Forgive, ye proud, th' involuntary fault, Where through the long-drawn ifle and fretted vault Can storied urn, or animated bust, Back to its manfion call the fleeting breath? Can honour's voice provoke the filent duft, Or flatt'ry footh the dull cold ear of death? Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire, Hands that the reins of empire might have fway'd, Or wak'd to extafy the living lyre. But knowledge to their eyes her ample page, Chill penury repress'd their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the foul. Full many a gem of purest ray ferene, The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean. bear: Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breaft And read their history in a nation's eyes Their lot forbad; nor circumscrib'd alone Their growing virtues, but their crimes confin'd; Forbad to wade through flaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind, The ftruggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, To quench the blushes of ingenuous fhame, Or heap the fhrine of luxury and pride With incenfe, kindled at the mufe's flame. ་་་་ Far from the madding crowd's ignoble ftrife, They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. Yet e'en these bones from infult to protect, Their name, their years, fpelt by th' unletter'd mufe, For who to dumb forgetfulness a prey, For thee, who mindful of th' unhonour'd dead Haply, fome hoary-headed swain may say, Oft have we feen him at the peep of dawn • Brushing with hafty steps the dews away, • To meet the fun upon the upland lawn. There at the foot of yonder nodding beech That wreathes its old fantastic roots fo high, His liftlefs length at noon-tide would he stretch, • And pore upon the brook that babbles by. Hard by yon wood, now fmiling as in fcorn, 6 • Mutt'ring his wayward fancies he would rove, One morn I miss'd him on th' accustom'd hill, Alorg the heath, and near his fav'rite tree; • Another came; nor yet befide the rill, 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 ftone beneath yon aged thorn. • There fcatter'd oft, the earliest of the year, By hands unfeen, are show'rs of violets found; The EPITAPH, Here refts his head upon the lap of earth A youth to fortune and to fame unknown; 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) The bofom of his father and his God.' We have already obferved 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 most affecting Elegy, intituled the Tears of Scotland, afcribed to Dr. Smollet, and fet to music by Mr. Ofwald, juft after the late rebellion. The Tears of ScOTLAND. Written in the Year 1746. I. Mourn, hapless CALEDONIA, mourn Thy banish'd peace, thy laurels torn Thy fons, for valour long renown'd, II. The wretched owner fees afar His all become the prey of war; Bethinks him of his babes and wife, Then fmites his breaft, and curfes life. Thy fwains are famish'd on the rocks, Where once they fed their wanton flocks: Thy ravish'd virgins fhriek in vain ; Thy infants perish on the plain. III. 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 spirit now is broke, Thy neck is bended to the yoke. What foreign arms could never quell, By civil rage, and rancour fell. IV. 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 those 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. V. Oh baneful cause, oh! fatal morn, Yet, when the rage of battle ceas'd, VI. The pious mother, doom'd to death, VII. Whilft the warm blood bedews my veins 66 Thy banish'd peace, thy laurels torn.” Love as we have already observed, is likewife one of the proper fubjects for this kind of poem. An example of which we fhall give from the love Elegies lately publish'd by Mr. Hammond. A LOVE ELEGY. I. Let others boaft their heaps of fhining gold, II. While, calmly poor, I trifle life away, Enjoy fweet, leifure by my chearful fire, No wanton hope my quiet fhall betray, But cheaply blefs'd i'll scorn each vain defire. |