"Tell me, thou fun that round the world dost shine, "Haft thou beheld another lofs like mine?

“Ye winds, who on your wings fad accents bear,
"And catch the founds of forrow and despair,
“Tell me if e'er your tender pinions bore
"Such weight of woe, fuch deadly fighs, before?
"Tell me, thou earth, on whose wide-spreading base
"The wretched load is laid of human race,
"Doft thou not feel thyfelf with me opprest?
"Lie all the dead fo heavy on thy breast ?
"When hoary winter on thy fhrinking head
"His icy, cold, depreffing hand has laid,
"Haft thou not felt lefs chillness in thy veins ?
"Do I not pierce thee with more freezing pains?
"But why to thee do I relate my woe,

"Thou cruel earth, my moft remorfelefs foe,
"Within whofe dark fome womb the grave is made,
"Where all my joys are with Amyntas laid ?
"What is 't to me, though on thy naked head
"Eternal winter fhould his horror fhed,

"Though all thy nerves are numb'd with endless froft,
"And all thy hopes of future fpring were loft?
"To me what comfort can the fpring afford?
“Can my Amyntas be with spring restor❜d ?
"Can all the rains that fall from weeping skies,
"Unlock the tomb where my Amyntas lies?
"No, never! never !---Say then, rigid earth,
What is to me thy everlasting dearth?
"Though never flower again its head fhould rear,
"Though never tree again should blossom bear,

"Though

46

Though never grafs fhould cloath the naked ground, "Nor ever healing plant or wholfome herb be found. "None, none were found when I bewail'd their want; "Nor wholfome herb was found, nor healing plant, "To cafe Amyntas of his cruel pains,

"In vain I fearch'd the valleys, hills and plains; But wither'd leaves alone appear'd to view, "Or poisonous weeds diftilling deadly dew. "And if fome naked ftalk, not quite decay'd, "To yield a fresh and friendly bud essay'd, « Soon as I reach'd to crop the tender shoot, "A fhrieking mandrake kill'd it at the root. Witnefs to this, ye fawns of every wood, "Who at the prodigy astonish'd flood. "Well I remember what fad figns ye made, "What fhowers of unavailing tears ye fhed; "How each ran fearful to his moffy cave, "When the laft gafp the dear Amyntas gave. "For then the air was fill'd with dreadful cries, “ And fudden night o'erspread the darken'd skies ; "Phantoms, and fiends, and wandering fires appear'd, "And fcreams of ill-prefaging birds were heard. "The foreft fhook, and flinty rocks were cleft, "And frighted ftreams their wonted channels left; "With frantic grief o'erflowing fruitful ground, "Where many a herd and harmless fwain was drown'd; "While I forlorn and defolate was left, "Of every help, of every hope bereft ; "To every clement expos'd I lay,

"And to my griefs a more defenceless prey.

"For

"For thee, Amyntas, all these pains were borne, "For thee these hands were wrung, these hairs were torn; "For thee my foul to figh shall never leave,

"Thefe eyes to weep, this throbbing heart to heave. "To mourn thy fall, I'll fly the hated light, "And hide my head in fhades of endless night: "For thou wert light, and life, and health to me; "The fun but thanklefs fhines that fhews not thee. "Wert thou not lovely, graceful, good, and young? "The joy of fight, the talk of every tongue? "Did ever branch fo fweet a bloffom bear? "Or ever early fruit appear fo fair? "Did ever youth so far his years transcend ? “Did ever life so immaturely end? "For thee the tuneful swains provided lays, "And every Mufe prepar'd thy future praise. "For thee the busy nymph ftripp'd every grove, "And myrtle wreaths and flowery chaplets wove. "But now, ah difmal change! the tuneful throng "To loud lamentings turn the chearful fong. "Their pleafing task the weeping virgins leave, "And with unfinish'd garlands ftrew thy grave. "There let me fall, there, there lamenting lie, "There grieving grow to earth, despair, and die." This faid, her loud complaint of force the ceas'd, Excess of grief her faultering speech fupprefs'd. Along the ground her colder limbs the laid, Where late the grave was for Amyntas made; Then from her fwimming eyes began to pour Of foftly-falling rain a filver fhower;

H

Her loosely-flowing hair, all radiant bright,
O'er-spread the dewy grass like streams of light::
As if the fun had of his beams been fhorn,
And caft to earth the glories he had worn.
A fight fo lovely fad, fuch deep distress,
No tongue can tell, no pencil can exprefs.

And now the winds, which had fo long been still,
Began the fwelling air with fighs to fill :
The water-nymphs, who motionless remain'd,
Like images of ice, while fhe complain'd,
Now loos'd their ftreams; as when descending rains
Roll the steep torrents headlong o'er the plains.
The prone creation, who fo long had gaz'd,
Charm'd with her cries, and at her griefs amaz'd,
Began to roar and howl with horrid yell,
Difmal to hear, and terrible to tell;

Nothing but groans and fighs were heard around,
And Echo multiplied each mournful found.
When all at once an univerfal pause

Of grief was made, as from fome fecret caufe.
The balmy air with fragrant scents was fill'd,
As if each weeping tree had gums distill'd.
Such, if not sweeter, was the rich perfume
Which swift afcended from Amyntas' tomb :
As if th' Arabian bird her nest had fir'd,
And on the spicy pile were now expir'd.

And now the turf, which late was naked feen,
Was fudden spread with lively-springing green;
And Amarillis faw, with wondering eyes,
A flowery bed, where he had wept, arife;

Thick as the pearly drops the fair had shed,
The blowing buds advanc'd their purple head;
From every tear that fell, a violet grew,

And thence their fweetness came, and thence their mournful hue.

Remember this, ye nymphs and gentle maids,
When folitude ye feck in gloomy shades ;
Or walk on banks where filent waters flow,
For there this lonely flower will love to grow.
Think on Amyntas, oft as ye shall stoop
To crop the stalks and take them foftly up.
When in your fnowy necks their sweets you wear,
Give a foft figh, and drop a tender tear :

To lov'd Amyntas pay the tribute due,
And blefs his peaceful grave, where first they grew.

TO CYNTHIA,

WEEPING, AND NOT SPEAKING.

E L

E G Y.

WHY are thofe hours, which Heaven in pity lent

To longing love, in fruitless forrow spent ?

Why fighs my fair? why does that bofom move
With any paffion stirr'd, but rifing love?
Can Discontent find place within that breast,
On whole foft pillows ev'n Despair might rest ?