LIX.

Of late, with cumbersome, tho' pompous show,
Edwin would oft his flowery rhyme deface,
Through ardour to adorn: but Nature now
To his experienc'd eye a modest grace
Presents, where ornament the second place
Holds, to intrinsic worth and just design
Subservient still. Simplicity apace

Tempers his rage; he owns her charm divine, And clears th' ambiguous phrase, and lops th' unwieldy line.

LX.

Fain would I sing (much yet unsung remains)
What sweet delirium o'er his bosom stole,
When the great shepherd of the Mantuan plains
His deep majestic melody 'gan roll :

Fain would I sing what transport storm'd his
soul,

How the red current throbb'd his veins along, When, like Pelides, bold beyond control, Without art graceful, without effort strong, Homer rais'd high to Heaven the loud, th' impe-. tuous song.

LXI.

And how his lyre, though rude her first essays,
Now skill'd to soothe, to triumph, to complain,
Warbling at will through each harmonious maze,
Was taught to modulate the artful strain,

6 Virgil.

Х

I fain would sing :-but ah! I strive in vain. Sighs from a breaking heart my voice confound. With trembling step, to join yon weeping train I haste, where gleams funereal glare around, And, mix'd with shrieks of woe, the knells of death resound.

LXII.

Adieu, ye lays, that Fancy's flowers adorn, The soft amusement of the vacant mind! He sleeps in dust, and all the Muses mourn, He, whom each virtue fir'd, each grace refin'd, Friend, teacher, pattern, darling of mankind! He sleeps in dust. Ah, how shall I pursue My theme! To heart-consuming grief resign'd, Here on his recent grave I fix my view, And pour my bitter tears. Ye flowery lays, adieu!

LXIII.

Art thou, my Gregory, for ever fled?
And am I left to unavailing woe?

When Fortune's storms assail this weary head,
Where cares long since have shed untimely snow.
Ah, now for comfort whither shall I go!
No more thy soothing voice my anguish cheers ;
Thy placid eyes with smiles no longer glow,
My hopes to cherish, and allay my fears:
'Tis meet that I should mourn; flow forth afresh,
my tears!

7 This excellent person died suddenly on the 10th of February, 1773. The conclusion of the poem was written a few days after.

RETIREMENT.

WHEN in the crimson cloud of even
The lingering light decays,
And Hesper on the front of heaven
His glittering gem displays;
Deep in the silent vale, unseen,
Beside a lulling stream,
A pensive youth of placid mien
Indulg'd this tender theme:

"Ye cliffs, in hoary grandeur pil'd
High o'er the glimmering dale,
Ye woods, along whose windings wild
Murmurs the solemn gale-
Where Melancholy strays forlorn,

And Woe retires to weep,

What time the wan moon's yellow horn Gleams on the western deep

"To you, ye wastes, whose artless charms
Ne'er drew ambition's eye,
Scap'd a tumultuous world's alarms,
To your retreats I fly.

Deep in your most sequester'd bower

Let me at last recline,

Where Solitude, mild, modest power,

Leans on her ivy'd shrine.

"How shall I woo thee, matchless fair! Thy heavenly smile how win!

Thy smile that smooths the brow of Care And stills the storm within.

O wilt thou to thy favourite grove

Thine ardent votary bring,

And bless his hours, and bid them move
Serene, on silent wing!

"Oft let Remembrance soothe his mind
With dreams of former days,
When in the lap of Peace reclin'd
He fram'd his infant lays;
When Fancy rov'd at large, nor Care,
Nor cold Distrust alarm'd,
Nor Envy with malignant glare

His simple youth had harm'd.

"'Twas then, O Solitude! to thee His early vows were paid,

From heart sincere, and warm, and free,

Devoted to the shade.

Ah, why did Fate his steps decoy
In stormy paths to roam,
Remote from all congenial joy!—

O take the wanderer home.

"Thy shades, thy silence now be mine, Thy charms my only theme; My haunt the hollow cliff, whose pine

Waves o'er the gloomy stream:

Whence the scar'd owl on pinions gray
Breaks from the rustling boughs,
And down the lone vale sails away
To more profound repose.

"O while to thee the woodland pours
Its wildly warbling song,

And balmy from the bank of flowers
The Zephyr breathes along,
Let no rude sound invade from far,
No vagrant foot be nigh,

No

ray from Grandeur's gilded car Flash on the startled eye.

"But if some pilgrim through the glade
Thy hallow'd bowers explore,
O guard from harm his hoary head,
And listen to his lore:

For he of joys divine shall tell,
That wean from earthly woe,

And triumph o'er the mighty spell
That chains this heart below.

"For me, no more the path invites Ambition loves to tread;

No more I climb those toilsome heights By guileful Hope misled.

Leaps my fond fluttering heart no more

To Mirth's enlivening strain;

For present pleasure soon is o'er,

And all the past is vain."