W

LUCR.

HEN black-brow'd night her dusky mantle spread,
And wrapp'd in folemn gloom the fable sky;

When foothing fleep her opiate dews had fhed,
And feal'd in filken flumbers ev'ry eye :

*Lok is the evil being, who continues in chains till the twilight of the gods approaches, when he shall break his bonds; the human race, the stars, and fun, shall disappear; the earth fink in the feas, and fire confume the skies: even Odin himself and his kindred deities fhall perish. For a farther explanation of this mythology, fee MALLET'S INTRODUCTION TO THE HISTORY OF DENMARK, 1755;i 4to..

My

My wakeful thoughts admit no balmy rest,

Nor the fweet blifs of foft oblivion share;
But watchful woe diftracts my aching breast,
My heart the subject of corroding care.
From haunts of men, with wand'ring fteps and flow,
I folitary steal, and foothe my penfive woe.

Yet no fell paffion's rough difcordant rage

Untun'd the mufick of my tranquil mind; Ambition's tinfell'd charms could ne'er engage, No harbour there could fordid avʼrice find : From Luft's foul spring my grief disdains to flow; No fighs of envy from my bofom break;

But foft compaffion melts my foul to woe,

And focial tears faft trickle down my cheek.
Ah, me! when nature gives one gen'ral groan,
Each heart muft beat with woe, each voice refponfive moan.

Where'er I caft my moisten'd eyes around,

Or ftretch my profpect o'er the distant land,
There foul Corruption's tainted fteps are found,
And Death, grim vifag'd, waves his iron hand.
Tho' now foft Pleafure gild the fmiling fcene,
And fportive Joy call forth her feftive train,
Sinking in night each vital form is feen,

Like air-blown bubbles on the wat❜ry plain :
Fell Death, like brooding Harpy, the repaft
Will snatch with talons foul, or four it's grateful tafte.

Ye fmiling glories of the youthful year,

That ope your fragrant bofoms to the day,
That, clad in all the pride of spring, appear,
And, fteep'd in dew, your filken leaves difplay
In Nature's richest robes, tho' thus bedigh

Tho' her foft pencil trace your various

Tho' lures your roseate hue the charm

SITY

Tho' odours fweet your nect'rous breath fupply

N 2

UNE

OF

GENERAL

Soon on your leaves Time's cank'rous tooth shall prey,
Your dulcet dews exhale, your beauteous bloom decay.

Ye hedge-row elms, beneath whose spreading shade
The grazing herds defy the ratt'ling show'r;
Ye lofty oaks, in whose wide arms difplay'd,

The clam'rous rook builds high his airy bow'r;
Stripp'd by hoar Winter's rough inclement rage,
In mournful heaps your leafy honours lie;

E'en your

hard ribs fhall feel the force of age,

And your bare trunks the friendly shade deny :

No more by chearful vegetation green,

Your fapless bolls fhall fink, and quit th' evanid fcene.

Ye feather'd warblers of the vernal year,

That carelefs fing, nor fear the frowns of Fate,
Tune your fad notes to death and winter drear!

Ill fuit these mirthful strains your transient state.
No more, with chearful fong, nor sprightly air,
Salute the blushes of the rifing day;
With doleful ditties, drooping wings, repair
To the lone covert of the nightly spray;
Where love-lorn Philomela ftrains her throat,
Surround the budding thorn, and swell the mournful note.

Come, fighing Elegy, with sweetest airs

Of melting mufick teach my grief to flow:
I too muft mix my fad complaint with theirs ;
Our fates are equal, equal be our woe.
Come, Melancholy, fpread thy raven wing,
And in thy ebon car, by Fancy led,
To the dark charnel vault thy vot'ry bring,

The murky manfions of the mould'ring dead;
Where dank dews breathe, and taint the fickly skies,
Where, in fad loathsome heaps, all human glory lies.

Wrapp'd

Wrapp'd in the gloom of uncreated night,

Secure we slept in fenfeless Matter's arms; Nor pain could vex, nor pallid fear affright, Our quiet fancy felt no dream's alarms. Soon as to life our animated clay

Awakes, and conscious being opes our eyes, Care's fretful family at once difmay,

With ghaftly air a thousand phantoms rife ;

Sad Horror hangs o'er all the deep'ning gloom,

Grief prompts the labour'd figh, Death opes the marble tomb.

Yet life's ftrong love intoxicates the foul,

And thirst of bliss inflames the fev'rous mind;
With eager draughts we drain the pois'nous bowl,
And in the dregs the cordial hope to find.,
O Heav'n! for this light end were mortals made,
And plac'd on earth, with happiness in view,
To catch, with cheated grafp, the flitting fhade,
And, with vain toil, the fancied form purfue;
Then give their fhort-liv'd being to the wind,
As the wing'd arrow flies, and leaves no track behind!

Thus, lonely wand'ring thro' the nightly fhade,
Against the stern decrees of ftubborn Fate,
To mockful Echo my complaints I made,

Of life's fhort period, or it's toilsome state.
'Tis death-like filence all; no found I hear,
Save the hoarfe raven croaking from the sky,
Or fcaly beetle murm'ring thro' the air,

Or fcreech-owl fcreaming with ill-omen'd cry; Save when with brazen tongue from yon high tow'r,

The clock deep-founding speaks, and counts the paffing hour.

Pale Cynthia, mounted on her filver car,

O'er heav'n's blue concave drives her nightly round: See a torn abbey, wrapp'd in gloom, appear,

Scatter'd in wild confufion o'er the ground.

Here