ELEGY. (When strong Affliction deeply wounds the breast)

When strong Affliction deeply wounds the breast, When Sorrow sits within the moisten'd eye; When the heart sinks, with pond'rous grief opprest, And the sad bosom heaves with many a sigh;

Lost to all life, averse from ev'ry joy, Disdaining comfort, scorning all repose, The pensive Soul can brook but one employ— Brooding in gloomy Silence o'er its woes.

Come then, thou Partner of my cheerless hour, Come, faithful Muse, and seek the lonely grove, Retire with me to yon sequester'd bow'r, And mark the story of my luckless love.

For thou, the truest, tenderest, best of friends, The fond companion of my earliest youth, Wilt share each anguish that my bosom rends, Untir'd wilt listen, and unseen wilt sooth.

Oft hast thou tried, and oft with kind success, To smooth the sorrows of my aching brow; But ah! I never felt severe distress, Or prov'd th' extreme of misery till now.

Full well thou know'st in life's unripen'd morn, With thoughtless ease I pass'd the frolick day; Pluckt every rose, and where I found a thorn, Threw, careless threw, th' unheeded flow'r away.

Resolv'd the roving restless mind to cure, And guide the future different from the past, I sought for sweets that might thro' life endure, And fondly fancied they were found at last.

I saw the lovliest Rose, that grac'd the land, With blooming fragrance gladd'ning all around, Too bold, perhaps, I thrust the forward hand, Miss'd the fair flow'r, and only felt the wound.

Felt! did I say! deep rankling in my heart No time can mitigate my suffering there; Hope lends no friendly balsam for the smart, And all my black'ning prospects frown despair,

And yet lov'd Maid, if partial to my Muse, Her artless numbers thou wilt deign to hear; If, softly-sighing, thou wilt not refuse, To shed with her one sympathizing tear;

That single tear that dews ELIZA's cheek, Shall for a moment wash my griefs away; That sigh, tho' half supprest, shall more than speak, And gild the evening of each mournful day.

Then shall I think 'twas not ELIZA's heart, 'Twas not her gentle breast refus'd to glow; 'Twas not ELIZA's self who made us part, The World, th' unfeeling World pronounc'd it so.

The unfeeling World that thinks where riches roll, Where titles blazon, joys can never cease; That waves each soft emotion of the soul, And builds on public clamour private peace.

And yet, ELIZA, thou may'st live to prove, And thy fond heart may own it with a sigh, That the endearing sweets of mutual Love, No Wealth, no State, no Splendour can supply.

Form'd as thou art, with every outward grace, With ev'ry inward virtue richly fraught, Think, if thy tenderness thou should'st misplace, Pride, Pomp, and Grandeur may be dearly bought.

Though Honour's nobles circle thou'lt adorn, And dignify in every sphere the Wife, ELIZA, or I much mistake, was born To shine amidst the soften'd joys of life.

For me, whom poignant woes must still depress, Each future hour to sorrow I resign; Death only can alleviate my distress, And the last parting moment shall be Thine!