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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.
IN PRAISE OF SIMPLICITY.
TO A FRIEND.
FOR rural virtues, and for native skies,
I bade Augufta's venal fons farewel;
O may that genius, which fecures my reft,
Far from thefe paths, ye faithlefs friends, depart!
O lov'd Simplicity! be thine the prize!
Affiduous art correct her page in vain!
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.
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,
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 A FRIEND,
ON SOME SLIGHT OCCASION ESTRANGED FROM
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!
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:
For oh, pale fickness warns thy friend away !
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,
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 though my roofs, devoid of pomp, arise,
Where only fimple friendship deigns to ftray?
Slave though I be, to Delia's eyes a flave,
Nor love, nor fame, nor friendship heals his wound.
No, let the Muse his piercing pangs disclose,
He stole one fecret moment to repinc.
Yet the Mufe liften'd to the plaints he made;
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;
"When the grim lion urg'd his cruel chafe,
“When the stern panther fought his midnight-prey,