For know I trod the trophy'd paths of power
Felt every joy that fair ambition brings;
And left the lonely roof of yonder bower,
To stand beneath the canopies of kings..
I bade low hinds the towering ardour share ;
Nor meanly rofe, to blefs myself alone :
I fnatch'd the fhepherd from his fleecy care,
And bade his wholesome dictate guard the throne.
Low at my feet the fuppliant peer I saw;

I faw proud empires my decifion wait;
My will was duty, and my word was law,

My fimile was tranfport, and my frown was fate." Ah me! faid I, nor power I seek, nor gain; Nor urg'd by hope of fame these toils endure; A fimple youth, that feels a lover's pain,

And, from his friend's condolance, hopes a cure. He, the dear youth, to whose abodes I roam, Nor can mine honours, nor my fields extend Yet for his fake I leave my diftant home,

Which oaks embofom, and which hills defend. Beneath that home I fcorn the wintry wind; The spring, to shade me, robes her fairest tree; And if a friend my grass-grown threshold find, O how my lonely cot refounds with glee! Yet, though averse to gold in heaps amass'd, I wish to blefs, I languish to bestow;

And though no friend to fame's obftreperous blast, Still, to her dulcet murmurs not a foe.

Του

Too proud with servile tone to deign address;

Too mean to think that honours are my due, Yet should some patron yield my ftores to bless,

I sure should deem my boundless thanks were few.. But tell me, thou! that, like a meteor's fire,

Shot'ft blazing forth; difdaining dull degrees; Should I to wealth, to fame, to power afpire, Muft I not pass more rugged paths than these? Must I not groan beneath a guilty load,

Praise him I fcorn, and him I love betray?
Does not felonious envy bar the road?

Or falfehood's treacherous foot befet the way?
Say fhould I pafs through favour's crowded gate,
Muft not fair truth inglorious wait behind?
Whilft I approach the glittering scenes of state,
My best companion no admittance find?
Nurs'd in the fhades by freedom's lenient care,
Shall I the rigid fway of fortune own?
Taught by the voice of pious truth, prepare
To spurn an altar, and adore a throne?
And when proud fortune's ebbing tide recedes,
And when it leaves me no unshaken friend,
Shall I not weep that e'er I left the meads,

Which oaks embofom, and which hills defend?
Oh! if these ills the price of power advance,
Check not my speed where focial joys invite!
The troubled vision caft a mournful glance,
And fighing vanish'd in the shades of night.

ELEGY

He defcribes his early love of poetry, and its confequences. To Mr. GRAVES, 1745.

Written after the death of Mr. POPE.

A

H me! what envious magic thins my

fold?

What mutter'd spell retards their late increase? Such leffening fleeces muft the fwain behold,

That e'er with Doric pipe effays to please.

I faw my friends in evening circles meet;
I took my vocal reed, and tun'd my lay ;
I heard them fay my vocal reed was sweet:

Ah fool! to credit what I heard them say!
Ill-fated bard! that feeks his skill to show,

Then courts the judgment of a friendly ear!
Not the poor veteran, that permits his foe

To guide his doubtful ftep, has more to fear.
Nor could my Graves mistake the critic's laws,

Till pious friendship mark'd the pleasing way :
Welcome fuch error! ever bleft the cause!

Ev'n though it led me boundlefs leagues aftray!
Couldst thou reprove me, when I nurs'd the flame

On liftening Cherwell's ofier banks reclin'd?
While, foe to fortune, unfeduc'd by fame,

I footh'd the bias of a careless mind.

Youth's

Youth's gentle kindred, health and love were met?
What though in Alma's guardian arms I play'd?
How shall the Muse those vacant hours forget?
Or deem that blifs by folid cares repaid?

Thou know'ft how tranfport thrills the tender breast,
Where love and fancy fix their opening reign;
How nature shines in livelier colours dreft,

To blefs their union, and to grace their train. So first when Phoebus met the Cyprian queen, And favour'd Rhodes beheld their paffion crown'd, Unusual flowers enrich'd the painted green ;.

And swift spontaneous roses blush'd around.
Now fadly lorn, from Twitnam's widow'd bower,
The drooping Muses take their casual way;
And where they stop, a flood of tears they pour;
And where they weep, no more the fields are gay.
Where is the dappled pink, the sprightly rofe?
The cowflip's golden cup no more I fee :
Dark and difcolour'd every flower that blows,
To form the garland, Elegy for thee !-
Enough of tears has wept the virtuous dead;

Ah might we now the pious rage controul;
Hufh'd be my grief ere every smile be fled,
Ere the deep fwelling figh fubvert the foul!
If near fome trophy fpring a ftripling bay,
Pleas'd we behold the graceful umbrage rise;
But foon too deep it works its baneful way,
And, low on earth, the proftrate ruin lies,

ELEGY

ELE GY IX.

He defcribes his difintereftedness to a friend.

I

NE'ER muft tinge my lip with Celtic wines; The pomp of India must I ne'er difplay; Nor boast the produce of Peruvian mines,

Nor, with Italian founds, deceive the day. Down yonder brook my crystal beverage flows; My grateful sheep their annual fleeces bring Fair in my garden buds the damask rofe,

And, from my grove, I hear the throstle fing. My fellow fwains! avert your dazzled eyes ;

In vain allur'd by glittering spoils they rove, The fates ne'er meant them for the fhepherd's prize, Yet gave them ample recompence in love.

They gave you vigour from your parent's veins ;

They gave you toils; but toils your finews brace; They gave you nymphs, that own their amorous pains, And shades, the refuge of the gentle race.

To carve your loves, to paint your mutual flames, See! polish'd fair, the beech's friendly rind! To fing foft carrols to your lovely dames,

See vocal grots, and echoing vales affign'd! Would't thou, my Strephon, love's delighted flave! Though fure the wreaths of chivalry to share, Forego the ribbon thy Matilda gave,

And, giving, bade thee in remembrance wear?