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But she, who set on fire his infart heart,

And how his lyre, though rude her first essays, And all his dreams, and all his wanderings, shar'd Now skill'd to soothe, to triumph, to complain, And bless'd, the Muse, and her celestial art, Warbling at will through each harmonious maze, Still claim'd the enthusiast's fond and first regard. Was taught to modulate the artful strain, From Nature's beauties variously compar'd I sain would sing :-but ah! I strive in vain. And variously combin'd, he learns to frame Sighs from a breaking heart my voice confound, Those forms of bright perfection, which the bard, With trembling step, to join yon weeping train, While boundless hopes and boundless views inflame, I haste, where gleams funereal glare around, Enamour'd, consecrates to never-dying fame. And mix'd with shrieks of woe, the knells of death

resound. of late, with cumbersome, though pompous show, Edwin would oft his flowery rhyme deface, Adieu, ye lays, that Fancy's flowers adorn, Through ardor to adorn; but Nature now The soft amusement of the vacant mind! To his experienc'd eye a modest grace

He sleeps in dust, and all the Muses mourn, Presents, where ornament the second place He, whom each virtue fir’d, each grace refind, lloids, to intrinsic worth and just design

Friend, teacher, pattern, darling of mankind ! Subservient still. Simplicity apace

He sleeps in dust. Ah! how shall I pursue Tempers his rage : he owns her charm divine, My theme! To heart-consuming grief resign'd, And clears th' ambiguous phrase, and lops th' un- Here on his recent grave I fix my view, wieldy line.

And pour my bitter tears. Ye flowery lays, adieu !

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Fain would I sing (much yet unsung remains) Art thou, my GREGORY, for ever fled !
What sweet delirium o'er his bosom stole,

And am I left to unavailing woe!
When the great shepherd of the Mantuan plain When fortune's storms assail this weary head,
His deep majestic melody 'gan roll :

Where cares long since have shed untimely snow! Fain would I sing what transport storm'd his soul, Ah, now for comfort whither shall I go! How the red current throbb'd his veins along, No more thy soothing voice my anguish cheers : When, like Pelides, bold beyond control,

Thy placid eyes with smiles no longer glow, Without art graceful, without effort strong, My hopes to cherish, and allay my fears. Ilomer rais'd high to Heaven the loud, the impetu- "Tis meet that I should mourn : Row forth afresh,

ous song

my tears.

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