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In vain I look around

O’er all the well-known ground,
My Lucy's wonted footsteps to descry;

Where oft we usd to walk,

Where oft in tender talk
We saw the summer sun go down the sky;

Nor by yon fountain's side,

Nor where its waters glide Along the valley, can she now be found : In all the wide-stretch'd prospect's ample bound

No more my mournful eye

Can aught of her espy, But the sad sacred earth where her dear relics lie.


O shades of Hagley, where is now your boast ? Your bright inhabitant is lost.

You she prefer’d to all the gay resorts Where female vanity might wish to shine,

The pomp of cities, and the pride of courts. Her modest beauties shun'd the public eye:

To your sequester'd dales

And flow'r-embroider'd vales
From an admiring world she chose to fly;
With Nature there relir'd, and Nature's God,
The silent paths of wisdom trod,

And banish'd every passion from her breast,
But those, the gentlest and the best,
Whose holy flames with energy

divine The virtuous heart enliven and improve, The conjugal, and the maternal love.

Sweet babes, who, like the little playful fawns,
Were wont to trip along these verdant lawns

By your delighted mother's side,
Who now your infant steps shall guide ?

Ah! where is now the hand whose tender care
To every virtue would have form'd your youth,

, And strew'd with flow'rs the thorny ways of truth?

O loss beyond repair!
O wretched Father! left alone,

To weep their dire misfortune, and thy own!
How shall thy weaken'd mind, oppress'd with wo,

And drooping o'er thy Lucy's grave,
Perform the duties that you doubly owe,

Now she, alas! is gone,
From folly, and from vice, their helpless age to save ?


Where were ye, Muses, when relentless Fate

From these fond arms your fair disciple tore,

From these fond arms that vainly strove

With hapless ineffectual love
To guard her bosom from the mortal blow?

Could not your fav’ring pow'r, Aonian maids,
Could not, alas! your pow'r prolong her date,

For whom so oft in these inspiring shades,
Or under Campden's moss-clad mountains hoar,
You open'd all your sacred store,

Whate'er your ancient sages taught,

Your ancient bards sublimely thought, And bade her ràptur'd breast with all your spirit glow ?


Nor then did Pindus' or Castalia's plain,
Or Aganippe's fount your steps detain,
Nor in the Thespian vallies did you play ;

Nor then on Mincio's bank

Beset with osiers dank,
Nor where Clitumnus rolls his gentle stream,

Nor where through hanging woods

Steep Anio pours his floods,
Nor yet where Meles, or Ilissus stray.

Il does it now beseem,
That, of your guardian care bereft,
To dire disease and death your darling should be left,


Now what avails it that in early bloom,

When light fantastic toys

Are all her sex's joys, With you she search'd the wit of Greece and Rome?

And all that in her latter days

To emulate her ancient praise Italia's happy genius could produce;

Or what the Gallic fire

Bright-sparkling could inspire,
By all the Graces temper'd and refin’d;

Or what in Britain's isle,

Most favour'd with your smile,
The pow'rs of reason, and of fancy join'd,
To full perfection have conspir'd to raise?

Ah! what is now the use
Of all these treasures that enrich'd her mind,
To black oblivion's gloom for ever now consign'd?


At least, ye Nine, her spotless name

'Tis your's from death to save,
And in the temple of immortal Fame
With golden characters her worth engrave.

Come then, ye virgin sisters, come,
And strew with choicest flow'rs her hallow'd tomb:
But foremost thou, in sable vestment clad,
With accents sweet and sad,
Thou, plaintive Muse, whom o'er his Laura's urn
Unhappy Petrarch call'd to mourn,
O come, and to this fairer Laura pay
A more impassion's tear, a more pathetic lay.


Tell how each beauty of her mind and face
Was brighten’d by some sweet, peculiar grace!
How eloquent in every look
Through her expressive eyes her soul distinctly spoke !
Tell how her manners, by the world refin’d,
Left all the taint of modish vice behind,
And made each charm of polish'd courts agree
With candid Truth's simplicity,

And uncorrupted Innocence !
Tell how to more than manly sense
She join'd the soft'ning influence

Of more than female tenderness :
How in the thoughtless days of wealth and joy,
Which oft the care of others' good destroy,

Her kindly-melting heart,
To every want, and every woe,
To guilt itself when in distress,

The balm of pity would impart, And all relief that bounty could bestow!

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