ON THE DEATH OF HIS LADY, By GEORGE LORD LYTTLETON. Ipfe cava folans aegrum teftudine amorem, • Te, dulcis conjux, te folo in littore fecum, Te veniente die, te decedente canebat.' AT length efcap'd from ev'ry human eye, From ev'ry duty, ev'ry care, That in my mournful thoughts might claim a fhare, Ye tufted groves, ye gently-falling rills, Ye lawns gay-fmiling with eternal green, Vol. IV. 14. A But But never fhall you now behold her more: And taste refin'd, your rural charms explore. Clos'd are those beauteous eyes in endless night, Those beauteous eyes, where beaming us'd to fhine Reafon's pure light, and Virtue's fpark divine. Oft would the Dryads of thefe woods rejoice For her defpifing, when defign'd to fing, And ev'ry fhepherd's flute Was caft in filent fcorn away, While all attended to her fweeter lay. Ye larks and linnets, now refume your fong: Again thy plaintive flory tell; For death has flopp'd that tuneful tongue, Whofe mufic could alone your warbling notes excel. In vain I look around O'er all the well-known ground, My Lucy's wonted footsteps to descry; Where oft in tender talk We faw the fummer fun go down the sky; Nor Nor by yon fountain's fide, Along the valley, can fhe now be found : Can aught of her efpy, But the fad facred earth where her dear relics lie. O fhades of Hagley, where is now your boaft ? You fhe preferr❜d to all the gay reforts pomp of cities, and the pride of courts. Her modeft beauties fhunn'd the public eye: To your fequefter'd dales And flower-embroider'd vales, From an admiring world fhe chofe to fly. With nature there retir'd, and Nature's God, The filent paths of wisdom trod, And banish'd every paffion from her breast : Sweet babes! who like the little playful fawns |