ELE GY II.

ON THE MAUSOLEUM OF AUGUSTUS*.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE GEORGE BUSSY VILLIERS, VISCOUNT VILLIERS.

WRITTEN AT ROME, M DCC LVI.

A

BY THE SAME.

MID these mould'ring walls, this marble round;
Where flept the heroes of the Julian name,
Say, fhall we linger ftill in thought profound,
And meditate the mournful paths to fame?

What tho' no cyprefs fhades, in funeral rows,

No fculptur'd urns, the laft records of fate, O'er the fhrunk terrace wave their baleful boughs, Or breathe in storied emblems of the great;

Yet not with heedlefs eye will we furvey

The fcene, tho' chang'd, nor negligently tread; Thefe variegated walks, however gay,

Were once the filent manfions of the dead..

In every fhrub, in every flow'ret's bloom,

That paints with different hues yon fmiling plain, Some hero's afhes iffue from the tomb,

And live a vegetative life again.

* It is now a garden belonging to Marchefe di Corre.

For matter dies not, as the fages fay,

But shifts to other forms the pliant mass; When the free fpirit quits it's cumb'rous clay, And fees, beneath, the rolling planets pafs.

Perhaps, my Villiers, for I fing to thee,
Perhaps, unknowing of the bloom it gives,
In yon fair fcyon of Apollo's tree;

The facred duft of young Marcellus lives.

Pluck not the leaf-'twere facrilege to wound
Th' ideal memory of fo fweet a fhade;
In these fad feats an early grave he found,
And the first rites to gloomy Dis convey'd *.

Witness thou field of Mars, that oft hadft known
His youthful triumphs in the mimick war;
Thou heard'ft the heart-felt universal groan,
When o'er thy bofom roll'd the funeral cart.

Witness thou Tufcan ftream, where oft he glow'd
In fportive ftrugglings with th' oppofing wave,
Faft by the recent tomb thy waters flow'd,

While wept the wife, the virtuous, and the brave ‡.

O loft too foon!-Yet why lament a fate

By thousands envied, and by Heaven approv❜d?

Rare is the boon to thofe of longer date

To live, to die, admir'd, esteem'd, belov'd.

He is faid to be the first perfon buried in this monument. + Quantos ille virum magnam Mavortis ad urbem

Campus aget gemitus!

-Vel quæ, Tyberine, videbis
Funera, cum tumulum præterlabere recentem.

VIRG.

Weak

Weak are our judgments, and our paffions warm,
And flowly dawns the radiant morn of truth;
Our expectations haftily we form,

And much we pardon to ingenuous youth.

Too oft we fatiate on th' applause we pay
To rifing merit, and refume the crown ;
Full many a blooming genius fnatch'd away,
Has fall'n lamented, who had liv'd unknown.

For hard the task, O Villiers to fuftain

Th' important burden of an early fame; Each added day, fome added worth to gain, Prevent each wifh, and anfwer every claim.

Be thou Marcellus, with a length of days!
But, O remember! whatfoe'er thou art,
The most exalted breath of human praise,
To please indeed muft echo from the heart.

Tho' thou be brave, be virtuous, and be wife,
By all, like him, admir'd, efteem'd, belov'd:
"Tis from within, alone, true Fame can rife;
The only happy is the felf-approv'd.

ELEGY

EL EGY III.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE GEORGE SIMON HARCOURT, VISCOUNT NUNEHAM.

WRITTEN AT ROME, M DCC LVI.

BY THE SAME.

Y

ES, noble youth, 'tis true; the softer arts,
The fweetly-founding ftring, and pencil's power,

Have warm'd to rapture e'en heroick hearts,

And taught the rude to wonder and adore.

For beauty charms us, whether the appears
In blended colours; or to foothing found
Attunes her voice; or fair proportion wears
In yonder fwelling dome's harmonious round.

All, all fhe charms; but not alike to all

"Tis given to revel in her blissful bower; Coercive ties, and Reason's powerful call,

Bid fome but tafte the fweets, which fome devour.

When Nature govern'd, and when man was young,
Perhaps at will th' untutor'd Savage rov❜d;
Where waters murmur'd, and where clusters hung,
He fed, and flept beneath the fhade he lov'd.

But fince the Sage's more fagacious mind,
By Heaven's permiffion, or by Heaven's command,
To polish'd ftates has focial laws affign'd,

And general good on partial duties plann'd;

Not

Not for ourselves our vagrant fteps we bend,
As heedless chance, or wanton choice ordain;
On various stations various tasks attend,

And men are born to trifle, or to reign.

As chaunts the woodman, whilft the Dryads weep,
And falling forefts fear th' uplifted blow;
As chaunts the fhepherd, whilft he tends his sheep,
Or weaves to pliant forms the ofier bough:

To me 'tis given, whom Fortune loves to lead
Thro' humbler toils to life's fequefter'd bowers;
To me 'tis given to wake th' amufive reed,
And foothe with fong the folitary hours.

But thee fuperior, foberer toils demand,
Severer paths are thine of patriot fame;
Thy birth, thy friends, thy king, thy native land,
Have giv'n thee honours, and have each their claim.

Then nerve with fortitude thy feeling breaft,

Each wish to combat, and each pain to bear; Spurn with disdain th' inglorious love of rest, Nor let the Syren, Eafe, approach thine ear.

1

Beneath yon cypress fhade's eternal green

See proftrate Rome her wond'rous story tell; Mark how the rose the world's imperial queen, And tremble at the profpect how she fell!

Not that my rigid precepts would require
A painful struggling with each adverse gale,

Forbid thee liften to th' enchanting lyre,

Or turn thy fteps from Fancy's flowery vale:

Whate'er