The works, in verse and prose, of William Shenstone, Esq ::

Say, gentle sleep, that lov'st the gloom of night,
Parent of dreams! thou great magician, say,
Whence my late vision thus endures the light;
Thus haunts my fancy thro' the glare of day.

The silent moon had scal'd the vaulted skies,
And anxious care resign'd my limbs to rest;
A sudden lustre struck my wond'ring eyes,
And Silvia stood before my couch confest.

Ah! not the nymph so blooming and so gay,
That led the dance beneath the festive shade!
But she that, in the morning of her day,
Intomb'd beneath the grass-green sod was laid.

No more her eyes their wonted radiance cast;
No more her breast inspir'd the lover's flame,
No more her cheek the Pæstan rose surpast;
Yet seem'd her lip's etherial smile the same.

Nor such her hair as deck'd her living face;
Nor such her voice as charm'd the list'ning crowd;
Nor such her dress as heighten'd ev'ry grace;
Alas! all vanish'd for the mournful shroud!

Yet seem'd her lip's etherial charm the same;
That dear distinction every doubt remov'd;
Perish the lover, whose imperfect flame
Forgets one feature of the nymph he lov'd.

“Damon, she said, mine hour allotted flies;
Oh! do not waste it with a fruitless tear!
Tho' griev'd to see thy Silvia's pale disguise,
Suspend thy sorrow, and attentive hear.

So may thy muse with virtuous fame be blest!
So be thy love with mutual love repaid!
So may thy bones in sacred silence rest,
Fast by the reliques of some happier maid!

Thou know'st, how ling'ring on a distant shore
Disease invidious nipt my flow'ry prime;
And oh! what pangs my tender bosom tore,
To think I ne'er must view my native clime!

No friend was near to raise my drooping head;
No dear companion wept to see me die;
Lodge me within my native soil, I said;
There my fond parents honour'd reliques lie.

Tho' now debarr'd of each domestic tear;
Unknown, forgot, I meet the fatal blow;
There many a friend shall grace my woeful bier,
And many a sigh shall rise, and tear shall flow.

I spoke, nor fate forbore his trembling spoil;
Some venal mourner lent his careless aid;
And soon they bore me to my native soil,
Where my fond parents dear remains were laid.

'Twas then the youths, from ev'ry plain and grove,
Adorn'd with mournful verse thy Silvia's bier;
'Twas then the nymphs their votive garlands wove,
And strew'd the fragance of the youthful year.

But why alas! the tender scene display?
Cou'd Damon's foot the pious path decline?
Ah no! 'twas Damon first attun'd his lay,
And sure no sonnet was so dear as thine.

Thus was I bosom'd in the peaceful grave;
My placid ghost no longer wept its doom;
When savage robbers every sanction brave,
And with outrageous guilt defraud the tomb!

Shall my poor corse, from hostile realms convey'd,
Lose the cheap portion of my native sands?
Or, in my kindred's dear embraces laid,
Mourn the vile ravage of barbarian hands?

Say, wou'd thy breast no death-like torture feel,
To see my limbs the felons gripe obey?
To see them gash'd beneath the daring steel?
To crowds a spectre, and to dogs a pray?

If Pæan's sons these horrid rites require,
If health's fair science be by these refin'd,
Let guilty convicts, for their use, expire;
And let their breathless corse avail mankind.

Yet hard it seems, when guilt's last fine is paid,
To see the victim's corse deny'd repose!
Now, more severe! the poor offenceless maid
Dreads the dire outrage of inhuman foes.

Where is the faith of ancient pagans fled?
Where the fond care the wand'ring manes claim?
Nature, instinctive, cries, Protect the dead,
And sacred be their ashes, and their fame:

Arise, dear youth! ev'n now the danger calls;
Ev'n now the villain snuffs his wonted prey;
See! See! I lead thee to yon' sacred walls—
Oh! fly to chase these human wolves away.”

University of Virginia Library

ELEGY XXII. Written in the year --- when the rights of sepulture were so frequently violated.