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Olofs beyond repair!
O wretched Father left alone

their dire misfortune, and thy own!
How shall thy weaken'd mind, oppress'd with woc,

And drooping o'er thy Lucy's grave,
Perform the duties that you doubly owe,
Now she,
alas! is

gone, From foily, and from vice, their helpless age to save?


Where were ye, Muses, when relentless Fate
From these fond arms your fair difciple tore,

From these fond arms that vainly Itrove

With hapless ineffectual Love
To guard her bosom from the mortal blow?

Could not your fav’rite pow'r, Aonion maids,
Could not; alas! your pow'r prolong her date,

For whom so oft in these inspiring shades,
Or under Campden's moss-clad mountains hoar,

You open'd all your sacred store,
Whate'er your ancient sages taught,

Your ancient bards fublimely thought,
And bade her raptur'd breast with all your spirit glow?


Nor then did Pindus' or Catalia's plain,
Or Aganippe's fount your steps detain,
Nur in the Thespain vallies did you play!

Nor then on * Mincio's bank
Befet with oliers dauk,

• The Mincio runs by Mantua, the birth-place of Virgil.

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Nor where * Clitumnus rolls his gentle stream,

Nor wliere through hanging woods

Steep + Anio pours his foods,
Nor yet where I Meles, or || Iliflus stray,

Ill does it now bescem,

That, of your guardian care bereft, To dire disease and death your darling should be left.


Now what avails it that is early bloom,

When light fantastic toys

Are all her sex’s joys, With


she search'd the wit of Greece and Rome? And all that in her latter days

To emulate her ancient praise Italia's happy genius could produce ;

Or what the gallic fire

Bright sparkling could inspire ;
By all the Graces temper'd and refind;

Or what in Britain's ille

Most favour'd with your smile
The pow'rs of reason and of fancy join'd
To full perfection have conspir'd to raise?

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

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

I The Mcles is a viver of Ionia, from whence Homer, fuppoled to be borne' on its barks, is callce Melligencs. !! The llistus is a river at Athens.

Ah! what is now the use Of all those treasures that enrich'd her mind; To black oblivion's gloom for ever now consign’d?

At least ye Nine, her spotless name

from death to save,
And in the temple of immortal Fame
With golden characters her worth engrave.

Come then, ye virgin fifters, come, And Ikrew with choilet flow'rs her hallow'd tomb. Dut furemost thoni, in fable vestments clad,

With accents fiveet and sid,
Thou, plaintive Musc, whom o'er his Laura's urui

Unhappy Petrarch callid to mourn.
O come, and to this fairer Laura pay
A more impafcond tcar, a more pathetic lay.

XI. Tell how cach beauty of her mind and face Was brighten d by fome sweeet peculiar grace!

How cloquent ia cvery look
Through her expreflive eyes her soul distinctly spoke !

Tell how her manners by the world refind
Loft ] the taint of modini vice behind.
And made each charm of polith'd courts agree

With candid Truth's fimplicity,
And incorrupied Innocence!
Tell low tu more than manly fense
She joined the folt'ning infuence

Of vore than female tenderness:
How in the thoughtlefs days of wealth and joy,
Which oi tie care of others' goud delivy,

Her kirdiyinelting heart,
To citi'y licit ad every woe,
To guilt i: telf lien in dittress,

The bala od pity viouid impält,
Ilidalinics thailivukli ciului Leftowe

Ev’n for the kid cr lamb that pour'd its life

Beneath the bloody knife,

Her gentle tears would fall, Tears from fweet Virtue's fource, benevolent to all.

Not only good and kind,
But strong and elevated was her mind :
A spirit that with noble pride

Could look fuperior down

On Fortune's smiles or frown:
That could without regret or pain
To Virtue's lowest duty facrifice
Or int'reit or ambition's highest prize :
That injured or offended never tryd
Its dignity by vengeance to maintaia

But by magnanimous disdain.
A wit'that temperately bright,

With inoffenlive light
All pleasing shone, nur ever past
The decent bounds that Wisdom's suber hand,
And sweet Benevolence's inild command,
And bashful Modesty before it caft.
A prudence undeceiving, undeceiv'd,
That nor too little nor too much believ'd,
That fcorn'd unjust Sufpicion's coward fear,
And without weakness knew to be fincere.
Such Lucy was, when in her faiiett days,
Amidst the acclaim of universal praise,

In life's and glory's freshest bloom
Death came remorseless on and fuuk her to the tomb.

So where the silent streams of Liris glide,
In the soft bofom of Campania's vale,
When now the wintry tempefts all are fled,
And genial Summer breathes her gentle gale,
The verdant orange lifts its beauteous head;


every branch the balmy fow'rets rise, On every bough the golden fruits are feen; With odours sweet it fills the smiling skies, The wood-nymphs tend it, and th' Idalia: queen; But in the midit of all its blooming pride A sudden blat from Appeninus blows,

Cold with perpetual snows : The teader blighted plant Shrinks up his leaves, and


Arile o Petrarch, froin th' Elysian bow'rs,

With never-fading myrtles twin'd,

And fragrant with ambrosial flowers, Where to thy Laura thou again art join'd; Arife, and hither bring the filver lyre,

Tun'd by thy skilful hand, To the foft notes of elegant desire, With which o'er


Was spread the fame of thy disaitrous love ;

To me relign the vocal shell ;
And teach my sorrows to relate
Their melancholy tale fo well,

may ev’n things inanimate, Rough mountain oaks, and desart rocks, to pity move.


What were,'alas ! thy woes compar'd to mine?
To thee thy mistress in the blissful baod

Of Hymen never gave her hand;
The joys of wedded love were never thine.

In thy domeitic care
She never bore a share,
Nor with endearing art,

Would heal thy wounded heart

every secret grief that fester'd there : Nor did her fond affection on the bed

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