Again the daifies peep, the violets blow, Again the tenants of the leafy grove (Forgot the patt'ring hail, the driving fnow) Refume the lay to melody and love. And fee, my Delia, fee o'er yonder ftream, • Where, on the funny bank, the lambkins play; • Alike attracted to th' enliv'ning gleam, The ftranger-swallows take their wonted way. Welcome, ye gentle tribe, your sports pursue; • Welcome again to Delia and to me: 'Your peaceful councils on my roof renew, And plan your fettlements, from danger free. No tempeft on my fhed it's fury pours; My frugal hearth no noxious blast supplies : Go, wand'rers, go; repair your footy bow'rs; Think, on no hoftile roof my chimnies rife. Again I'll listen to your grave debates, 'I'll think I hear your various maxims told; 'I'll think I hear you tell of diftant lands; • What infect nations rife from Egypt's mud; . What painted fwarms fubfift on Lybia's fands, . What mild Euphrates yields, and Ganges' flood. Thrice happy race! whom Nature's call invites • While While we are doom'd to bear the restless change • Of shifting seasons, vapours dank, or dry, • Forbid, like you, to milder climes to range, • When wint'ry clouds deform the troubled sky. But know the period to your joys, affign'd! Yet when your fhort-liv'd fummers shine no more, • To plains etherial, and Elyfian bow'rs, • Where wint'ry ftorms no rude access obtain ; IL LATTE. AN ELEGY. Y BY MR. JERNINGHAM. E fair, for whom the hands of Hymen weave The nuptial wreathe to deck your virgin brow, While pleafing pains the confcious bofom heave, And on the kindling cheeks the blushes glow; Whofe fpotless foul contains the better dower; Whofe life, unftain'd, full many virtues vouch; For whom now Venus frames the fragrant bower, And scatters roses o'er th' expecting couch; Το To you I fing.-Ah! ere the raptur'd youth Allow the poet round your flowing hair, Cull'd from an humble vale, a wreathe to twine; That facred fhrine, where female virtue glows, That shrine, where Nature, with prefaging aim, For you who bear a mother's facred name, Şay why, illuftrious daughters of the great, By you attended, and by you carefs'd? To foreign hands, alas! can you refign The parent's tafk, the mother's pleafing care? To foreign hands the fmiling babe confign, When 'mid the polifh'd circle ye rejoice, Or, roving, join fantaftick Pleasure's train, Unheard, perchance, the nurfling lifts/his voice, His tears unnotic'd, and unfooth'd his pain., Ah! what avails the coral crown'd with gold? The colours gay the purfled fcarfs unfold? Far better hadft thou first beheld the light, No wonder, fhould Hygeïa, blissful queen! While haggard Pain applies his dagger keen, The flow'ret, ravish'd from it's native air, For you, ye plighted fair, when Hymen crowns Unfway'd by Fashion's dull unfeemly jeft, With With fond folicitude each pain affwage, Explain the look, awake the ready smile; Unfeign'd attachment fo fhall you engage, To crown with gratitude maternal toil. So fhall your daughters, in Affliction's day, When o'er your form the gloom of Age fhall fpread, Approach, compaffionate, the voice of Grief, So fhall your fons, when beauty is no more, E'en from the wreathe that decks the warrior's brow, When to th' embattled hoft the trumpet blows," The mother kindles at the glorious thought,' |