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• One morn I mifs'd him on th' accuftom'd hill,
Along the heath, and near his fav'rite tree;
Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he.
• The next with dirges due in fad array,
Slow through the church-way path we faw him borne. Approach and read (for thou can't read) the lay, • Grav'd on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.
There fcatter'd oft, the earliest of the year,
By hands unfeen, are show'rs of violets found;
The EPIT AP H.
Here refts his head
upon the lap of earth
Large was his bounty, and his foul fincere,
He gave to mis'ry (all he had) a tear:
He gain'd from heav'n ('twas all he wish'd) a friend.
No farther feek his merits to disclose,
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode,
(There they alike in trembling hope repose)
We have already observed that any dreadful catastrophe is a proper fubject for Elegy; and what can be more fo than a civil war, where the fathers and children, the dearest relations and friends, meet each other in arms? We have on this fubject a moft affecting Elegy, intituled the Tears of Scotland, afcribed to Dr. Smollet, and fet to mufic by Mr. Ofwald, juft after the late rebellion.
The Tears of SCOTLAND. Written in the Year 1746.
Mourn, hapless CALEDONIA, mourn
Thy banish'd peace, thy laurels torn!
Thy fons, for valour long renown'd,
The wretched owner fees afar
What boots it then, in every clime, Thro' the wide fpreading waste of time, Thy martial glory, crown'd with praise, Still fhone with undiminish'd blaze? Thy tow'ring fpirit now is broke, Thy neck is bended to the yoke. What foreign arms could never quell, By civil rage, and rancour fell.
The rural pipe, and merry lay, No more fhall chear the happy day: No focial scenes of gay delight Beguile the dreary winter night: No ftrains but thofe of forrow flow, And nought be heard but founds of woe; While the pale phantoms of the flain Glide nightly o'er the filent plain.
Oh baneful caufe, oh! fatal morn,
The fons against their fathers food,
Yet, when the rage of battle ceas'd,
The pious mother, doom'd to death,
Whilft the warm blood bedews my veins
Love as we have already obferved, is likewife one of the proper fubjects for this kind of poem. An example of which we fhall give from the love Êlegies lately publish'd by Mr. Hammond.
A LOVE ELEGY.
Let others boaft their heaps of fhining gold,
And view their fields with waving plenty crown'd, Whom neighb'ring foes in conftant terror hold, And trumpets break their flumbers, never found
While, calmly poor, I trifle life away,
Enjoy sweet leisure by my chearful fire, No wanton hope my quiet fhall betray,
But cheaply blefs'd i'll fcorn each vain defire.
With timely care I'll fow my little field,
And plant my orchard with its mafter's hand, Nor blush to spread the hay, the hook to wield, Or range the sheaves along the funny land.
I meet a strolling kid, or bleating lamb,
What joy to hear the tempeft howl in vain,
And clasp a fearful mistress to my breast?
Or if the fun in flaming Leo ride,
What joy to wind along the cool retreat,
Thus pleas'd at heart, and not with fancy's dream,
Content with what I am, not what I feem,
Could float and wander with ambition's wind,
With her I fcorn the idle breath of praise,
XI. STANHOPE, in wifdom as in wit divine, May rife, and plead Britannia's glorious caufe, With steady rein his eager wit confine,
While manly sense the deep attention draws.
Let STANHOPE fpeak his lift'ning country's wrong,
STANHOPE fhall come, and grace his rural friend,
While I with tender indolence am bleft,
In gloomy forefts tend my lonely stock,
And far from her 'midst tasteless grandeur weep, By warbling fountains lay the penfive head,
And, while they murmur, ftrive in vain to fleep