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Adieu, ye lays, that Fancy's flowers adorn,
The soft amusement of the vacant mind !
He sleeps in dust, and all the Muses mourn,
He, whom each virtue fired, each glance refined,
Friend, teacher, pattern, darling of mankind !*
He sleeps in dust. Ah, how should I pursue
My theme! To heart-consuming grief resign'd

Here on his recent grave I fix my view,
And pour my bitter tears. Ye flowery lays, adieu !


Art thou, my GREGORY, for ever fled ?
And am I left to unavailing wo?
When fortune's storms assail this weary head,
Where cares long since have shed untimely snow,
Ah, now for comfort whither shall I

go o?
No more thy soothing voice my anguish chears :
Thy placid eyes with smiles no longer glow,

My hopes to cherish, and allay my fears. "Tis meet that I should mourn: flow forth afresh my tears.

* This excellent person died suddenly, on the 10th of February, 1773. The conclusion of the poem was written a few days after

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When in the crimson cloud of Even
The lingering light decays,
And Hesper on the front of heaven
His glittering gem displays;
Deep in the silent vale, unseen,
Beside a lulling stream,
A pensive Youth, of placid mien.
Indulged this tender theme.

Ye cliffs in hoary grandeur piled
High o'er the glimmering dale;
Ye woods, along whose windings wild
Murmurs the solemn gale ;


Where Melancholy strays forlorn,
And Wo retires to weep,
What time the wan moon's yellow horn,
Gleams on the western deep:

To you, ye wastes, whose artless charms
Ne'er drew Ambition's eye,
Scaped a tumultuous world's alarms,
To your retreats I fly.
Deep in your most sequester'd bower
Let me at last recline,
Where Solitude, mild, modest Power,
Leans on her ivy'd shrine.

How shall I woo thee, matchless Fair!
Thy heavenly smile how win!
Thy smile that smooths the brow of Care,
And stills the storm within.
O wilt thou to thy favourite grove
Thine ardent votary bring,
And bless his hours, and bid them move
Serene, on silent wing!

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