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Thy sons, for valour long renown'd,
The wretched owner sees afar His all become the prey of war; Bethinks him of his babes and wise, Then smites his breast, and curses lise. Thy swains are famish'd on the rocks, Where once they sed their wanton stocks: Thy ravish'd virgins shriek in vain; Thy infants perish on the plain.
What boots it then, in every clime, Thro' the wide spreading waste of time, Thy martial glory, crown'd with praise, Still shone with undiministi'd blaze? Thy tow'ring spirit now is broke, Thy neck is Dended to the yoke. What foreign arms could never quell, By civil rage, and rancour sell.
The rural pipe, and merry lay, No more shall chear the happy day: No social scenes of gay delight Beguile the dreary winter night: No strains but those of sorrow flow, And nought be heard but sounds of woe; While the pale phantoms of the stain Glide nightly o'er the silent plain.
Oh banesul cause, oh! fatal morn,
The pious mother, doom'd to death,
Whilst the warm blood bedews my veins
Love as we have already observed, is likewise one of the proper subjects for this kind of poem. An example of which we shall give from the love Elegies lately publish'd by Mr. Hammond.
A Love Elegy.
Let others boast their heaps of shining gold,
And view their sields with waving plenty crown'd,
Whom neighb'ring foes in constant terror hold,
While, calmly poor, I trifle lise away,
No wanton hope my quiet shall betray,
With timely care I'll sow my little sield,
And plant my orchard with its master's hand,
Nor blush to spread the hay, the hook to wield,
If late at duik, while carelessly I roam,
Under my arm I'll bring the wand'rer home,
What joy to hear the tempest howl in vain,
Or lull'd to flumber by the beating rain,
Or if the sun in flaming Leo ride,
By shady rivers indolently stray,
Hear how they murmur, as they glide away.
What joy to wind along the cool retreat,
To mingle sweet discourse with kisses sweet,
Thus pleas'd at heart, and not with fancy's dream,
In silent happiness I rest unknown; Content with what I am, not what I seem,
I Jive for Delia, and myself alone.
Ah foolish man! who thus of her possess'd, Could float and wander with ambition's wind,
And if his outward trappings spoke him blest, Not heed the sickness of his conscious mind. X.
With her I scorn the idle breath of praise,
The smile of fortune might suspicion raise,
Stanhope, in wisdom as in wit divine,
May rise, and plead Britannia* glorious cause,.
VVith steady rein his eager wit consine,
While manly sense the deep attention draws..
Let Stanhope spes . his list'ning country's wrong,iMy humble voice thall please one partial maid i
For her alone, I pen my tender si .ig,
Stanhope shall come, and grace his rural friend,
With blushing awe the riper fruit commend,
Hei's be the care of all my little train,
The savourite subject of her gentle reign,
For her I'll yoke my oxen to the plow,
For her a goat-herd climb the mountain's brow,
Ah! what avails to press the stately bed,
And far from her 'midst tasteless grandeur weep>
By warbling fountains lay the pensive head,
And, while they murmur, strive in vain to sleep! XVII.
Delia alone can please and never tire,
With her, enjoyment wakens new desire,
Beauty and worth, alone in her, contend,
In her, my wise, my mistress, and my friend,
On her I'll gaze when others loves are o'er,
And dying, press her with my clay-cold hand ——
Thou weep'st already, as I were no more,
Nor can that gentle breast the thought withstand.
Oh! when I die, my latest moments spare,
Wound not thy cheeks, nor hurt that flowing hair,
Oh quit the room, oh quit the deathsul bed,
Oh leave me, Delia! ere thou see me dead,
Let them, extended on the decent bier,
Convey the corse in melancholy state, Thro' all the village spread the tender tear,
While pitying maids our wond'rous loves relate.
But every species of poetry, however serious, may admit of humour and burlesque. Examples of which we have given in the Epigram, and Epitaph, and we shall conclude this chapter with a burlesque elegy, written by Dr. Swi/t.