Oft in his dreams (no longer clogg'd with fears
Of some broad torrent, or some headlong steep,
With each dire form Imagination wears

When harrass'd Nature sinks in turbid sleep),

Oft in his dreams he saw diffusive day

Through bursting glooms its cheerful beams extend;

On billowy clouds saw sportive Genii play,
And bright Hygeia from her heaven descend.

What marvel then, that man's o'erflowing mind Should wreath-bound columns raise, and altars fair, And grateful offerings pay, to Powers so kind,

Though fancy-form'd, and creatures of the Air.

Who that has writh'd beneath the scourge of pain,
Or felt the burthen'd languor of disease,
But would with joy the slightest respite gain;
And idolize the hand which lent him ease?

To thee, my friend, unwillingly to thee,

For truths like these the anxious Muse appeals.
Can Memory answer from affliction free,
Or speaks the sufferer what, I fear, he feels?

No, let me hope ere this in Romely grove
Hygeia revels with the blooming Spring,

Ere this the vocal seats the Muses love

With hymns of praise, like Paeon's temple, ring.

It was not written in the book of Fate

That, wand'ring far from Albion's sea-girt plain, Thy distant Friend should mourn thy shorter date, And tell to alien woods and streams his pain.

It was not written. Many a year shall roll,
If aught th' inspiring Muse aright presage,
Of blameless intercourse from Soul to Soul,
And friendship well matur'd from Youth to Age.

ELEGY VI.

ΤΟ

ANOTHER FRIEND.

WRITTEN AT ROME, 1756.
By the Same.

BEHOLD, my Friend, to this small orb confin'd
The genuine features of Aurelius' face;
The father, friend, and lover of his kind,
Shrunk to a narrow coin's contracted space.

Not so his fame; for erst did heaven ordain
Whilst seas should waft us, and whilst suns should

warm,

On tongues of men, the friend of man should reign, And in the arts he lov'd the patron charm.

Oft as amidst the mould'ring spoils of Age,
His moss-grown monuments my steps pursue;
Oft as my eye revolves the historic page,
Where pass his generous acts in fair review.

Imagination grasps at many things,

Which men, which angels might with rapture see; Then turns to humbler scenes its safer wings,

And, blush not whilst I speak it, thinks on thee.

With all that firm benevolence of mind,

Which pities, whilst it blames, th' unfeeling vain, With all that active zeal to serve mankind, That tender suffering for another's pain,

Why wert not thou to thrones imperial rais'd?
Did heedless Fortune slumber at thy birth,
Or on thy virtues with indulgence gaz'd,

And gave her grandeur to her sons of earth?

Happy for thee, whose less distinguish'd sphere
Now cheers in private the delighted eye,
For calm Content, and smiling Ease are there,
And, Heav'n's divinest gift, sweet Liberty.

Happy for me on life's serener flood

Who sail, by talents as by choice restrain'd, Else had I only shar'd the general good,

And lost the friend the universe had gain'd.

ELEGY VII.

TO A

YOUNG NOBLEMAN

[LORD JOHN CAVENDISH.]

Leaving the University.

BY THE REV. WILLIAM MASON, M. A.

ERE yet, ingenuous Youth, thy steps retire
From Cam's smooth margin, and the peaceful vale,
Where Science call'd thee to her studious quire,
And met thee musing in her cloysters pale;

Oh! let thy friend (and may he boast the name)
Breathe from his artless reed one parting lay;
A lay like this thy early Virtues claim,

And this let voluntary Friendship pay.

Yet know, the time arrives, the dangerous time, When all those Virtues, opening now so fair, Transplanted to the world's tempestuous clime, Must learn each Passion's boist'rous breath to bear.

There, if Ambition pestilent and pale,

Or Luxury should taint their vernal glow; If cold Self-interest, with her chilling gale,

Should blast th' unfolding blossoms ere they blow;