt his load of forest more;

The upland elms descended to the plain,
And soften'd lynxes wonder'd at that strain.
Well may we think, Oh, dear to all above!
Thy birth distinguish'd by the smile of Jove,
And that Apollo shed his kindliest power,
And Maia's son, on that propitious hour.
Since only minds so born can comprehend
A poet's worth, or yield that worth a friend.
Hence on thy yet unfaded cheek appears
The lingering freshness of thy greener years;
Hence in thy front and features we admire
Nature unwither'd and a mind entire.
O might so true a friend to me belong,
So skill'd to grace the votaries of song,
Should I recall hereafter into rhyme
The kings and heroes of my native clime,
Arthur the chief, who even now prepares,
In subterraneous being, future wars,
With all his martial knights, to be restored
Each to his seat around the federal board;
And oh, if spirit fail me not, disperse
Our Saxon plunderers in triumphant verse!
Then, after all, when, with the past content,
A life I finish, not in silence spent ;

Should he, kind mourner, o'er my deathbed bend,
I shall but need to say-" Be yet my friend!"

He too, perhaps, shall bid the marble breathe
To honour me, and with the graceful wreath
Or of Parnassus or the Paphian isle

Shall bind my brows-but I shall rest the while.
Then also, if the fruits of faith endure,
And virtue's promised recompense be sure,
Born to those seats to which the blest aspire
By purity of soul and virtuous fire,
These rites, as fate permits, I shall survey
With eyes illumined by celestial day,

And, every cloud from my pure spirit driven,
Joy in the bright beatitude of heaven!

ON THE DEATH OF DAMON.

THE ARGUMENT.

Thyrsis and Damon, shepherds and neighbours, had always pursued the same studies, and had, from their earliest days, been united in the closest friendship. Thyrsis, while travelling for improvement, received intelligence of the death of Damon, and, after a time, returning and finding it true, deplores himself, and his solitary condition, in this poem.

By Damon is to be understood Charles Deodati, connected with the Italian city of Lucca by his father's side, in other respects an Englishman; a youth of uncommon genius, erudition, and virtue.

YE Nymphs of Himera, (for ye have shed
Erewhile for Daphnis, and for Hylas dead,
And over Bion's long-lamented bier,
The fruitless meed of many a sacred tear,)

Now through the villas laved by Thames rehearse
The woes of Thyrsis in Sicilian verse, [found
What sighs he heaved, and how with groans pro-
He made the woods and hollow rocks resound,
Young Damon dead; nor even ceased to pour
His lonely sorrows at the midnight hour.

The green wheat twice had nodded in the ear,
And golden harvest twice enrich'd the year,
Since Damon's lips had gasp'd for vital air
The last, last time, nor Thyrsis yet was there;
For he, enamour'd of the muse, remain'd
In Tuscan Fiorenza long detain❜d,

But, stored at length with all he wish'd to learn,
For his flock's sake, now hasted to return;
And when the shepherd had resumed his seat
At the elm's root, within his old retreat,

Then 'twas his lot, then all his loss to know,

And from his burthen'd heart he vented thus his woe:
"Go, seek your home, my lambs; my thoughts are
To other cares than those of feeding you.
Alas! what deities shall I suppose

In heaven, or earth, concern'd for human woes,
Since, Oh my Damon! their severe decree
So soon condemns me to regret of thee!
Depart'st thou thus, thy virtues unrepaid
With fame and honour, like a vulgar shade!
Let him forbid it, whose bright rod controls,
And separates sordid from illustrious souls,
Drive far the rabble, and to thee assign
A happier lot with spirits worthy thine!

[due

[due

"Go, seek your home, my lambs; my thoughts are To other cares than those of feeding you. Whate'er befall, unless by cruel chance The wolf first give me a forbidding glance, Thou shalt not moulder undeplored, but long Thy praise shall dwell on every shepherd's tongue. To Daphnis first they shall delight to pay, And, after him, to thee the votive lay, While Pales shall the flocks and pastures love, Or Faunus to frequent the field or grove; At least, if ancient piety and truth, With all the learned labours of thy youth, May serve thee aught, or to have left behind A sorrowing friend, and of the tuneful kind.

[due

"Go, seek your home, my lambs; my thoughts are
To other cares than those of feeding you.
Who, now, my pains and perils shall divide,
As thou wast wont, for ever at my side,
Both when the rugged frost annoy'd our feet,
And when the herbage all was parch'd with heat;
Whether the grim wolf's ravage to prevent,

Or the huge lion's, arm'd with darts we went ;
Whose converse now shall calm my stormy day,
With charming song who now beguile my way?
"Go, seek your home, my lambs; my thoughts are
To other cares than those of feeding you.
[due
In whom shall I confide? Whose counsel find
A balmy medicine for my troubled mind?
Or whose discourse with innocent delight
Shall fill me now, and cheat the wintry night,

While hisses on my hearth the pulpy pear,

And blackening chestnuts start and crackle there, While storms abroad the dreary meadows whelm, And the wind thunders through the neighbouring elm.

"Go, seek your home, my lambs; my thoughts are To other cares than those of feeding you. [due Or who, when summer suns their summit reach, And Pan sleeps hidden by the sheltering beech, When shepherds disappear, nymphs seek the sedge, And the stretch'd rustic snores beneath the hedge, Who then shall render me thy pleasant vein Of attic wit, thy jests, thy smiles again?

[due

"Go, seek your home, my lambs; my thoughts are To other cares than those of feeding you. Where glens and vales are thickest overgrown

With tangled boughs, I wander now alone, Till night descend, while blustering wind and shower

Beat on my temples through the shatter'd bower.

"Go, seek your home, my lambs; my thoughts are To other cares than those of feeding you. [due Alas! what rampant weeds now shame my fields, And what a mildew'd crop the furrow yields; My rambling vines unwedded to the trees, Bear shrivell'd grapes; my myrtles fail to please; Nor please me more my flocks: they, slighted turn Their unavailing looks on me, and mourn.

"Go, seek your home, my lambs; my thoughts are To other cares than those of feeding you.

[due