For happy, happy were the change,
For fuch a God-like mind,
To go where kindred spirits range,
Nor leave a wish behind.
And though, to share his pleasures here,
King's might their state forego: Yet must he feel such raptures there, As none can taste below.
VERSES left on a SEAT, the Hand unknown.
EARTH! to his remains indulgent be,
Who fo much care and coft beftow'd on thee!
Who crown'd thy barren hills with useful shade,
And chear'd wih tinkling rills each filent glade;
Here taught the day to wear a thoughtful gloom,
And there enliven'd Nature's vernal bloom.
Propitious earth! lie lightly on his head,
And ever on his tomb thy vernal glories spread !
CORYDON, A PASTORAL. To the Memory of WILLIAM SHENSTONE, Efq; COME, fhepherds, we 'll follow the hearse,
And fee our lov'd Corydon laid:
Though forrow may blemish the verse,
Yet let the fad tribute be paid.
They call'd him the pride of the plain;
In footh, he was gentle and kind;
He mark'd in his elegant strain,
The Graces that glow'd in his mind.
On purpose he planted yon trees,
That birds in the covert might dwell;
He cultur'd his thyme for the bees,
But never would rifle their cell.
Ye lambkins, that play'd at his feet,
Go bleat—and your master bemoan :
His music was artlefs and fweet,
His manners as mild as your own.
No verdure fhall cover the vale,
No bloom on the bloffoms appear;
The sweets of the foreft fhall fail,
And Winter difcolour the year.
No birds in our hedges shall fing
(Our hedges fo vocal before,)
Since he that should welcome the spring,
Can greet the gay feafon no more.
His Phyllis was fond of his praise,
And poets came round in a throng;
They liften'd, and envy'd his lays,
But which of them equal'd his fong?
Ye thepherds, henceforward be mute,
For loft is the pastoral strain;
So give me my Corydon's flute,
And thus-let me break it in twain.
For happy, happy were the change,
For fuch a God-like mind,
To go where kindred spirits range,
Nor leave a with behind.
And though, to share his pleasures here,
King's might their state forego :
Yet muft he feel fuch raptures there,
As none can tafte below.
VERSES left on a SEAT, the Hand unknown.
EARTH! to his remains indulgent be,
Who fo much care and coft beftow'd on thee!
Who crown'd thy barren hills with useful fhade,
And chear'd wih tinkling rills each filent glade;
Here taught the day to wear a thoughtful gloom,
And there enliven'd Nature's vernal bloom.
Propitious earth! lie lightly on his head,
And ever on his tomb thy vernal glories spread !
CORYDON, A PASTORAL. To the Memory of WILLIAM SHENSTONE, E
OME, fhepherds, we 'll follow the hearfe,
And fee our lov'd Corydon laid:
Though forrow may blemish the verse,
Yet let the fad tribute be paid.
They call'd him the pride of the plain ;
In footh, he was gentle and kind;
He mark'd in his elegant strain,
The Graces that glow'd in his mind.
M. S. GULIELMI SHENSTONE!
Ah! Gulielme,
Hominum digniffime,
Amicorum integerrime,
Indole optimâ,
Moribus gratiffimis,
Eruditione diffusâ,
Ac corde quam maxime benigno
Shalt pass without thy meed, thou fon of peace!
Who knew'ft, perchance, to harmonize thy fhades,
Still fofter than thy fong; yet was that fong
Nor rude, nor inharmonious, when attun'd
To paftoral plaint, or tale of flighted love.
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