179^' PQETRT. 179 



Her mind Co pure, her face fo fc.ir; 



Her breafi: the feat of fofteft love ; 

 It feemM her words an angel's were. 



Her gentle precepts from above. 



My mind thus form'd, to mifery gave 

 The tender tribute of a tear : 



! Be'gia, open thy vaft grave. 

 For I could pour an ocean there. 



When firft: you fliow'd me at your feet 

 Pale liberty, religion tied, 



1 flew to ihut the glorious gate 



Of freedom on a tyrant's pride. 



Tho' great the caufe, fo wore with woes, 



I cannot but lament the deed : 

 My youth to melancholy bows. 



And Clotho trifles with my tliread. 



But flop, my Clio, wanton mufe, 



Indi^lge not this unmanly (train : 

 Beat, beat the drums, my ardour roufe, 



And call the foldier back again. 



Sound, found the clarion, fill the fife, 



Throughout the fenfual world procl;iim, 

 One crouded hour of glorious life 



Is worth an age without a name. 



Go then, thou little lovely boy, 



I camiot, mufl not, hear thee now ; 

 And all thy footliin^:j arts employ 



To cheat my Delia of her woe. 



If die gay flow'r, in all its youth, 



The fcythe of glory here muft meet ; 

 Go, bear my laurel, pledge of truth, 



And lay it at my Delia's feet- 



Her tears Ihall keep it ever green. 



To crown the image in her breaft ; 

 Till death doth clofe the haplefs fceiiey 



And calls its angel home to ref*. 



