Nor by yon fountain's fide,
Nor where its waters glide

Along the valley, can fhe now be found:
In all the wide-ftretch'd profpect's ample bound
No more my mournful eye

Can aught of her espy,

But the fad fecret earth where her dear relics lie.

V.

O fhades of Hagley, where is now your boast ?
Your bright inhabitant is loft.

You she preferr❜d to all the gay reforts
Where female vanity might wish to shine,
The

pomp of cities, and the pride of courts. Her modest beauties fhun'd the public eye; To your fequefter'd dales

And flow'r-embroider'd vales

From an admiring world the chofe to fly;
With Nature there retir'd, and Nature's GOD,
The filent paths of wisdom trod,

And banish'd every paffion from her breast,
But thofe, the gentleft and the best,

Whose holy flames with energy divine
The virtuous heart enliven and improve,

The conjugal, and the maternal love.

VI.

Sweet babes, who, like the little playful fawns,

Were wont to trip along thefe verdant lawns

By

By your delighted Mother's fide,

Who now your infant fteps fhall guide ? Ah! where is now the hand whofe tender care Το every Virtue would have form'd your Youth, And ftrew'd with flow'rs the thorny ways of Truth? Olofs beyond repair!

O wretched Father left alone

To weep their dire misfortune, and thy own!
How shall thy weaken'd mind, opprefs'd with woe,
And drooping o'er thy Lucy's grave,
Perform the duties that you doubly owe,
Now fhe, alas! is gone,

From folly, and from vice, their helpless age to fave?
VII.

Where were ye, Muses, when relentless Fate
From these fond arms your fair disciple tore,
From these fond arms that vainly ftrove
With hapless ineffectual Love

To guard her bofom 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 fhades,
Or under Campden's mofs-clad mountains hoar,
You open'd all your facred ftore,

Whate'er your ancient fages taught,

Your ancient bards fublimely thought,

And bade her raptur'd breaft with all your fpirit glow?

VIII. Nor

VIII.

Nor then did Pindus' or Caftalia's plain,
Or Aganippe's fount your steps detain,
Nor in the Thefpian vallies did you play ;
Nor then on a Mincio's bank

Befet with offers dank,

b

Nor where Clitumnus rolls his gentle ftream,
Nor where through hanging woods

d

Nor yet where Meles, or Iliflus ftray.

Ill does it now beseem,

That, of your guardian care bereft,

To dire disease and death your darling fhould be left
IX.

Now what avails it that in early bloom,

When light fantastic toys

Are all her fex'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

a The Mincio runs by Mantua, the birth-place of VIRGIL.

The Clitumnus is a river of Umbria, the refidence of PROPERTIUS.
The Anio runs through Tiber or Tivoli, where HORACE had a villa.

d The Meles is a river of Ionia, from whence Homer, supposed to be born on its banks, is called Melifigenes.

e The Iliffus is a river at Athens.

5

Italia's

Italia's happy genius could produce;
Or what the Gallic fire

Bright-fparkling could inspire ;
By all the Graces temper'd and refin'd;
Or what in Britain's ifle,

Moft favour'd with your smile,
The pow'rs of reason and of fancy join'd
To full perfection have confpir'd to raise?
Ah! what is now the ufe

Of all these treasures that enrich'd her mind;
To black oblivion's gloom for ever now confign'd?

X.

At least, ye Nine, her fpotlefs name
'Tis yours from death to fave,
And in the temple of immortal Fame
With golden characters her worth engrave.

Come then, ye virgin fifters, come,

And ftrew with choiceft flow'rs her hallow'd tomb.
But foremost thou, in sable vestment clad,
With accents fweet and fad,

Thou, plaintive Mufe, whom o'er his Laura's urn
Unhappy Petrarch call'd to mourn,

O come, and to this fairer Laura pay
A more impaffion'd tear, a more pathetic lay.

XI.

Tell how each beauty of her mind and face

Was brighten'd by fome fweet, peculiar grace!
How eloquent in every look

Through her expreffive eyes her foul diftin&tly spoke!

Tell

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 fimplicity,

And uncorrupted Innocence !

Tell how to more than manly sense
She join'd the foft'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 diftrefs,

The balm of pity would impart,

And all relief that bounty could beftow!
Ev'n for the kid or lamb that pour'd its life

Beneath the bloody knife,

Her gentle tears would fall,

Tears from fweet Virtue's fource, benevolent to all. XII.

Not only good and kind,

But ftrong and elevated was her mind:

A spirit that with noble pride

Could look fuperior down

On Fortune's fmile or frown;
That could without regret or pain
To Virtue's lowest duty facrifice
Or int'reft or ambition's higheft prize:
That injur'd or offended never try'd