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119

« Another came ; nor yet beside the rill,
64 Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood, was he:

“ The next, with dirges due, in fad array, “ Šlow thro' the churchway-path we saw him borne: “ Approach, and read (for thou canst read) the lay “ Grav'd on the stone beneath yon' aged thorn.”S

120

THE EPITAPH.
HERE rests his head upon the lap of Earth,

A youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown:
Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth,
And Melancholy mark'd him for her own.

Large was his bounty, and his foul sincere ; Heav'n did a recompense as largely send: gave to mis’ry all he had, a tear ;

123 He gain’d from Heav'n ('twas all he wilh'd) a friend.

No further seek his merits to disclose,
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode,
(There they alike in trembling hope repose“)
The bofom of his father and his God.

128

He

Him have we seen the greenwood fide along,
While o'er the heath we hy'd, our labour done,
Oft' as the woodlark pip'd her farewel song,
With wistful eyes pursue the setting sun.

$ In the early editions the following lines were added, but the parenthesis was thought too long:

There scatter'd oft', the earliest of the year,
By hands unfeen, are show'rs of vi'lets found;
The redbreast loves to build and warble there,
And little footsteps lightly print the ground.

Paventosa fpeme. Petrarch, SC :14.

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EPITAPH

ON MRS. MARY CLARKE.
Lo! where this filent marble weeps;

A friend, a wife, a mother, fieeps ;
A heart, within whose facred cell,
The peaceful Virtues lov'd to dwell:
Affection warm, and faith fincere,
And soft humanity were there.
In agony, in death, resign’d,
She felt the wound the left behind.
Her infant image here below
Sits smiling on a father's wo,
Whom what awaits while yet he ftrays
Along the lonely vale of days?
A pang, to secret sorrow dear,
A figh, an unavailing tear,
Till time shall ev'ry grief remove
With life, with mem'ry, and with love.

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TRANSLATION FROM STATIUS.
THI
HIRD in the labours of the disc came on,

With sturdy step and now, Hippomedon ;
Artful and strong he pois’d the well-known weight,
By Phlegyas warn'd, and fir'd by Mnestheus' fate,
That to avoid and this to emulate.
His vig'rous arm he try'd before he flung,
Brac'd all his nerves and ev'ry finew strung,

+ This lady, the wife of Dr. Clarke, physician at Epsom, died April 27th, 1757, and is buried in the church of Beckenham, Kent.

10

Then with a tempeft's whirl and wary eye
Pursu'd his cast, and hurl'd the orb on high ;
The orb on high, tenacious of it's course,
True to the mighty arm that gave it force,
Far overleaps all bound, and joys to see
It's ancient lord secure of victory :
The theatre's green height and woody wall
Tremble ere it precipitates it's fall;

IS
The pond'rous mass finks in the cleaving ground,
While vales and woods and echoing hills rebound.
As when from Ætna's smoking summit broke,
The eyeless Cyclops heav'd the craggy rock,
Where Ocean frets beneath the dashing oar,
And parting furges round the vessel roar;
'Twas there he aim'd the meditated harm,
And scarce Ulysses 'scap'd his giant arma
A tiger's pride the victor bore away,
With native spots and artful labour gay,

25 A shining border round the margin rollid, And calm’d the terrors of his claws in gold. 27

Cambridge, May 8tb, 1736.

20

GRAY OF HIMSELF. Too poor for a bribe, and too proud to importune,

He had not the method of making a fortune; Could love and could hate, so was thought something No very great wit, he believ'd in a God:

(odd; A poft or a pension he did not desire, But left church and state to Charles Townsend and Squire.

FINIS.

POETICAL WORKS

OF

JAMES HAMMOND, Esq.

CONTAINING HIS

LOVE ELEGIES.

their fighs ;

***@WHIT Though weeping virgins haunt bis favour'd urn,

Renew their chaplets, and repeat Though near his tomb Sabean odours burn,

The loitering fragrance, will it reach the skies?
No, poould bis Delia votive wreaths prepare,

Delia might place the votive wreaths in vain :
Yet the dear kope of Delia's future care,
Once crown'd his pleasures, and dispelld bis pain.

SHENSTONE, ELEG. II.

GLASGOW:
Printed by B. Chapmatt, for
Richard Scott, Bookseller,

AND SOLD BY ALL THE BOOKSELLERS IN

GREAT BRITAIN

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