"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, "Thou cruel earth, my moft remorfelefs foe, "Though all thy nerves are numb'd with endless froft, "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, And now the winds, which had fo long been still, Nothing but groans and fighs were heard around, Of grief was made, as from fome fecret caufe. And now the turf, which late was naked feen, Thick as the pearly drops the fair had shed, And thence their fweetness came, and thence their mournful hue. Remember this, ye nymphs and gentle maids, To lov'd Amyntas pay the tribute due, 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 |