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Whofe peaceful path, and ever-open gate, No feet but thofe of harden'd guilt shall mifs: There Death himself thy Lucy shall reftore; There yield up all his pow'r, ne'er to divide you more.





FOR rural virtues, and for native skies,

I bade Augufta's venal fons farewel;
Now, mid the trees, I fee my smoke arise,
Now hear the fountains bubbling round my cell.

O may that genius, which fecures my reft,
Preferve this villa for a friend that's dear!
Ne'er may my vintage glad the sordid breaft!
Ne'er tinge the lip that dares be infincere!

Far from thefe paths, ye faithlefs friends, depart!
Fly my plain board, and dread my hoftile name!
Hence! the faint verfe that flows not from the heart,
But mourns in labour'd ftrains the price of fame!

O lov'd Simplicity! be thine the prize!

Affiduous art correct her page in vain!
His be the palm, who, guiltless of disguise,
Contemns the pow'r, the dull refource to feign

Still may the mourner, lavish of his tears

For lucre's venal mede, invite my scorn!

Still may the bard, diffembling doubts and fears, For praife, for flatt'ry fighing, figh forlorn!

Soft as the line of love-fick Hammond flows, 'Twas his fond heart effus'd th' melting theme: Ah! never could Aonia's hill disclofe

So fair a fountain, or fo loy'd a stream.

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Ye loveless bards! intent with artful pains

To form a figh, or to contrive a tear! Forego your Pindus, and on

's plains Survey Camilla's charms, and grow fincere.

But thou, my Friend! while in thy youthful foul Love's gentle tyrant feats his awful throne, Write from thy bofom; let not art controul

The ready pen that makes his edicts known.

Pleafing, when youth is long expir'd, to trace

The forms our pencil or our pen defign'd: * Such was our youthful air, and shape, and face! "Such the foft image of our youthful mind!"

Soft whilft wê fleep beneath the rural bow'rs,
The Loves and Graces fteal unfeen away;
And where the turf diffus'd its pomp of flow'rs,
We wake to wint'ry fcenes of chill decay!

Curfe the fad fortune that detains thy fair;

Praise the foft hours that gave thee to her arms; Paint thy proud fcorn of ev'ry vulgar care,

When hope exalts thee, or when doubt alarms.

Where with Oenone thou haft worn the day

Near fount or stream, in meditation rove;

If in the grove Oenone lov'd to stray,

The faithful mufe fhall meet thee in the grove.






to my friend, and many a cheerful day! Around his feat may peaceful shades abide! Smooth flow the minutes, fraught with fmiles, away,

And, till they crown our union, gently glide.

Ah me! too swiftly fleets our vernal bloom!
Loft to our wonted friendship, loft to joy!
Soon may thy breaft the cordial with refume,
Ere wint'ry doubt its tender warmth destroy.
Say, were it our's, by Fortune's wild command,
By chance to meet beneath the torrid zone ;
Wouldst thou reject thy Damon's plighted hand;
Wouldst thou with fcorn thy once-lov'd friend dif-

Life is that ftranger land, that alien clime :

Shall kindred fouls forego their focial claim? Launch'd in th' vast abyss of space and time,

Shall dark fufpicion quench the gen'rous flame? Myriads of fouls, that knew one parent mould, See fadly fever'd by the laws of chance! Myriads, in time's perennial list enroll'd,

Forbid by Fate to change one transient glance ! But we have met-where ills of ev'ry form, Where paffions rage, and hurricanes defcend: Say, shall we nurse the rage, affift the ftorm?

And guide them to the bofom of a friend?

Yes, we have met-through rapine, fraud, and wrong:
Might our joint aid the paths of peace explore!
Why leave thy friend amid the boift'rous throng,
Ere death divide us, and we part no more.

For oh, pale fickness warns thy friend away !
For me no more the vernal rofes bloom!

I fee ftern Fate his ebon wand display,

And point the wither'd regions of the tomb.

Then the keen anguish from thine eye shall start,
Sad as thou follow'ft my untimely bier ;
"Fool that I was, (if friends so foon must part,)
"To let fufpicion intermix a fear."


Comparing his humble Fortune with that of others, he expatiates on the miferable Servitude of an African Slave.

WHY droops this heart, with fancy'd woes forlorn ?

Why finks my foul beneath each wint'ry sky?
What penfive crowds by ceafelefs labours worn,
What myriads wish to be as blefs'd as I?

What though my roofs, devoid of pomp, arise,
Nor tempt the proud to quit his destin'd way?
Nor coftly art my flow'ry dales disguise,

Where only fimple friendship deigns to ftray?
See the wild fons of Lapland's chill domain,
That fcoop their couch beneath the drifted fnows,
How void of hope they ken the frozen plain,
Where the sharp eaft for ever, ever blows!

Slave though I be, to Delia's eyes a flave,
My Delia's eyes endear the bands I wear;
The figh fhe causes well becomes the brave,
The pang
the causes, 'tis even blifs to bear.
See the poor native quit the Lybian fhores,
Ah! not in love's delightful fetters bound!
No radiant smile his dying peace restores,

Nor love, nor fame, nor friendship heals his wound.
Le vacant Bards difplay their boasted woes,
Shall I the mockery of grief display?

No, let the Muse his piercing pangs disclose,
Who bleeds and weeps his fum of life away !
On the wild beach in mournful guise he ftood,
Ere the frill boatswain gave the hated fign;
He dropt a tear unfeen into the flood;

He stole one fecret moment to repinc.

Yet the Mufe liften'd to the plaints he made;
Such moving plaints as Nature could inspire :
To me the Mufe his tender plea convey'd,

But smooth'd, and fuited to the founding lyre. "Why am I ravifh'd from my native strand? "What favage race protects this impious gain? "Shall foreign plagues infeft this teeming land, "And more than fea-born monfers plough the main?

"Here the dire locufts horrid fwarms prevail;
"Here the blue afps with livid poison fwell;
"Here the dry dipfa writhes his finuous mail;
"Can we not here, fecure from envy, dwell ?

"When the grim lion urg'd his cruel chafe,

“When the stern panther fought his midnight-prey,

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