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

Ask not the cause, why this rebellious tongue,
Loads with fresh curses thy detested sway!
Ask not, thus branded in my softest song,
Why stands the flatter'd name, which all obey?

'Tis not, that in my shed I lurk forlorn,
Nor see my roof on Parian columns rise;
That, on this breast, no mimic star is borne,
Rever'd, ah! more than those that light the skies.

'Tis not, that on the turf supinely laid,
I sing or pipe, but to the flocks that graze;
And, all inglorious, in the lonesome shade,
My finger stiffens, and my voice decays.

Not, that my fancy mourns thy stern command,
When many an embrio dome is lost in air;
While guardian prudence checks my eager hand,
And, ere the turf is broken, cries, “Forbear.

“Forbear, vain youth! be cautious, weigh thy gold;
“Nor let yon rising column more aspire;
“Ah! better dwell in ruins, than behold
“Thy fortunes mould'ring, and thy domes entire.

“Honorio built, but dar'd my laws defy;
“He planted, scornful of my sage commands;
“The peach's vernal bud regal'd his eye;
“The fruitage ripen'd for more frugal hands.”

See the small stream that pours its murm'ring tide
O'er some rough rock that wou'd its wealth display,
Displays it aught but penury and pride?
Ah! construe wisely what such murmurs say.

How wou'd some flood, with ampler treasures blest,
Disdainful view the scantling drops distil!
How must Velino shake his reedy crest!
How ev'ry cygnet mock the boastive rill!

Fortune, I yield! and see, I give the sign;
At noon the poor mechanic wanders home;
Collects the square, the level, and the line,
And, with retorted eye, forsakes the dome.

Yes, I can patient view the shadeless plains;
Can unrepining leave the rising wall:
Check the fond love of art that fir'd my veins,
And my warm hopes, in full pursuit, recall.

Descend, ye storms! destroy my rising pile;
Loos'd be the whirlwind's unremitting sway;
Contented I, altho' the gazer smile
To see it scarce survive a winter's day.

Let some dull dotard bask in thy gay shrine,
As in the sun regales his wanton herd;
Guiltless of envy, why shou'd I repine,
That his rude voice, his grating reed's prefer'd?

Let him exult, with boundless wealth supply'd,
Mine and the swain's reluctant homage share;
But ah! his tawdry shepherdess's pride,
Gods! must my Delia, must my Delia bear?

Must Delia's softness, elegance, and ease
Submit to Marian's dress? to Marian's gold?
Must Marian's robe from distant India please?
The simple fleece my Delia's limbs enfold?

“Yet sure on Delia seems the russet fair;
“Ye glitt'ring daughters of disguise adieu!”
So talk the wise, who judge of shape and air,
But will the rural thane decide so true?

Ah! what is native worth esteem'd of clowns?
'Tis thy false glare, O fortune! thine they see:
'Tis for my Delia's sake I dread thy frowns,
And my last gasp shall curses breathe on thee.

A river in Italy, that falls an hundred yards perpendicular.

University of Virginia Library

ELEGY X. To fortune, suggesting his motive for repining at her dispensations.