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And inserted in the Morning Chronicle of April 3, 1800. E’en have you seen, bath'd in the morning dew,
The budding rose its infant bloom display; When first its virgin tints unfold to view,
It shrinks, and scarcely trusts the blaze of day,
So soft, so delicate, so sweet she came,
Youth's damask glow just dawning on her cheek; I gaz’d, I sigh’d, I caught the tender flame,
Felt the fond pang,and droop'd with passion weak.
INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SUNG IN THE COMEDY OF
Au me! when shall I marry me?
Lovers are plenty, but fail to relieve me. He, fond youth, that could carry me,
Offers to love, but means to deceive me.
But I will rally and combat the ruiner:
Not a look, not a smile, shall my passion discover; She that gives all to the false one pursuing her,
Makes but a penitent, and loses a lover.
WEEPING, murmuring, complaining,
Lost to every gay delight ; Myra, too sincere for feigning,
Fears the approaching bridal night.
Yet why impair thy bright perfection!
Or dim thy beauty with a tear? Had Myra follow'd my direction,
She long had wanted cause of fear.
TAE wretch condemn'd with life to part,
Still, still, on hope relies ;
Bids expectation rise.
Hope, like the glimmering taper's light,
Adorns and cheers the way,
Emits a brighter ray.
• Closely copied from a madrigal by St. Pavier. SONG.
O MEMORY! thou fond deceiver,
Still importunate and vain, To former joys recurring ever,
And turning all the past to pain.
Thou, like the world, the oppress'd oppressing,
Thy smiles increase the wretch's woe! And he who wants each other blessing,
In thee must ever find a foe.
ON THE TAKING OF QUEBEC.
AMIDST the clamour of exulting joys,
Which triumph forces from the patriot heart, Grief dares to mingle her soul-piercing voice,
And quells the raptures which from pleasure start.
Oh, Wolfe ! to thee a streaming flood of woe
Sighing we pay, and think e'en conquest dear; Quebec in vain shall teach our breasts to glow,
Whilst thy sad fate extorts the beart-wrung tear. Alive, the foe thy dreadful vigour fled,
And saw thee fall with joy-pronouncing eyes; Yet they shall know thou conquerest, though dead,
Since from thy tomb a thousand heroes rise.
ON THE REV. DR. PARNELL.
This tomb, inscrib'd to gentle Parnell's name,
举 ON EDWARD PURDON.
HERE lies poor Ned Purdon, from misery freed,
Who long was a bookseller's hack;
I don't think he'll wish to come back.
* This person was educated at Trinity college, Dublin; but having wasted bis patrimony, he enlisted as a foot soldier. Growing tired of that employment, he obtained his discharge, and became a scribbler in the newspapers. He translated Vol. taire's Henriade. Goldsmith's epitaph is nearly a translation from a little piece of De Cailly's, called La mort du Sire Es. tienne.
WRITTEN AND SPOKEN
BY THE POET LABERIUS,
A ROMAN KNIGHT,
WHOM CÆSAR FORCED UPON THE STAGE.
Preserved by Macrobius.* What! no way left to shun the' inglorious stage, And save from infamy my sinking age ! Scarce half alive, oppress'd with many a year, What in the name of dotage drives me here? A time there was, when glory was my guide, Nor force nor fraud could turn my steps aside ; Unaw'd by power, and unappal'd by fear, With honest thrift I held my honour dear : But this vile hour disperses all my store, And all my hoard of honour is no more; For, ah ! too partial to my life's decline, Cæsar persuades, submission must be mine; Him I obey, whom Heaven himself obeys, Hopeless of pleasing, yet inclin’d to please. Here then at once I welcome every shame, And cancel at threescore a life of fame ; No more my titles shall my children tell, The old buffoon will fit my name as well; This day beyond its term my fate extends, For life is ended when our honour ends.
* This translation was first printed in one of Goldsmith's earliest works. The present state of Learning in Europe, 12mo. 1759,