WAS on a joyless and a gloomy morn,
Wet was the grass, and hung with pearls the thorn;
When Damon, who design'd to pass the day
With hounds and horns, and chace the flying prey,
Rose early from his bed; but foon he found
The welkin pitch'd with sullen clouds around,
An eastern wind, and dew upon the ground.
Thus while he stood, and fighing did survey
The fields, and curst th'ill omens of the day,
He saw Menalcas come with heavy pace;
Wet were his eyes, and chearless was his face :
He wrung his hands, distracted with his care,
And fent his voice before him from afar.
Return, he cry'd, return, unhappy swain,
The spungy clouds are fill'd with gathering rain:
The promise of the day not only cross'd,
But e'en the spring, the spring itself is loft.
Amyntas---oh!---he could not speak the rest,
Nor needed, for presaging Damon guess'd.
Equal with heaven young Damon lov'd the boy,
The boast of nature, both his parents joy.
His graceful form revolving in his mind ;
So great a genius, and a foul fo kind,
Gave fad afsurance that his fears were true;
Too well the envy of the gods he knew:
For when their gifts too lavishly are plac'd,
Soon they repent, and will not make them last.
For sure it was too bountiful a dole,
The mother's features, and the father's foul.
Then thus he cry'd: the morn bespoke the news:
The morning did her chearful light diffuse:
But fee how fuddenly she chang'd her face,
And brought on clouds and rain, the day's dif-
Just such, Amyntas, was thy promis'd race.
What charms adorn'd thy youth, where nature
And more than man was giv'n us in a child !
His infancy was ripe: a foul fublime
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 flower that buds and withersin a day.
The mother, lovely, tho with grief opprest,
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 endless forrow
So dire a sadness sat 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
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 foul,
Like one who durft his destiny controul :
Yet with becoming grief he bore his part,
Resigri'd his fon, but not refign'd his heart:
Patient as Job; and may he live to fee,
Like him, a new increasing family !
Such is my wish, and such my prophesy. For yet, my friend, the beauteous mould remains; Long may the 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 ;
For he was all that was exact below.
ΜΕΝΑLCAS.
Damon, behold yon breaking purple cloud;
Hear'st thou not hymns and songs divinely loud?
There mounts Amyntas; the young cherubs play
About their godlike mate, and fing him on his way.
He cleaves the liquid air, behold he flies,
And every moment gains upon the skies.
The new come guest admires th' ætherial state,
The saphir portal, and the golden gate;
And now admitted in the shining throng,
He shows the passport which he brought along.
His passport is his innocence and grace,
Well known to all the natives of the place.
Now fing, ye joyful angels, and admire
Your brother's voice that comes to mend your
Sing you, while endless tears our eyes bestow;
For like Amyntas none is left below.
On the DEATH of
A very young Gentleman.
E who could view the book of destiny,
And read whatever there was writ of thee,
O charming youth, in the first op'ning page,
So many graces in so green an age,
Such wit, such modesty, such strength of mind,
A foul at once so manly, and so kind;
Would wonder, when he turn'd the volume o'er,
And after fome few leaves should find no more,
Nought but a blank remain, a dead void space,
A step of life that promis'd such a race.
We must not, dare not think, that heaven began
A child, and could not finish him a man;
Reflecting what a mighty store was laid
Of rich materials, and a model made :
The cost already furnish'd; so bestow'd,
As more was never to one foul allow'd':
Yet after this profusion spent in vain,
Nothing but mould'ring ashes to remain,
I guess not, lest I split upon the shelf,
Yet durst I guess, heaven kept it for himself;
|