WAS on a joyless and a gloomy morn,
Wet was the grafs, and hung with pearls
the thorn;
When Damon, who defign'd to pass the day
With hounds and horns, and chace the flying prey,
Rose early from his bed; but foon he found
The welkin pitch'd with fullen clouds around,
An eastern wind, and dew upon the ground.
Thus while he stood, and fighing did furvey
The fields, and curft th' ill omens of the day,
He saw Menalcas come with heavy pace;
Wet were his eyes, and chearless was his face:
He wrung
his hands, diftracted with his care,
And fent his voice before him from afar.
Return, he cry'd, return, unhappy fwain,
The spungy clouds are fill'd with gathering rain:
The promise of the day not only cross'd,
But e'en the spring, the spring itself is lost.
Amyntas---oh!--he could not speak the reft,
Nor needed, for prefaging Damon guess'd.
Equal with heaven young Damon lov'd the boy,
The boast of nature, both his parents joy.
His graceful form revolving in his mind;
So great a genius, and a foul fo kind,
Gave fad affurance that his fears were true;
Too well the envy of the gods he knew:
For when their gifts too lavishly are plac'd,
Soon they repent, and will not make them laft.
For fure it was too bountiful a dole,
The mother's features, and the father's foul.
Then thus he cry'd: the morn befpoke the news:
The morning did her chearful light diffuse :
But fee how fuddenly the chang'd her face,
And brought on clouds and rain, the day's dif
Juft fuch, Amyntas, was thy promis'd race. What charms adorn'd thy youth, where nature
And more than man was giv'n us in a child!
His infancy was ripe: a foul fublime
years fo tender that prevented time:
Heaven gave him all at once; then snatch'daway,
Ere mortals all his beauties could furvey:
Juft like the flower that buds and withers in a day.
The mother, lovely, tho with grief oppreft, Reclin'd his dying head upon her breast.
The mournful family stood all around;
One groan was heard, one univerfal found:
All were in floods of tears and endless forrow
So dire a fadness fat on ev'ry look,
E'en death repented he had giv'n the stroke.
He griev'd his fatal work had been ordain'd,
But promis'd length of life to those who yet
remain❜d.
The mother's and her eldest daughter's grace,
It seems, had brib'd him to prolong their space.
The father bore it with undaunted foul,
Like one who durft his destiny controul :
Yet with becoming grief he bore his part,
Refign'd his fon, but not refign'd his heart:
Patient as Job; and may he live to fee,
Like him, a new increasing family!
Such is my wish, and fuch my prophefy.
For yet, my friend, the beauteous mould remains;
Long may the exercise her fruitful pains!
But, ah! with better hap, and bring a race
More lafting, and endu'd with equal grace!
Equal she may, but farther none can go ;
For he was all that was exact below.
MENAL CAS.
Damon, behold yon breaking purple cloud ;!
Hear'ft thou not hymns and songs divinely loud?
There mounts Amyntas; the young cherubs play
About their godlike mate, and fing him on his way.
He cleaves the liquid air, behold he flies,
And every moment gains upon the skies.
The new come guest admires th' ætherial state,
The faphir portal, and the golden gate ;
And now admitted in the shining throng,
He shows the passport which he brought along.
His passport is his innocence and
grace,
Well known to all the natives of the place.
Now fing, ye joyful angels, and admire
Your brother's voice that comes to mend
Sing you, while endless tears our eyes bestow;
For like Amyntas none is left below.
On the DEATH of
A very young Gentleman.
E who could view the book of destiny, And read whatever there was writ of thee, O charming youth, in the firft op'ning page, So many graces in fo green an age, Such wit, fuch modefty, fuch strength of mind, A foul at once fo manly, and so kind Would wonder, when he turn'd the volume o'er, And after fome few leaves fhould find no more, Nought but a blank remain, a dead void space, A ftep of life that promis'd fuch a race. We must not, dare not think, that heaven began A child, and could not finish him a man; Reflecting what a mighty store was laid Of rich materials, and a model made: The coft already furnish'd; fo bestow'd, As more was never to one foul allow'd': Yet after this profufion spent in vain, Nothing but mould'ring ashes to remain, I guess not, left I split upon the shelf,
Yet durft I guess, heaven kept it for himself;
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