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Is it his grafp of empire to extend?

To curb the fury of infulting foes? Ambition, ceafe; the idle conteft end:

'Tis but a kingdom thou canst win or lofe. And why muft murder'd myriads lofe their all! (If life be all;) why Defolation lour, With famish'd frown, on this affrighted ball,

That thou may'ft flame the meteor of an hour? Go, wiser ye, that flutter life away,

Crown with the mantling juice the goblet high;
Weave the light dance, with feftive freedom gay,

And live your moment, fince the next ye die!
Yet know, vain fcepticks, know, th' Almighty mind,
Who breath'd on man a portion of his fire,
Bade his free foul, by earth nor time confin'd,
To heav'n, to immortality afpire.

Nor fhall the pile of hope his mercy rear'd,
By vain philosophy be e'er destroy'd:
Eternity, by all or wifh'd or fear'd,

Shall be, by all, or fuffer'd or enjoy'd!

NOTE, In a book of French verses, intitled, Oeuvres du Philofophe de fans Souci, and lately reprinted at Berlin by authority, under the title of Poefies Diverfes, may be found an Epiftle to Marshal Keith, written profeffedly against the immortality of the foul. By way of fpecimen of the whole, take the following lines.

De l'avenir, cher Keith, jugeons par le paffè:

Comme avant que je fuffe il n'avoit point pensé;
De meme, apres ma mort, quand toutes mes parties
Par la corruption feront aneanties,

Par un meme deftin il ne penfera plus!

Non, rien n'est plus certain, foyons-en convaincu.

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It is to this Epiftle, that the latter part of the Elegy alludes.

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HEN, approach'd by the fair dewy fingers of Spring,
Swelling buds open first, and look gay;

When the birds on the boughs by their mates fit and fing,
And are danc'd by the breeze on each spray :

When gently defcending, the rain in soft showers,
With it's moisture refreshes the ground;

And the drops, as they hang on the plants and the flowers,
Like rich gems beam a luftre around :

When the wood-pigeons fit on the branches and coo;
And the cuckoo proclaims with his voice,
That Nature marks this for the feafon to woo,
And for all that can love to rejoice:

In a cottage at night may I spend all my time,
In the fields and the meadows all day,

With a maiden whofe charms are as yet in their prime,
Young as April, and blooming as May!

When the lark with fhrill notes fings aloft in the morn,
May my faireft and I fweetly wake,

View the far diftant hills, which the fun-beams adorn,
Then arife, and our cottage forfake.


When the fun shines fo warm, that my charmer and I
May recline on the turf without fear,

Let us there all vain thoughts and ambition defy,
While we breathe the first sweets of the year.

Be this spot on a hill, and a fpring from it's fide
Bubble out, and tranfparently flow,

Creep gently along in meanders, and glide
Thro' the vale ftrew'd with daisies below.

While the bee flies from bloffom to bloffom, and fips,
And the violets their fweetnefs impart,

Let me hang on her neck, and fo tafte from her lips-
The rich cordial that thrills to the heart.

While the dove fits lamenting the lofs of it's mate,
Which the fowler has caught in his fnares,
May we think ourselves blefs'd that it is not our fate
To endure fuch an abfence as theirs.

May I listen to all her foft, tender, fweet notes,
When the fings, and no founds interfere,

But the warbling of birds, which in ftretching their throats
Are at ftrife to be louder than her.

When the daifies, and cowflips, and primroses blow,

And chequer the meads and the lawns,

May we fee bounding there the swift light-footed doe,
And purfue with our eye the young fawns.

When the lapwings, juft fledg'd, o'er the turf take their run,
And the firftlings are all at their play,

And the harmless young lambs fkip about in the fun,
Let us then be as frolick as they.


When I talk of my love, fhould I chance to espy
That the feems to miftruft what I fay,
By a tear that is ready to fall from her eye,
With my lips let me wipe it away.

If we fit, or we walk, may I caft round my eyes,
And let no fingle beauty escape;

But fee none to create so much love and furprize,
As her eyes, and her face, and her shape.

Thus each day let us pafs, till the buds turn to leaves,
And the meadows around us are mown;

When the lafs on the fweet-fmelling haycock receives
What she afterwards blushes to own.

When evening's grow cool, and the flow'rs hang their heads
With the dew, then no longer we'll roam ;

With my arm round her waift, in a path thro' the meads,
Let us haften to find our way home.

When the birds are at rooft, with their heads in their wings,

Each one by the fide of it's mate;

When a mift that arifes, a drowsiness brings

Upon all but the owl and the bat:

When foft reft is requir'd, and the stars lend their light,

And all nature lies quiet and ftill;

When no found breaks the facred repose of the night,

But, at diftance, the clack of a mill:

With peace for our pillow, and free from all noise,
So that voices in whispers are known;
Let us give and receive all the nameless foft joys
That are mus'd on by lovers alone.




HERE the light cannot pierce, in a grove of tall trees,
With my fair-one as blooming as May,

Undifturb'd by all found, but the fighs of the breeze,

Let me pass the hot noon of the day.

When the fun, lefs intenfe, to the weftward inclines,
For the meadows the groves we'll forsake,
And fee the rays dance as inverted he shines,
On the face of fome river or lake:

Where my

fairest and I, on it's verge as we pass,

(For 'tis fhe that muft ftill be my theme) Our two shadows may view on the watery glass, While the fish are at play in the stream.

May the herds ceafe to low, and the lambkins to bleat,
When the fings me fome amorous strain ;

All be filent, and hufh'd, unless echo repeat
The kind words and fweet founds back again.

And when we return to our cottage at night,
Hand in hand as we fauntering ftray,

Let the moon's filver beams thro' the leaves give us light,
Just direct us, and chequer our way.

Let the nightingale warble it's notes in our walk,
As thus gently and flowly we move;

And let no fingle thought be exprefs'd in our talk,
But of friendship improv'd into love.

Thus enchanted each day with thefe rural delights,
And fecure from ambition's alarms,

Soft love and repofe fhall divide all our nights,
And each morning fhall rife with new charms.


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