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SONNET (BY Mr. GRAY)

ON THE

DEATH OF MR. RICHARD WEST.

IN vain to me the smiling mornings shine,
And reddening Phebus lifts his golden fire ;
The birds in vain their amorous descant join ;
Or chearful fields resume their

attire.
These ears, alas ! for other notes repine,
A different object do these eyes require ;
My lonely anguish melts no heart but mine,
And in my breast th' imperfect joys expire.
Yet morning smiles the busy race to chear,
And new-born pleasure brings to happier men ;
The fields to all their wonted tribute bear;
To warm their little loves the birds complain :
I fruitless mourn to him who cannot hear,
And weep the more because I weep in vain.

green

DELIA

GRAMINEUMądtumulum,quo Delia pulchra quiescit,

Agrestes juvenes, virgineique chori,
Prima ferent prati florentis munera, et omnem

Abrepto spargent veris honore locum.

Hic querula audebunt haud unquam spectra videri,

Quæ planctu vexent hocce nemus placidum ; At pastorem aderit congressa juventus, amorem

At non celabit candida virgo suum.

Nunquam hic cernetur rugosa venefica, nunquam

Nocturni Lemures agmina sæva ferent;
Sed bella vallem Dryades viridem celebrabunt,

Et rore ornabunt mane tuum tumulum.

Sæpe rubecula, vespertino lumine, amice

Exiguum huc volitans afferet auxilium ; Et cano musco, et collecto munere florum,

Ornabit gremium te retinentis humi.

DIRGE IN CYMBELINE,

BY MR COLLINS.

To fair Fidele’s grassy tomb

Soft maids and village hinds shall bring Each opening sweet of earliest bloom,

And rifle all the breathing spring:

No wailing ghosts shall dare appear,

To vex with shrieks this quiet grove ; But shepherd-lads assemble here,

And melting virgins own their love.

No wither'd witch shall here be seen,

No goblins lead their nightly crew ; But female fays shall haunt the green,

And deck thy grave with early dew.

The red-breast oft, at evening hours,

Shall kindly lend his little aid,
With hoary moss and gather'd flowers

To deck the ground where thou art laid.

Quando ululantes venti, atque ingeminans furit imber,

Silvestrem et quassat sæva procella casam ; Aut cursu in medio, campi quacunque patescant,

Te repetet memori pectore mæstus amor.

Te reddet cuicunque loco sit mæsta venustas,

Debita te nunquam destituet lacryma ; Donec et ingratum fiat mihi vivere, amandam,

Et deplorandam, dum Dolor intereat.

When howling winds and beating rain

In tempest shake the sylvan cell, Or midst the chace, on every plain,

The tender thought on thee shall dwell.

Each tender scene shall thee restore,

For thee the tear be duly shed, Beloved till life can charm no more,

And mourn till Pity's self be dead.

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