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ELEGY II.

Instead of composing for fame, he resolves to write the praises of JULIA.

NO more I'll idly pour the line for praise:
Far loftier hopes my glowing fancy move;

I ask the MUSES for their sweetest lays,

To tell a beauteous MAID, how much I love.

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Vain are our vows to FAME! alas, how vain!
She waits to see us on the mournful bier,
Before she yields of eulogy the strain:
What cruel mock'ry to the lifeless ear!

TO JULIA's hand I own my wish aspires:
Mean are my merits-hers how far above!
Yet can I boast what only she requires,

A heart to guard her, and a soul to love.

Tho' Courts admir'd, the modest JULIA chose The silent shade, remote from public view: How like the berry that in secret glows,

And hides beneath a leaf its blushful hue!

Few are the wishes of the constant PAIR:

What tho' no gold their humble cot displays; CONTENT, their guest, thus cries with careless air,

"Go, leave us, WEALTH, and palaces emblaze."

In rural bowers CONTENT delights to dwell;
To cull the sweets of NATURE's simple vale;
To join the hermit in the mossy cell,

And join the nymphs and shepherds of the dale.

To FORTUNE's tinsel shrine let others bow,
And to their wishes rear the golden pile:
To one fair VIRGIN while I breathe my vow,
And let my only treasure be her smile.

ELEGY III.

He complains of JULIA's not keeping her appointment to meet him.

WHAT demons keep my soul's delight away,
And cruel thus my fondest wish invade ?
Alas! I tremble at the setting ray!

Pale EVENING waves around an envious shade!

How expectation loads th' important hour! Impatience wilder with each moment grows! Thou loit'ring FAIR-ONE, bless th' appointed bow'r,

And snatch thy lover from a thousand woes.

From vale to vale my eager gaze I strain;

From glade to glade with wild emotion move; Now turn and sigh, now move and turn again,

Devour each sound, and chide my ling'ring love.

Desponding, now upon the ground I lie,

And, anxious, murmur to the desert air;
Now call on slumber to my closing eye;
But slumber lights not on the lids of care.

Dark as the bosom of the stormy deep,

Wild as its waves my thoughts succeeding roll; Cool reason vainly soothes the wretch to sleepOh! what is reason to the love-sick soul?

Ye sweet companions of my lonely bow'r,
Whose simple melodies my shades inspire;
Oh, that my bosom felt your happy hour!

Oh, that my voice could join your cheerful choir!

Light as your wing that skims the midway sky,
From joy to joy my heart so lately flew :
With me my moments never left a sigh,

Nor bath'd my lids in sorrow's baleful dew.

Hate to the Nymph I vow, and cold disdain:

Yet at each idle sound alarm'd, I start;

To meet her, panting, every nerve I strain,
And show too plain her triumph o'er my heart,

Where is my

love? Alas! my transports die:

My cheek, that redden'd with despair,turns pale; With disappointment drops my clouded eye, Each pining feature tells a mournful tale.

See, see, the sun descends beneath the deep;
Behold the melancholy bird of night!-
In vain along the winding gloom I weep,

And wish in vain to stay the parting light.

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