A Pastoral Elegy

At first in Vales obscure the Lyre I strung; Vales, where the Muse her annual Labours sung: Now, leaving these, she ranges o'er the Plains, And tunes her Voice to Flocks and Shepherd Swains; Yet, fresh in Grief, but feebly moves her Wings, Weeps, while she flies, and trembles, as she sings.

TWO Country Swains, in Friendship firmly join'd, Lov'd each alike, and were, like Brothers, kind: Great CAROLINE her Royal Bounty show'd To one, and rais'd him from the grov'ling Crowd; When straight his smiling Looks, and chearful Mien, Proclaim'd the Goodness of a gracious QUEEN; But gloomy Sadness soon his Face possess'd, And clouded all the Joys before express'd: The other gay and pleasant still appear'd; Nor griev'd for Evils past, nor future fear'd: One Day they met; MENALCAS first began; And thus the mournful Tale, alternate, ran.