Thy much-lov'd image, whose all-soothing smile 1796. AN ELEGY To the Memory of a Friend: written a Year after his Death. BY RICHARD FENTON, ESQ. Cui pudor et justitiæ soror Incorrupta fides, nudaque veritas, Quando ullum invenient param.—HOR. Ar midnight hour, why gleams with sullen sweep To scare me from the soft embrace of sleep, Com'st thou severe my tardiness to chide, With stern reproach for many a trifling song? Methinks I hear thee say, "If thou hadst dy'd, "I had not left thee thus unwept so long!" Forgive, dear shade, if twelve long moons are fled While lighter sorrow prompts th' impassion'd strain, The flower, that drown'd would die beneath the rain, And how could I insult thee with a lyre, Whose strings had not forgotten yet the lays Which love and youth united to inspire, When health and pleasure frolick'd through our days: By many an agonizing groan betray'd, By many a suffocated sigh confest (Thy rites not unremember'd, tho' unpaid,) Thy memory long was buried in my breast. But now my breast gives up its dead to rise, As thy own dust when summon'd to the skies, Pain's recent sting, beyond endurance keen, Then, Recollection, all the scene recall, And bid each kind endearment to return Which link'd our hearts, for I can bear them all, In grief ecstatic whilst I clasp thy urn. Recall the music of the early horn, The tale well-form'd our wanderings to deceive, When rosy exercise awak'd the morn, Or social converse led us out at eve. The spot revisit where our youth was spent, To share those pleasures had thy life been spar'd. There in each hill, each valley, and each tree, By which our friendship to perfection grew. Their shadowy arms where yon twin-beeches throw, Oft hast thou caught thy favourite HOMER's rage, As oft exchang'd it for the temperate glow, The milder rapture of the MANTUAN sage. There, fir'd by thee, I first essay'd to sing, My earliest strain is dated from that shade, Oft have we plann'd the pine's umbrageous rows, The future shelter of the Dryad train. In ooze obscure, where yonder Naïd sleeps, Twin'd like our hearts, where yonder boughs unite, A shade devoted to the pure delight Of noblest friendship, and the chastest love It falls for ah! what hand will now supply Hills, vales, and groves! ye but retain a name; Or did they borrow all their charms from thee? 'Twas not that other vales were not so fair; "Twas not that other streams less clear were found; "Twas not that richer sweets perfum'd the air; Thy presence only, made it fairy ground. Friendship like thine to ZEMBLA's waste of snow Yet was it here, of such excelling price, Thy young affections from the world were wean'd f Here still some inspiration may remain, And every object yet enough retain, To keep thy fair example still awake. Each wonted scene then constant I'll frequent, In heavenly visions whispering to my mind. The stinted portion of the world's renown, By trust in heaven each anxious wish compos'd, Teach me to smile away my life like thee. What tho' thy genius led thee to admire The silent joys which charm the good and wise, Yet not austere, nor of the cynic band, Thine was the feast of soul, from crowds apart; Far as thy fortunes stretch'd thy bounteous hand, Wide as the' extended world thy ample heart. The flower, Spring's daughter, fed with Heaven's best dews, And wooed by Zephyrs which unfold her dyes; Thus far from man's worn path her perfume strews, Thus breathes her secret incense to the skies. What tho', my friend, unhonour'd be thy tomb, Yes, while maturing from their second birth, |