Hammond., If late at dufk, while carelessly Iroam,
I meet a ftrolling kid or bleating lamb,
Under my arm I'll bring the wand'rer home,
And not a little chide its thoughtless dam.`
What joy to hear the tempeft howl in vain,
And claíp a fearful mistress to my breast!
Or lull'd to flumber by the beating rain,
Secure and happy, fink at laft to reft!
Or if the fun in flaming Leo ride
By fhady rivers indolently stray
And with my Delia, walking fide by fide,
Hear how they murmur as they glide away!
What joy to wind along the cool retreat,
To ftop, and gaze on Delia as I go!
To mingle fweet difcourfe with kiffes sweet
And teach my lovely scholar all I know!
Thus pleas'd at not with Fancy's dream,
In filent happiness I rest unknown,
Content with what I am, not what I feem,
I live for Delia and myself alone,
Ah! foolish man! who thus of her poffeft
Could float and wander with Ambition's wind,
And if his outward trappings spoke him bleft
Not heed the fickness of his conscious mind
With her I fcorn the idle breath of Praife,
Nor truft to happiness that's not our own:
The smile of Fortune might fufpicion raise,
But here, I know that I am lov'd alone,
Stanhope, in wisdom as in wit divine,
May rife and plead Britannia's glorious caufe,
With fteady rein his eager wit confine,
While manly fense the deep: attention draws,
Let Stanhope speak his lifthing Country's wrongs, Hammond.
My humble voice fhall pleafe one partial maid;
For her alone I pen my tender fongs,
Securely fitting in his friendly fhade.
Stanhope fhall come and grace his rural friend;
Delia hall wonder at her noble guest,
With blufhing awe the riper fruit commend
And for her husband's patron call the best.
Her's be the care of all my little train
While I with tender indolence am bleft,
The favourite fubject of her gentle reign,
By love alone diftinguish'd from the reft
For her I'll yoke my oxen to the plow,
In gloomy foreft tend my lonely flock;
For her a goat therd climb the mountain's brow,
And fleep extended on the nacked rock.
Ah! what avails to prefs the ftately bed,
And far from her 'midft taftelefs grandeur weep,
By marble fountains lay the penfive head
And while they murmur ftrive in vain to fleep?
Delia alone can please and never tire,
Exceed the paint of thought in true delight:
With her enjoyment wakens new defire,
And equal rapture glows thro' ev'ry night,
Beauty and worth in her alike contend
To charm the fancy and to fix the mind:
In her my wife, my mistress, and my friend,
I taste the joys of fenfe and reafon join'd.
On her I'll gaze when others' loves are o'er,
And dying prefs her with my clay-cold hand
Thou weep'ft already as I wereno more,
Nor can that gentle breaft the thought withstand.
hammond. Oh! when I die my latest moments fpare,
Nor let thy grief with sharper torments kill:
Wound not thy cheeks, nor hurt that flowing hair.
Tho' I am dead my foul fhall love thee still.
Oh! quit the room; oh! quit the deathful bed;
Or thou wilt die, fo tender is thy heart:
Oh! leave me, Delia! ere thou feeft me dead;
Thefe weeping friends will do thy mournful part.
Let them extended on the decent bier
Convey the corfe in melancholy state.
Thro' all the village fpread the tender tear,
While pitying maids our wondrous loves relate.
Unter seinen Gedichten ist eine Folge von sechs und zwanzig Elegieen, voll mannichfaltiger Schönheiten der Empfindung ́und des Ausdrucks, und meis ftentheils durch einzelne wirkliche Vorfälle veranlasst. Er hat ihnen einen kurzen Versuch über diese Dichtungsart vor: ausgeschickt, worin er sie als die Ergießung eines betrach tungsvollen Gemüths erklärt, die zuweilen klagend, aber als lemal ernsthaft, und daher über allen Schimmer kleiner Vérzierungen erhaben ist. Dr. Johnson tadelt an diesen Elegieen die zu große Gleichförmigkeit des Inbalts, welcher fast in allen häusliches Glück, Ruhe und Genügsamkeit ist. Die folgende schrieb Sh. zum Andenken einer Privatfamilie in' Worcestershire, der Penns von Harborough, einem Orte, dessen Namen in der angelsächsischen auf ein Heer anspielt; und es ist dort eine Sage, daß in jener Gegend zwischen den Britten und Römern eine Schlacht geliefert sey: und dieß ist die Grundlage der eingewebten Dichtung.
IN MEMORY OF A PRIVATE FAMILY
IN WORCESTERSHIRE,
From
om a lone tow'r with rev'rend ivy crown'd,
The pealing bell awak'd a tender figh;
Still as the village caught the waving found,
A fwelling tear diftream'd from ev'ry eye.
So droop'd, I ween, each Briton's breast of old,
When the dull curfew spoke their freedom fled;
For, fighing as the mournful accent roll'd,
Our hope," they cry'd, our kind fupport, is dead!"
The floking rooks, by Instinct's native rule,
This peaceful scene for their afylum chofe.
A few small fpires, to Gothic fancy fair,
Amid the fhades emerging ftruck the view;
'Twas here his youth refpir'd its earliest air;
'Twas here his age breath'd out its last adieu.“
One favour'd fon engag'd his tend'rest care:
One pious youth his whole affection crown'd;
In his young breaft the virtues fprung fo fair,
Such charms display'd, fuch fweets diffus'd around.
But whilst gay transport in his face appears,
A noxious vapour clogs the poison'd fky,
Blafts the fair crop- the fire is drown'd in tears,
And, fcarce furviving, fees his Cynthio die!
O'er the pale corfe we faw him gently bend;
Heart-chill'd with grief "My thread," he cry'd,
is fpun!
If Heav'n had meant I fhould my life extend, "Heav'n had preferv'd my life's fupport, my fon.
"Snatch'd in thy prime! alas! the stroke were mild.
"Had my frail form obey'd the Fates' decree!
"Blefs'd were my lot, o Cynthio! o my child!
Had Heav'n fo pleas'd, and I had dy'd for thee."
Five fleepless nights he ftemm'd this tide of woes;
Five irkfome funs he faw, thro' tears, forlorn!
On his pale corfe the fixth fad morning role;
From yonder dome the mournful bier was borne.
'Twas on thofe Downs, by Roman hofts annoy'd,
Fought our bold fathers, ruftic, unrefin'd!
Freedom's plain fons, in martial cares employ'd!
They ting'd their bodies, but unmask'd their mind.
'Twas there, in happier times, this virtuous race, Of milder merit, fix'd their calm retreat;
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