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HER GRIEF AT PARTING. 253

Hard is that heart and unsubdued by love
That feels no pam, nor ever heaves a sigh;

Such hearts the fiercest passions only prove,
Or freeze in cold insensibility.

Oh! then indulge thy grief, nor fear to tell
The gentle source from whence thy sorrows flow;

Nor think it weakness when we love to feel,
Nor think it weakness what we feel to show.

Hope, like the short-lived ray that gleams awhile
Through wintry skies, upon the frozen waste,

Cheers e'en the face of misery to a smile;
But soon the momentary pleasure's past.

How oft, my Delia, since our last farewell,
(Years that have rolled since that distressful hour),

Grieved I have said, when most our hopes prevail,
Our promised happiness is least secure.

Oft I have thought the scene of troubles closed,
And hoped once more to gaze upon your charms;

As oft some dire mischance has interposed,

And snatched the expected blessing from my arms.

The seaman thus, his shattered vessel lost,

Still vainly strives to shun the threatening death;

And while he thinks to gain the friendly coast,
And drops his feet, and feels the sands beneath,

Borne by the wave steep-sloping from the shore,
Back to the inclement deep, again he beats

The surge aside, and seems to tread secure;
And now the refluent wave his baffled toil defeats.

Had you, my love, forbade me to pursue
My fond attempt, disdainfully retired,

And with proud scorn compelled me to subdue
The ill-fated passion by yourself inspired;

Then haply to some distant spot removed,
Hopeless to gain, unwilling to molest

With fond entreaties whom I dearly loved,
Despair or absence had redeemed my rest.

But now, sole partner in my Delia's heart,
Yet doomed far off in exile to complain,

Eternal absence cannot ease my smart,

And hope subsists but to prolong my pain.

Oh, then, kind Heaven, be this my latest breath!

Here end my life, or make it worth my care;
Absence from whom we love is worse than death,

And frustrate hope severer than dismay.

R S. S

All-worshipped Gold! thou mighty mystery

Say by what name shall I address thee rather,

Our blessing, or our bane? Without thy aid,

The generous pangs of pity but distress

The human heart, that fain would feel the bliss

Of blessing others; and, enslaved by thee,

Far from relieving woes which others feel,

Misers oppress themselves. Our blessing then

With virtue when possessed ; without, our bane.

If in my bosom unperceived there lurk

The deep-sown seeds of avarice or ambition,

Blame me, ye great ones, (for I scorn your censure),

But let the generous and the good commend me;

That to my Delia I direct them all,

The worthiest object of a virtuous love.

Oh ! to some distant scene, a willing exile

From the wild uproar of this busy world,

Were it my fate with Delia to retire;

With her to wander through the sylvan shade,

Each morn, or o'er the moss-embrowned turf,

Where, blessed as the prime parents of mankind

In their own Eden, we would envy none;

But, greatly pitying whom the world calls happy,

Gently spin out the silken thread of life;

While from her lips attentive I receive

The tenderest dictates of the purest flame,

And from her eyes (where soft complacence sits

Illumined with the radiant beams of sense),

Tranquillity beyond a monarch's reach.

Forgive me, Heaven, this only avarice

My soul indulges; 1 confess the crime,

(If to esteem, to covet such perfection

Be criminal), oh, grant me Delia! grant me wealth!

Wealth to alleviate, not increase my wants;

And grant me virtue, without which nor wealth

Nor Delia can avail to make me blessed.

WRITTEN IN A FIT OF ILLNESS.

Tv these sad hours, a prey to ceaseless pain,
While feverish pulses leap in every vein,
When each faint breath the last short effort seems
Of life just parting from my feeble limbs;
How wild soe'er my wandering thoughts may be,
Still, gentle Delia, still they turn on thee!
At length if, slumbering to a short repose,
A sweet oblivion frees me from my woes,

Thy form appears, thy footsteps I pursue,

Through springy vales, and meadows washed in dew;

Thy arm supports me to the fountain's brink,

Where by some secret power forbid to drink,

Gasping with thirst, I view the tempting flood

That flies my touch, or thickens into mud;

Till thine own hand immerged the goblet dips,

And bears it streaming to my burning lips.

There borne aloft on fancy's wing we fly,

Like souls embodied to their native sky;

Now every rock, each mountain, disappears;

And the round earth an even surface wears;

When lo! the force of some resistless weight,

Bears me straight down from that pernicious height;

Parting, in vain our struggling arms we close;

Abhorred forms, dire phantoms interpose;

With trembling voice on thy loved name I call;

And gulfs yawn ready to receive my fall.

From these fallacious visions of distress

I wake; nor are my real sorrows less.

Thy absence, Delia, heightens every ill,

And gives e'en trivial pains the power to kill.

Oh! wert thou near me ; yet that wish forbear!

'Twere vain, my love,—'twere vain to wish thee near;

Thy tender heart would heave with anguish too,

And by partaking, but increase my woe.

Alone I'll grieve, till gloomy sorrow past,

Health, like the cheerful day-spring, comes at last,—

Comes fraught with bliss to banish every pain,

Hope, joy, and peace, and Delia in her train!

TO DELIA.

1755

Me to whatever state the gods assign,
Believe, my love, whatever state be mine,
Ne'er shall my breast one anxious sorrow know,
Ne'er shall my heart confess a real woe,
If to thy share heaven's choicest blessings fall,
As thou hast virtue to deserve them all.
Yet vain, alas ! that idle hope would be
That builds on happiness remote from thee.
Oh! may thy charms, whate'er our fate decrees,
Please, as they must, but let them only please—
Not like the sun with equal influence shine,
Nor warm with transport any heart but mine.
Ye who from wealth the ill-grounded title boast
To claim whatever beauty charms you most;
Ye sons of fortune, who consult alone
Her parents' will, regardless of her own,
Know that a love like ours, a generous flame,

No -weai.il can purchase, and no power reclaim.
The souls affirTirm can be only given
Free, unertarted, as the graoe of heaven.

Is there whose faithful bosom ran endure
Pangs fierce as mine, nor ever hope a care?
Who sighs in absence of the dear-loved maid,
Nor summons onoe indifference to his aid?
Who can, lite me, the ni ce resentment prove,
The thousand soft disquietudes of love;
The trivial strifes that cause a real pain;
The real bliss when reconciled again?
Let him alone dispute the real prize,
And read his sentence in my Delia's eyes;
Theie shall he read all gentleness and truth.
Eat not himself, the dear distmguished youth;
Pity for him perhaps they may express—
Pity, that will but heighten his distress.
But, wretched rival! be must sigh to see
The spnghlliet rays of love directed all to me.

And thou, dear antidote of every pain Which fortune can mflict, or love ordam, Since early love has taught thee to despise What the world's worthless votaries only prize, Believe, my love ! no less the generous god Rules in my breast, his ever blest abode; There has he driven each gross desire away. Directmg every wi?h and every thought to thee! Then can I ever leave my Delia's arms, A slave, devoied to inferior charms? Can e'er my soul her reason so disgrace? For what blest minister of heavenly race Would quit that heaven to find a happier place?

ODE.

SVTPOSED TO BE irRITTEX ON THE MARRIAGE OF A FRIEKD

Tuou magic lyre, whose fascinating sound

Seduced the savage monsters from their cave, Drew rocks and trees, and forms uncouth around,

And bade wild Hebrus hush his listening wave; No more thy undulating warblings flow O'er Thracian wilds of everlasting snow! Awake to sweeter sounds, thou magic lyre,

And paint a lover's biiss—a lover's pain! Far nobler triumphs now thy notes inspire,

For see, Eurydice attends thy strain; Her smile, a prize beyond the conjuror's aim, Superior to the cancelled breath of fame. From her sweet brow to chase the gloom of care,

To check the tear that dims the beaming eye, To bid her heart the rismg sigh forbear,

And Rush her orient cheek with brighter joy,
In tint dear breast soft sympathy to move,
And touch the springs of rapture and of love.

Ah me ! how long bewildered and astray,
Lost and benighted, did my footsteps rove,

Till sent by heaven to cheer my pathless ray,
A star arose—the radiant star of love.

The God propitious joined our willing hands,

And Hymen wreathed us in his rosy bands.

Yet not the beaming eye, or placid brow,
Or golden tresses, hid the subtle dart;

To charms superior far than those I bow,
And nobler worth enslaves my vanquished heart;

The beauty, elegance, and grace combined,

Which beam transcendent from that angel mind.

While vulgar passions, meteors of a day,
Expire before the chilling blasts of age,

Our holy flame with pure and steady ray,
Its glooms shall brighten, and its pangs assuage;

By virtue (sacred vestal) fed, shall shine,

And warm our fainting souls with energy divine.

THE FIFTH SATIRE OF THE FIRST BOOK OF HORACE.

PRINTED IN DUNCOMBE'S HORACE.

1759

K HUMOROUS DESCRIPTION OF THE AUTHOR'S JOURNEY

FROM ROME TO BRUNDUSIUM.

'twas a long journey lay before us,
When I and honest Heliodorus,
Who far in point of rhetoric
Surpasses every living Greek,
Each leaving our respective home
Together sallied forth from Rome.

First at Aricia we alight,
And there refresh and pass the night,
Our entertainment rather coarse
Than sumptuous, but I've met with worse.
Thence o'er the causeway soft and fair
To Apii Forum we repair.
But as this road is well supplied
(Temptation strong !) on either side
With inns commodious, snug, and warm,
We split the journey, and perform
In two days' time what's often done
By brisker travellers in one.
Here rather choosing not to sup
Than with bad water mix my cup,

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