Adieu my flocks! (he said) my wonted care,
By sunny mountain or by verdant shore;

May some more happy hand your fold prepare,
And may you need your Colin's crook no more!
And you, ye shepherds! lead my gentle sheep,
To breezy hills or leafy shelters lead; /
But if the sky with showers incessant weep,
Avoid the putrid moisture of the mead.
Where the wild thyme perfumes the purpled heath,
Long loitering, there your fleecy tribes extend-
But what avails the maxims I bequeath?
The fruitless gift of an officious friend!
"Ah! what avails the timorous lambs to guard,
Though nightly cares with daily labours join,
If foreign sloth obtain the rich reward,

If Gallia's craft the ponderous fleece purloin?
Was it for this, by constant vigils worn,
I met the terrors of an early grave?
For this I led 'em from the pointed thorn?
For this I bath'd 'em in the lucid wave?
Ah! heedless Albion! too benignly prone
Thy blood to lavish and thy wealth resign!
Shall every other virtue grace thy throne,
But quick-ey'd Prudence never yet be thine?
'From the fair natives of this peerless hill
Thou gav❜st the sheep that browze Iberian plains;
Their plaintive cries the faithless region fill,

Their fleece adorns an haughty foe's domains. Ill-fated flocks; from cliff to cliff they stray; Far from their dams, their native guardians, far! Where the soft shepherd, all the livelong day,

Chaunts his proud mistress to his hoarse guitar.

'But Albion's youth her native fleece despise;
Unmov'd they hear the pining shepherd's moan,
In silky folds each nervous limb disguise,
Allur'd by every treasure but their own,

Oft have I hurried down the rocky steep, Anxious to see the wintry tempest drive; [sheep! "Preserve, (said I,) preserve your fleece, my Ere long will Phillis, will my love, arrive.” 'Ere long she came : ah, woe is me! she came, Rob'd in the Gallic loom's extraneous twine; For gifts like these they give their spotless fame, Resign their bloom, their innocence resign. 'Will no bright maid, by worth, by titles known, Give the rich growth of British hills to fame? And let her charms, and her example, own

That Virtue's dress and Beauty's are the same? 'Will no fam'd chief support this generous maid? Once more the patriot's arduous path resume? And, comely from his native plains array'd, Speak future glory to the British loom?

"What power unseen my ravish'd fancy fires? I pierce the dreary shade of future days; Sure 'tis the Genius of the land inspires,

To breathe my latest breath in * * praise. "O might my breath for ** praise suffice, How gently should my dying limbs repose! O might his future glory bless mine eyes, My ravish'd eyes! how calmly would they close! ** was born to spread the general joy; By virtue rapt, by party uncontroll❜d; Britons for Britain shall the crook employ; Britons for Britain's glory shear the fold,'

WRITTEN IN SPRING, 1743.

AGAIN the labouring hind inverts the soil;
Again the merchant ploughs the tumid wave;
Another spring renews the soldier's toil,
And finds me vacant in the rural cave.

As the soft lyre display'd my wonted loves,
The pensive pleasure and the tender pain,
The sordid Alpheus hurried through my groves,
Yet stop'd to vent the dictates of disdain.

He glanc'd contemptuous o'er my ruin'd fold;
He blam'd the graces of my favourite bow'r;
My breast, unsullied by the lust of gold;
My time, unlavish'd in pursuit of pow'r.
Yes, Alpheus! fly the purer paths of fate;
Abjure these scenes, from venal passions free;
Know in this grove I vow'd perpetual hate,
War, endless war, with lucre and with thee.
Here, nobly zealous, in my youthful hours
I dress'd an altar to Thalia's name;

Here, as I crown'd the verdant shrine with flow'rs,
Soft on my labours stole the smiling dame.

'Damon, (she cried) if, pleas'd with honest praise, Thou court success by virtue or by song;

Fly the false dictates of the venal race,

Fly the gross accents of the venal tongue.

'Swear that no lucre shall thy zeal betray;

Swerve not thy foot with Fortune's votaries more; Brand thou their lives, and brand their lifeless dayThe winning phantom urg'd me, and I swore. VOL. XXIV.

H

Forth from the rustic altar swift I stray'd,

'Aid my firm purpose, ye celestial Pow'rs! Aid me to quell the sordid breast, (I said;) And threw my javelin tow'rds their hostile tow'rs.* Think not regretful I survey the deed,

Or added years no more the zeal allow ; Still, still observant, to the grove I speed, The shrine embellish, and repeat the vow. Sworn from his cradle Rome's relentless foe, Such generous hate the Punic championt bore; Thy lake, O Thrasimene! beheld it glow,

And Canna's walls and Trebia's crimson shore.
But let grave annals paint the warrior's fame;
Fair shine his arms in history enroll❜d;
Whilst humbler lyres his civil worth proclaim,
His nobler hate of avarice and gold.-
Nor Punic pride its final eve survey'd,
Its hosts exhausted, and its fleets on fire;
Patient the victor's lurid frown obey'd,

And saw the' unwilling elephants retire.
But when their gold depress'd the yielding scale,
Their gold in pyramidic plenty pil'd,

He saw the' unalterable grief prevail;

He saw their tears, and in his fury smil❜d. "Think not, (he cried) ye view the smiles of ease, On his firm breast disclaims a patriot's pain; I smile, but from a soul estrang'd to peace, Frantic with grief, delirious with disdain. 'But were it cordial, this detested smile, Seems it less timely than the grief ye show? O sons of Carthage! grant me to revile The sordid source of your indecent woe.

*The Roman ceremony in declaring war.

+ Hannibal

"Why weep ye now? ye saw with tearless eye When your fleet perish'd on the Punic wave; Where lurk'd the coward tear, the lazy sigh,

When Tyre's imperial state commenc'd a slave? 'Tis past—O Carthage! vanquish’d, honour'd shade! Go, the mean sorrows of thy sons deplore; Had Freedom shar'd the vow to Fortune paid, She ne'er, like Fortune, had forsook thy shore.' He ceas'd-Abash'd the conscious audience hear, Their pallid cheeks a crimson blush unfold, Yet o'er that virtuous blush distreams a tear, And falling, moistens their abandon'd gold.*

HE COMPARES HIS HUMBLE FORTUNE WITH THE DISTRESS OF OTHERS, AND HIS SUBJECTION TO DELIA WITH THE MISERABLE SERVITUDE OF AN AFRICAN SLAVE.

WHY droops this heart with fancied woes forlorn? Why sinks my soul beneath each wintry sky? What pensive crowds, by ceaseless labours worn, What myriads wish to be as bless'd as I!

What though my roof devoid of pomp arise, Nor tempt the proud to quit his destin'd way? Nor costly art my flowery dales disguise,

Where only simple Friendship deigns to stray? See the wild sons of Lapland's chill domain, That scoop their couch beneath the drifted snows! How void of hope they ken the frozen plain, Where the sharp east for ever, ever blows!

By the terms forced upon the Carthaginians by Scipio, they were to deliver up all the elephants, and to pay near two millions sterling.