Olofs beyond repair! O wretched Father left alone Το weep their dire misfortune, and thy own! From folly, and from vice, their helplefs age to fave? VII. Where were ye, Mufes, when relentless Fate To guard her bofom from the mortal blow? Whate'er your ancient fages taught, Your ancient bards fublimely thought, 1 And bade her raptur'd breaft with all your spirit glow! VIII. Nor then did Pindus' or Caftalia's plain, Befet with ofiers dank, The Mincio runs by Mantua, the birth-place of Virgil. Nor where Clitumnus rolls his gentle fream, Nor yet where Meles, or Ill does it now befeem, Iliffus fray, That, of your guardian care bereft, To dire difeafe and death your darling should be left. IX. Now what avails it that in early bloom, When light fantastic toys Are all her fex's joys, With you fhe fearch'd the wit of Greece and Rome? Bright fparkling could infpire; Moft favour'd with your fmile The pow'rs of reafon and of fancy join'd The Clitumnus is a river of Umbria, the refidence of Propertius. The Anio runs through Tibur or Tivoli, where Horace had a villa. The Meles is a river of Ionia, from whence Homer, fuppofed to be born on its banks, is called Melifigenes. The Iliffus is a river at Athens. Ah! what is now the ufe Of all thofe treasures that enrich'd her mind; To black oblivion's gloom for ever now confign'd?" .X.X At least ye Nine, her fpotlefs name And frew with choifeft flow'rs her hallow'd tomb. Thou, plaintive Mufe, whom o'er his Laura's urn Unhappy Petrarch call'd to mourn. O come, and to this fairer Laura pay A more impaflion'd tear, a more pathetic lay. XI. Tell how each beauty of her mind and face Through her expreffive eyes her foul distinctly spoke! And uncorrupted Innocence! Tell how to more than manly fense Of more than female tenderness: How in the thoughtlefs days of wealth and joy, To every want and every woe, And all relief that bounty could bestow! Ev'n for the kid or lamb that pour'd its life Her gentle tears would fall, Tears from fweet Virtue's fource, benevolent to all. XII. Not only good and kind, Could look fuperior down On Fortune's fmiles or frown; All pleafing fhone, nor ever paft The decent bounds that Wifdom's fober hand, And bashful Modefty before it caft. A prudence undeceiving, undeceiv'd, Death came remorfelefs on and funk her to the tomb. XIII. So where the filent ftreams of Liris glide, From every branch the balmy flow'rets rife, The tender blighted plant fhrinks up his leaves, and dies. XIV. Arife O Petrarch, from th' Elyfian bow'rs, Was fpread the fame of thy difastrous love; Rough mountain oaks, and defart rocks, to pity move. XV. What were, alas! thy woes compar'd to mine? Of Hymen never gave her hand; The joys of wedded love were never thine. Of She never bore a share, Would heal thy wounded heart every fecret grief that fefter'd there: Nor did her fond affection on the bed |