For numerous powers light Elegy befriend,
Hear her sweet voice, and at her call attend;
Her Bacchus, Ceres, Venus, all approve,
And, with his blushing mother, gentle Love.
Hence to such bards we grant the copious use
Of banquets, and the vine's delicious juice.
But they, who demi-gods and heroes praise,
And feats performed in Jove's more youthful days,
Who now the counsels of high heaven explore,
Now shades, that echo the Cerberean roar,
Simply let these, like him of Samos, live;
Let herbs to them a bloodless banquet give;
In beechen goblets let their beverage shine,
Cool from the crystal spring, their sober wine!
Their youth should pass in innocence, secure
From stain licentious, and in manners pure,
Pure as the priest, when robed in white he stands,
The fresh lustration ready in his hands.

Thus Linus lived, and thus, as poets write,

Tiresias, wiser for his loss of sight;

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Thus exiled Chalcas, thus the bard of Thrace,
Melodious tamer of the savage race;

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Thus, trained by temperance, Homer led, of yore,
His chief of Ithaca from shore to shore,

Through magic Circe's monster-peopled reign,
And shoals insidious with the Siren train;

And through the realms where grizly spectres dwell,
Whose tribes he fettered in a gory spell:

For these are sacred bards, and, from above,
Drink large infusions from the mind of Jove.

Wouldst thou, (perhaps 'tis hardly worth thine ear)

Wouldst thou be told my occupation here?

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The promised King of peace employs my pen,
The eternal covenant made for guilty men,
The new-born Deity with infant cries
Filling the sordid hovel, where he lies;
The hymning Angels, and the herald star,
That led the Wise, who sought him from afar,
And idols on their own unhallowed shore
Dashed, at his birth, to be revered no more!

This theme on reeds of Albion I rehearse:
The dawn of that blest day inspired the verse;
Verse that, reserved in secret, shall attend
Thy candid voice, my critic, and my friend!

CHARLES

SONNET

TO CHARLES DEODATI

and I say it wondering - thou must know That I, who once assumed a scornful air, And scoffed at Love, am fallen in his snare; (Full many an upright man has fallen so.) Yet think me not thus dazzled by the flow Of golden locks, or damask cheek; more rare The heartfelt beauties of my foreign fair, A mien majestic, with dark brows that show The tranquil lustre of a lofty mind;

Words exquisite, of idioms more than one, And song, whose fascinating power might bind, And from her sphere draw down, the labouring moon; With such fire-darting eyes, that should I fill My ears with wax, she would enchant me still.

ON THE DEATH OF DAMON

AN ARGUMENT

Thyrsis and Damon, shepherds and neighbours, had always pursued the same studies, and had, from their earliest days, been united in the closest friendship. Thyrsis, while travelling for improvement, received intelligence of the death of Damon, and, after a time, returning and finding it true, deplores himself, and his solitary condition, in this poem.

By Damon is to be understood Charles Deodati, connected with the Italian city of Lucca by his father's side, in other respects an Englishman; a youth of uncommon genius, erudition, and virtue.

YE nymphs of Himera (for ye have shed
Erewhile for Daphnis, and for Hylas dead,
And over Bion's long-lamented bier,

The fruitless meed of many a sacred tear),

Now through the villas laved by Thames rehearse

The woes of Thyrsis in Sicilian verse,

What sighs he heaved, and how with groans profound
He made the woods and hollow rocks resound,
Young Damon dead; nor even ceased to pour
His lonely sorrows at the midnight hour.

The green wheat twice had nodded in the ear
And golden harvest twice enriched the year,
Since Damon's lips had gasped for vital air
The last, last time, nor Thyrsis yet was there;
For he, enamoured of the Muse, remained
In Tuscan Fiorenza long detained,

But, stored at length with all he wished to learn,
For his flock's sake now hasted to return;
And when the shepherd had resumed his seat
At the elm's root, within his own retreat,

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Then 'twas his lot, then, all his loss to know,

And, from his burthened heart, he vented thus his woe: “Go, seek your home, my lambs; my thoughts are due

"To other cares than those of feeding you.

"Alas! what deities shall I suppose

"In heaven, or earth, concerned for human woes,
"Since, O my Damon! their severe decree
"So soon condemns me to regret of thee!
"Departest thou thus, thy virtues unrepaid
"With fame and honour, like a vulgar shade?
"Let him forbid it whose bright rod controls
"And separates sordid from illustrious souls,
"Drive far the rabble, and to thee assign

"A happier lot, with spirits worthy thine!

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"Go, seek your home, my lambs; my thoughts are due

"To other cares than those of feeding you.

"Whate'er befall, unless by cruel chance
"The wolf first give me a forbidding glance,
"Thou shalt not moulder undeplored, but long

"Thy praise shall dwell on every shepherd's tongue; 40

"To Daphnis first they shall delight to pay,

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'And, after him, to thee, the votive lay,

"While Pales shall the flocks and pastures love,
"Or Faunus to frequent the field or grove,
"At least, if ancient piety and truth,
"With all the learned labours of thy youth,
"May serve thee aught, or to have left behind
"A sorrowing friend, and of the tuneful kind.

"Go, seek your home, my lambs; my thoughts are due "To other cares than those of feeding you.

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"Yes, Damon! such thy sure reward shall be;
"But ah, what doom awaits unhappy me?
"Who now my pains and perils shall divide

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As thou wast wont, for ever at my side,

"Both when the rugged frost annoyed our feet, "And when the herbage all was parched with heat; "Whether the grim wolf's ravage to prevent, "Or the huge lion's, armed with darts we went? "Whose converse, now, shall calm my stormy day, "With charming song who now beguile my way?

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"Go, seek your home, my lambs; my thoughts are due

"To other cares than those of feeding you.

"In whom shall I confide? whose counsel find "A balmy medicine for my troubled mind? "Or whose discourse with innocent delight "Shall fill me now, and cheat the wintry night, "While hisses on my hearth the pulpy pear, "And blackening chestnuts start and crackle there, "While storms abroad the dreary meadows whelm, "And the wind thunders through the neighbouring

elm,?

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"Go, seek your home, my lambs; my thoughts are due

"To other cares than those of feeding you.

"Or who, when summer suns their summit reach, "And Pan sleeps hidden by the sheltering beech, "When shepherds disappear, nymphs seek the sedge,

"And the stretched rustic snores beneath the hedge, "Who then shall render me thy pleasant vein "Of Attic wit, thy jests, thy smiles, again?