Elegy I. He arrives at his retirement in the country, and takes occasion to expatiate in praise of simplicity. To a Friend

FOR rural virtues, and for native skies,
I bade Augusta's venal sons farewell;
Now 'mid the trees I see my smoke arise,
Now hear the fountains bubbling round my cell.

O may that Genius which secures my rest
Preserve this villa for a friend that's dear!
Ne'er may my vintage glad the sordid breast,
N'er tinge the lip that dares be unsincere!

Far from these paths, ye faithless Friends! depart;
Fly my plain board, abhor my hostile name!
Hence, the saint verse that flows not from the heart,
But mourns in labour'd strains, the price of fame!

O lov'd Simplicity! be thine the prize!
Assiduous Art correct her page in vain!
His be the palm who, guiltless of disguise,
Contemns the pow'r the dull resourse to feign!

Still may the mourner, lavish of his tears,
For lucre's venal meed invite my scorn!
Still may the bard, dissembling doubts and tears,
For praise, for flatt'ry sighing, sigh forlorn!

Soft as the line of love-sick Hammond flows,
'Twas his fond heart effus'd the melting theme;
Ah! never could Aonia's hill disclose
So fair a fountain or so lov'd a stream.

Ye loveless Bards! intent with artful pains
To form a sigh, or to contrive a tear!
Forego your Pindus, and on — plains
Survey Camilla's charms, and grow sincere.

But thou, my Friend! while in thy youthful soul
Love's gentle tyrant seats his awful throne,
Write from thy bosom—let not Art control
The ready pen that makes his edicts known.

Pleasing when youth is long expir'd, to trace
The forms our pencil or our pen design'd!
" Such was our youthful air, and shape, and face!
" Such the soft image of our youthful mind!"

Soft whilst we sleep beneath the rural bow'rs,
The Loves and Graces steal unseen away,
And where the turf diffus'd its pomp of flow'rs,
We wake to wintry scenes of chill decay!

Curse the sad fortune that detains thy fair;
Praise the soft hours that gave thee to her arms;
Paint thy proud scorn of ev'ry vulgar care,
When hope exalts thee, or when doubt alarms.

Where with Oenone thou hast worn the day,
Near font or stream, in meditation, rove;
If in the grove Oenone lov'd to stray,
The faithful Muse shall meet thee in the grove.