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SHOULD Jove defcend in floods of liquid ore,
And golden torrents stream from every part,
That craving bosom still wou'd heave for more,
Not all the gods eou'd fatisfy thy heart:

But may thy folly, which can thus difdain
My honest love, the mighty wrong repay,
May midnight fire involve thy fordid gain,
And on the fhining heaps of rapine prey:

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May all the youths, like me, by love deceived,
Not quench the ruin, but applaud the doom;
And, when thou dy'ft, may not one heart be grieved,
May not one tear bedew the lonely tomb.

But the deferving, tender, generous maid,
Whose only care is her poor lover's mind,
Tho' ruthless age may bid her beauty fade,
In every friend to love, a friend shall find:
* Born 1710; dyed 1742.

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And, when the lamp of life will burn no more,
When dead fhe feems as in a gentle fleep,
The pitying neighbour fhall her lofs deplore,
And round the bier affembled lovers weep:

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With flow'ry garlands, each revolving year,
Shall ftrow the grave where truth and softness reft,
Then, home returning, drop the pious tear,
And bid the turf lie eafy on her breast.

то HIS

FRIEND, WRITTEN

CONFINEMENT OF A LONG

TION.

W

UNDER THE

INDISPOSI

HILE calm you fit beneath your fecret fhade, And lofe in pleafing thought the fummer-day, Or tempt the wifh of fome unpractifed maid, Whose heart at once inclines and fears to ftray:

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The sprightly vigour of my youth is filed,
Lonely and fick on death is all my thought,
Oh, fpare, Perfephone*, this guiltless head,
Love, too much love, is all thy fuppliant's fault.

No virgin's eafy faith I e'er betray'd,
My tongue ne'er boafted of a feign'd embrace; 10
No poifons in the cup have I convey'd,
Nor veil'd deftruction with a friendly face:

The goddess of death.

No fecret horrors gnaw this quiet breast,
This pious hand ne'er robb'd the facred fane;
I ne'er disturb'd the gods' eternal rest
With curfes loud,—but oft have pray'd in vain.

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No stealth of time has thinn'd my flowing hair,
Nor age yet bent me with his iron hand;
Ah, why fo foon the tender bloffom tear?
Ere Autumn yet the ripen'd fruit demand. 20

Ye gods, whoe'er in gloomy fhades below
Now flowly tread your melancholy round;
Now wand'ring view the baleful rivers flow,
And mufing hearken to their folemn found:

Oh, let me ftill enjoy the cheerful day;
Till, many years unheeded o'er me roll'd,
Pleas'd in my age, I trifle life away,
And tell how much we loved, ere I grew old.

But you, who now, with feftive garlands crown'd, In chafe of pleasure the gay moments spend, 30 By quick enjoyment heal love's pleafing wound, And grieve for nothing but your absent friend.

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WHILE Athens glory'd in her free-born race,

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And Science flourish'd round her fav'rite place,
The Mufe unfetter'd trod the Grecian stage;
Free were her pinions, unreftrain'd her rage:
Bold and secure she aim'd the pointed dart,
And pour'd the precept poignant to the heart,
Till dire Dominion stretch'd her lawless sway,
And Athens' fons were deftin'd to obey :
Then first the Stage a Licens'd Bondage knew,
And Tyrants quafh'd the fcene they fear'd to view: 10
Fair Freedom's voice no more was heard to charm,
Or Liberty the Attic audience warm.

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Then fled the Mufe, indignant, from the shore, Nor deign'd to dwell where Freedom was no more: Vain then, alas! fhe fought Britannia's isle, Charm'd with her voice, and cheer'd us with her If Gallic laws her gen'rous flight reftrain, [fmile. And bind her captive with th' ignoble chain;

*Born 1710; dyed 1774.

Bold and unlicens'd, in ELIZA's days,
Free flow'd her numbers, flourish'd fair her bays; 20
O'er Britain's Stage majestic, unconfin'd,
She tun'd her Patriot leffons to mankind ;

For mighty Heroes ranfack'd ev'ry age,

Then beam'd them glorious in her SHAKESPEARE's page.

SHAKESPEARE's no more!-loft was the Poet's

name,

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Till Thou, my friend, my genius, fprung to Fame;
Lur'd by his laurel's never-fading bloom,
You boldly fnatch'd the trophy from his tomb,
Taught the declining Mufe again to foar,
And to Britannia gave one Poet more.

Pleas'd, in thy lays we fee GUSTAVUS live; But, O GUSTAVUS! if thou can'ft, forgive. Britons, more favage than the tyrant Dane, Beneath whofe yoke you drew the galling chain, Degen'rate Britons, by thy worth difmay'd, Prophane thy glories, and profcribe thy shade.

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