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With goodness large and free,

Delights the widow's tears to stay,

To teach the blind their smoothest way,

And aid the feeble knee.

O come! and o'er my bofom reign,
Expand my heart, inflame each vein,
Through ev'ry action shine;
Each low, each selfish with controul;
With all thy effence warm my foul,
And make me wholly thine.

If from thy facred paths I turn,

Nor feel their griefs, while others mourn, Nor with their pleasures glow: Banish'd from God, from blifs, and thee, My own tormentor let me be,

And groan in hopeless woe.

ON THE DEATH OF STELLA.

A PASTORAL.

INSCRIBED TO HER SISTER.

See on thofe ruby lips the trembling breath,
Thofe cheeks now faded at the blaft of death;
Cold is that breaft which warm'd the world before,
And thofe love-darting eyes fhall roll no more.

Now

Popes

low purple ev'ning ting'd the blue ferene,
And milder breezes fann'd the verdant plain;
Beneath a blafted oak's portentous shade,
To speak his grief, a pensive swain was laid:-
Birds ceas'd to warble at the mournful found;
The cheerful landscape fadden'd all around:
For Stella's fate he breath'd his tuneful moan;
Love, beauty, virtue, mourn your darling gone! ›

O thou! by stronger ties than blood ally'd,
Who died to pleasure, when a fifter* dy'd!'
Thou living image of thofe charms we loft,
Charms, which exulting nature once might boast!
Indulge the plaintive mufe, whofe fimple ftrain
Repeats the heart-felt anguish of the swain:
For Stella's fate thus flow'd his tuneful moan;
Love, beauty, virtue, mourn your darling gone!

A Lady diftinguished for every perfonal grace, and, qualification of mind which could adorn her fex and nature.

Are happiness and joy for ever fled,

Nor haunt the twilight grove, nor funny glade?
Ah! fled for ever from my longing eye;

With Stella born, with Stella too they die:
Die, or with me your brightest image moan:
Love, beauty, virtue, mourn your darling gone!

Sweet to the thirsty tongue the crystal stream,
To nightly wand'rers fweet the morning beam;
Sweet to the wither'd grafs the gentle show'r;
To the fond lover fweet the nuptial hour;
Sweet fragrant gardens to the lab'ring bee,
And lovely Stella once was heav'n to me:
That heav'n is faded, and those joys are flown,
Love, beauty, virtue, mourn your darling gone!

Ah! where is now that form which charm'd my fight? Ah! where that wisdom, fparkling heav'nly bright? Ah! where that sweetness like the lays of spring, When breathe its flow'rs, and all its warblers fing? Now fade, ye flow'rs! ye warblers join my moan! Love, beauty, virtue, mourn your darling gone!

Ah me! though winter defolate the field,
Again fhall flow'rs their blended odours yield;
Again fhall birds the vernal season hail,
And beauty paint, and mufic charm the vale:

But fhe no more to blefs me fhall appear;
No more her angel voice enchant my ear;
No more her angel fmile relieve my moan:
Love, beauty, virtue, mourn your darling gone!

He ceas'd; for mighty grief his voice fuppreft,
Chill'd all his veins, and ftruggled in his breast;
From his wan cheek the rofy tincture flies;
The luftre languifh'd in his clofing eyes:
Too foon fhall life return, unhappy swain!

If, with returning fenfe, returns thy pain. [moan!
Hills, woods, and ftreams, refound the fhepherd's
Love, beauty, virtue, mourn your darling gone!

ΑΝ ΕΡΙΤΑΡΗ.

Ir e'er fharp forrow from thine eyes did flow,
If e'er thy bofom felt another's woe,

If e'er fair beauty's charms thy heart did prove,
If e'er the offspring of thy virtuous love
Bloom'd to thy wifh, or to thy foul was dear,
This plaintive marble afks thee for a tear!
For here, alas! too early fnatch'd away,
All that was lovely Death has made his prey.
No more her cheeks with crimson rofes vie,
No more the diamond sparkles in her eye;

Her breath no more its balmy fweets can boast,
Alas! that breath with all its sweets are loft..
Pale now those lips where blushing rubies hung,
And mute the charming mufic of her tongue;
Ye virgins fair, your fading charms furvey,
She was whate'er your tender hearts can fay.
To her sweet memory for ever dear,

Let the green turf receive your trickling, tear :
To this fad place your earliest garlands bring,
And deck her grave with firftlings of the fpring.
Let opening rofes, drooping lilies tell,

Like those the bloom'd, and ah! like these fhe fell.
In circling wreaths let the pale ivy grow,
And distant yews a fable shade bestow;
Round her, ye Graces! constant vigils keep,
And guard, fair Innocence! her facred fleep:

Till that bright morn shall wake the beauteous clay,
To bloom and sparkle in eternal day.

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