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PREFACE.

[By LORD CHESTERFIELD.]

TH

HE following Elegies were wrote by a young gentleman lately dead, and justly lamented.

As he had never declared his intentions concerning their publication, a friend of his, into whofe hands they fell, determined to publish them, in the perfuafion that they would neither be unwelcome to the Publick, nor injurious to the memory of their Author. The reader muft decide, whether this determination was the result of juft judgement, or partial friendship; for the Editor feels, and avows fo much of the latter, that he gives up all pretenfions to the former.

The Author compofed them ten years ago, before he was two and twenty years old; an age when fancy and imagination commonly riot, at the expence of judgement and correctnefs, neither of which feem wanting here. But fincere in his love as in his friendship, he wrote to his mistreffes, as he spoke to his friends, nothing but the true genuine fentiments of his heart; he fate down to write what he thought, not to think what he should write; it was nature and fentiment only that dictated to a real miftrefs, not youthful and poetic fancy, to an imaginary one. Elegy therefore speaks here her own, proper, native language, the unaffected

plaintive

plaintive language of the tender paffions; the true elegiac dignity and fimplicity are preferved, and united, the one without pride, the other without meannefs. Tibullus feems to have been the model our Author judiciously preferred to Ovid; the former writing directly from the heart, to the heart; the latter too often yielding and addreffing himself to the imagination.

The undiffipated youth of the Author, allowed him time to apply himself to the best masters, the antients, and his parts enabled him to make the best use of them; for upon thofe great models of folid fenfe and virtue, he formed not only his genius, but his heart, both well prepared by nature to adopt, and adorn the resemblance. He admired that juftness, that noble fimplicity of thought and expreflion, which have diftinguished, and preferved their writings to this day; but he revered that love of their country, that contempt of riches, that facredness of friendship, and all thofe heroic and focial virtues, which marked them out as the objects of the veneration, though not the imitation, of fucceeding ages; and he looked back with a kind of religious awe and delight, upon thofe glorious and happy times of Greece and Rome, when wifdom, virtue, and liberty formed the only triumvirates, ere luxury invited corruption to taint, or corruption introduced flavery to deftroy, all public and private virtues. In thefe fentiments he lived, and would have lived, even in these times; in these sentiments he died-but in these times too-Ut non erepta a diis immortalibus vita, fed donata mors effe videatur.

LOVE ELEGIES.

F

ELEGY I.

On his falling in Love with Neæra.

AREWELL that liberty our fathers gave,

In vain they gave, their fons receiv'd in vain :
I faw Neæra, and her instant flave,

Though born a Briton, hugg'd the fervile chain.
Her ufage well repays my coward heart,
Meanly fhe triumphs in her lover's fhame,
No healing joy relieves his constant smart,
No fmile of love rewards the lofs of fame.
Oh, that to feel these killing pangs no more,
On Scythian hills I lay a fenfeless stone,
Was fix'd a rock amidst the watery roar,
And in the vaft Atlantic ftood alone.

Adieu, ye Muses, or my paffion aid,
Why should I loiter by your idle spring?

My humble voice would move one only maid,
And the contemns the trifles which I fing.

I do not afk the lofty Epic ftrain,

Nor ftrive to paint the wonders of the fphere;
I only fing one cruel maid to gain,

Adieu, ye Mufes, if she will not hear.

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No more in useless innocence I'll pine,
Since guilty presents win the greedy fair,
I'll tear its honours from the broken shrine,
But chiefly thine, O Venus! will I tear.
Deceiv'd by thee, I lov'd a beauteous maid,
Who bends on fordid gold her low defires :
Nor worth nor paffion can her heart perfuade,
But Love must act what Avarice requires.

Unwife who firft, the charm of nature loft,
With Tyrian purple foil'd the fnowy sheep;
Unwifer ftill who feas and mountains croft,
To dig the rock, and search the pearly deep:
These coftly toys our filly fair furprise,
The fhining follies cheat their feeble fight,
Their hearts fecure in trifles, love defpife,

'Tis vain to court them, but more vain to write.
Why did the gods conceal the little mind
And earthly thoughts beneath a heavenly face;
Forget the worth that dignifies mankind,
Yet fmooth and polifh fo each outward grace?

Hence all the blame that Love and Venus bear,
Hence pleasure short, and anguish ever long,
Hence tears and figlis, and hence the peevish fair,
The froward lover-hence this angry fong.

ELEGY

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