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Let this suffice: nor thou, great faint, refuse This humble tribute of' no vulgar muse: Who, not by cares, or wants, or age deprest, Stems a wild deluge with a dauntless breast; And dares to sing thy praises in a clime Where vice triumphs, and virtue is a crime ; Where e'en to draw the picture of thy mind, Is sütire on the moft of human kind: Take it, while
'tis praise ; before my rage, Unsafely just; break loose on this þad age ;, So bad, that thou thyself hadît no defence From vice, but barely by departing hence.
Be what, and where thou art: to wish thy place, Were, in the best, presumption more than grace. Thy relics, (such thy works of mercy are); T: Have, in this
been my holy care. As earth thy body keeps, thy soul the sky, So shall this verse preserve thy memory; For thou shalt make it live, because it sings of
WAS on a joyless and a gloomy morn,
the ground. Thus while he stood, and sighing did survey The fields, and curft th’ill onens of the day, He saw Menalcas come with heavy pace; Wet were his eyes, and chearless was his face:
his hands, distracted with his care, And sent his voice before him from afar. Return, he cry'd, return, unhappy swain, The spungy clouds are filld 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 rest,
Nor needed, for presaging Damon guess’d.
Just such, Amyntas, was thy promis'd race. What charms adorn'd thy youth, where nature
smild, And more than man was giv'n us in a child ! His infancy was ripe : a foul sublime In years so tender that prevented time : Heaven gave him all atonce; then snatch'daway, Ere mortals all his beauties could survey: Just like the flowerthắt buds and withers in a day.
M E N A L CA S. The mother, lovely, tho with grief oppreit, Reclin'd his dying head upon her breast. . The mournful family stood all around; One groan was heard, one universal found : All were in floods of tears and endlefs forrow
drown'd. 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 soul, Like one who durft his destiny controul : Yet with becoming grief he bore his part, Resign'd his son, but not resign'd his heart: Patient as Job; and may he live to see, Like him, a new increafing family!
D A M O N. Such is my wish, and such my prophesy. For yet, my friend, the beauteous mould remains; Long may she exercise her fruitful pains ! But, ah! with better hap, and bring a race More lasting, and endu'd with equal grace !
Equal she may, but farther none can go :
M E N A L CA S.
grace, Well known to all the natives of the place. Now sing, ye joyful angels, and admire Your brother's voice that comes to mend
Sing you, while endless tears our eyes bestow;