If through the garden's flow'ry tribes I stray, Ye flow'rs! that well reproach a nymph so frail, Now the grave old alarm the gentler young; And all my fame's abhorr'd contagion flee; Trembles each lip, and faulters ev'ry tongue, That bids the morn propitious smile on me. Thus for your sake I shun each human eye: Lest my sad fate should nourish pangs for you. Raise me from earth; the pains of want remove, Be but my friend! I ask no dearer name; Be such the meed of some more artful fair: Nor could it heal my peace, or chase my shame, That pity gave what love refus'd to share. Force not my tongue to ask its scanty bread, Haply, when age has silver'd o'er my hair, She spoke -nor was I born of savage race; Nor could these hands a niggard boon assign; Grateful she clasp'd me in a last embrace, And vow'd to waste her life in pray'rs for mine. I saw her foot the lofty bark ascend; I saw her breast with ev'ry passion heave; I left her, torn from ev'ry earthly friend; O! hard my bosom, which could bear to leave. Brief let me be; the fatal storm arose; The billows rag'd; the pilot's art was vain: And see my youth's impetuous fires decay; THE HERMIT. PARNELL. FAR in a wild unknown to public view, A life so sacred, such serene repose, Swift ruffling circles curl on ev'ry side, |