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

In two volumes. With Decorations. The fourth edition

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ELEGY XXV. To Delia, with some flowers; complaining how much his benevolence suffers on account of his humble fortune.
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ELEGY XXV. To Delia, with some flowers; complaining how much his benevolence suffers on account of his humble fortune.

Whate'er could sculpture's curious art employ,
Whate'er the lavish hand of wealth can show'r,
These would I give—and every gift enjoy,
That pleas'd my fair—but fate denies the pow'r.
Blest were my lot to feed the social fires!
To learn the latent wishes of a friend!
To give the boon his native taste admires,
And, for my transport, on his smile depend!
Blest too is he, whose ev'ning ramble strays
Where droop the sons of indigence and care!
His little gifts their gladden'd eyes amaze,
And win, at small expence, their fondest pray'r!
And oh the joy! to shun the conscious light,
To spare the modest blush; to give unseen!
Like show'rs that fall behind the veil of night,
Yet deeply tinge the smiling vales with green.

103

But happiest they, who drooping realms relieve!
Whose virtues in our cultur'd vales appear!
For whose sad fate a thousand shepherds grieve,
And fading fields allow the grief sincere.
To call lost worth from its oppressive shade;
To fix its equal sphere, and see it shine;
To hear it grateful own the gen'rous aid;
This, this is transport—but must ne'er be mine.
Faint is my bounded bliss; nor I refuse
To range where daizies open, rivers roll;
While prose or song the languid hours amuse,
And soothe the fond impatience of my soul.
Awhile I'll weave the roofs of jasmin bow'rs,
And urge with trivial cares the loit'ring year;
Awhile i'll prune my grove, protect my flow'rs,
Then, unlamented, press an early bier!
Of those lov'd flow'rs the lifeless corse may share;
Some hireling hand a fading wreath bestow;
The rest will breathe as sweet, will glow as fair,
As when their master smil'd to see them glow.
The sequent morn shall wake the silvan quire;
The kid again shall wanton ere 'tis noon;
Nature will smile, will wear her best attire;
O! let not gentle Delia smile so soon!

104

While the rude hearse conveys me slow away,
And careless eyes my vulgar fate proclaim,
Let thy kind tear my utmost worth o'rpay;
And, softly sighing, vindicate my fame.—
O Delia! chear'd by thy superior praise,
I bless the silent path the fates decree;
Pleas'd, from the list of my inglorious days,
To raze the moments crown'd with bliss, and thee.