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To strew fresh laurels let the task be mine,
ay shame afflict this alienated heart;
Oft let me range the gloomy aisles alone,
In what new region, to the just assigned,
Oh! if sometimes thy spotless form descend,
65 Till bliss shall join, nor death can part us more.
That awful form, which, so the Heavens decree,
80 There taught us how to live; and (oh! too high The price for knowledge) taught us how to die.
Thou Hill, whose brow the antique structures grace, Reare.] by bold chiefs of Warwick's noble race, Why, once so loved, whene'er thy bower appears, O’er my dim eyeballs glance the sudden tears! How sweet were once thy prospects fresh and fair, Thy sloping walks, and unpolluted air ! How sweet the glooms beneath thy aged trees, Thy noon-tide shadow, and thy evening breeze ! 90 His image thy forsaken bowers restore; Thy walks and airy prospects charm no more; No more the summer in thy glooms allayed, Thy evening breezes, and thy noon-day shade.
From other ills, however Fortune frowned ;
95 Some refuge in the Muse's art I found: Reluctant now I touch the trembling string, Bereft of him who taught me how to sing; And these sad accents, murmured o'er his urn, Betray that absence they attempt to mourn. Oh must I then (now fresh my bosom bleeds, And Craggs in death to Addison suco
ucceeds) The verse, begun to one lost friend, prolong, And weep a second in the unfinished song!
These works divine, which, on his death-bed laid, 105 To thee, O Craggs, the expiring sage conveyed, Great, but ill-omened, monument of fame, Nor he survived to give, nor thou to claim. Swift after him thy social spirit flies, And close to his, how soon! thy coffin lies. Blest pair ! whose union future bards shall tell In future tongues: each other's boast! farewell, Farewell! whom joined in fame, in friendship tried, No chance could sever, nor the grave divide.
ELEGY TO THE MEMORY OF AN UNFORTUNATE
What beckoning ghost, along the moonlight shade,
Why bade ye else, ye Powers ! her soul aspire
From these perhaps (ere nature bade her die)
But thou, false guardian of a charge too good, Thou, mean deserter of thy brother's blood !
30 See on these ruby lips the trembling breath, These cheeks now fading at the blast of death ; Cold is that breast which warmed the world before, And those love-darting eyes must roll no more. Thus, if eternal justice rules the ball,
35 Thus shall your wives, and thus your children fall : On all the line a sudden vengeance waits, And frequent hearses shall besiege your' gates ; There passengers shall stand, and pointing say, (While the long funerals blacken all the way) Lo! these were they, whose souls the Furies steeled, And curst with hearts unknowing how to yield. Thus unlamented pass the proud away, The gaze of fools, and pageant of a day! So perish all, whose breast ne'er learned to glow 45 For others' good, or melt at others' woe.
What can atone (O ever injured shade !)
60 What though no sacred earth allow thee room, Nor hallowed dirge be muttered o'er thy tomb ? Yet shall thy grave with rising flowers be drest, And the green turf lie lightly on thy breast : There shall the Morn her earliest tears bestow, 65 There the first roses of the year shall blow; While angels with their silver wings o'ershade The ground now sacred by thy relics made.
So, peaceful rests, without a stone, a name, What once had beauty, titles, wealth, and fame. 70 How loved, how honoured once, avails thee not, To whom related, or by whom begot; A heap of dust alone remains of thee; 'Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be !
Poets themselves must fall, like those they sung, 75 Deaf the praised ear, and mute the tuneful tongue. Even he, whose soul now melts in mournful lays, Shall shortly want the generous tear he pays ; Then from his closing eyes thy form shall part, And the last pang shall tear thee from his heart, 80 Life's idle business at one gasp be o’er, The Muse forgot, and thou beloved no more!