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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.

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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;

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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;
Your numbers, leaders, policies, and states,
• Your limits fettled, and your tribes enroll'd.

'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
To travel o'er her realms with active wing;
To tafte her choicest stores, her best delights,
The fummer's radiance, and the fweets of spring,

• 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!
• Known ruin hovers o'er this earthly ball;
• Certain as fate, and fudden as the wind,
• It's fecret adamantine props fhall fall.

Yet when your fhort-liv'd fummers shine no more,
My patient mind, fworn foe to Vice's way,
Suftain'd on lighter wings than yours, fhall foar
To fairer realms, beneath a brighter ray.

• To plains etherial, and Elyfian bow'rs,

• Where wint'ry ftorms no rude access obtain ;
Where blafts no lightning, and no thunder lours,
• But fpring and joy, unchang'd, for ever reign.'

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
With trembling hand removes the jealous veil,
Where, long regardless of the vows of truth,
Unfocial coyness stamp'd th' ungrateful seal,

Allow the poet round your flowing hair,

Cull'd from an humble vale, a wreathe to twine;
To Beauty's altar with the Loves repair,
And wake the lute befide that living shrine;

That facred fhrine, where female virtue glows,
Where e'en the Graces all their treasures bring,
And where the lily, temper'd with the rofe,
(Harmonious contraft!) breathes an Eden spring;

That shrine, where Nature, with prefaging aim,
What time her friendly aid Lucina brings,
The fnowy nectar pours, delightful ftream!
Where flutt'ring Cupids dip their purple wings:

For you who bear a mother's facred name,
Whofe cradled offspring, in lamenting strain,
With artless eloquence afferts his claim,
The boon of Nature, but afferts in vain.

Şay why, illuftrious daughters of the great,
Lives not the nurfling at your tender breaft?
By you protected in his frail eftate?

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,
While Nature ftarts, and Hymen sheds a tear ?

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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?
In heedlefs infancy the title vain?

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The colours gay the purfled fcarfs unfold?
The fplendid nurs'ry, and th' attendant train?

Far better hadft thou first beheld the light,
Beneath the rafter of fome roof obfcure?
There in a mother's eye to read delight,
And in her cradling arm repos'd fecure.

No wonder, fhould Hygeïa, blissful queen!
Her wonted falutary gifts recal,

While haggard Pain applies his dagger keen,
And o'er the cradle Death unfolds his pall

The flow'ret, ravish'd from it's native air,
And bid to flourish in a foreign vale,
Does it not oft elude the planter's care,
And breathe it's dying odours on the gale?

For you, ye plighted fair, when Hymen crowns
With tender offspring your unfhaken love,
Behold them not with rigour's chilling frowns,
Nor from your fight unfeelingly remove.

Unfway'd by Fashion's dull unfeemly jeft,
Still to the bofom let your infant cling;
There banquet oft, an ever-welcome gueft,
Unblam'd inebriate at that healthful spring.

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,
With lenient converfe chafe the hours away,
And foothe with Duty's hand the widow'd bed:

Approach, compaffionate, the voice of Grief,
And whisper patience to the clofing ear;
From Comfort's chalice minister relief,
And in the potion drop a filial tear.

So fhall your fons, when beauty is no more,
When fades the languid luftre in your eye,
When Flatt'ry fhuns her dulcet notes to pour,
The want of beauty and of praise fupply.

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E'en from the wreathe that decks the warrior's brow,
Some chofen leaves your peaceful walks shall strew;
And e'en the flow'rs on claffick ground that blow,
Shall all unfold their choiceft fweets for you.

When to th' embattled hoft the trumpet blows,"
While at the call fair Albion's gallant train
Dare to the field their triple-number'd foes,
And chafe them speeding o'er the frighten'd plain;

The mother kindles at the glorious thought,'
And to her fon's renown adjoins her name;
For, at the nurturing breaft the hero caught
The love of virtue, and the love of fame.

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