First line: ‘Where yon bleak mountain lifts its stormy brow’.
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Transcript
Elegy
Where yon bleak mountain lifts its stormy brow
With no gay flowr, no verdant herbage crown’d;
And frowning views the dashing waves below,
And flings a more than midnight horror round;
Oft would Amyntas to the desert steal,
Alone, unheard, to pour his sad complaint,
For such affliction did his bosom feel,
As Fancy’s strongest Colours cannot paint.
Oft would he mark pale Cynthia’s still career,
Or listen to the Screech-Owl’s midnight cry;
To night’s most mournful language lend his Ear,
On night’s most mournful objects fix his Eye.
Whe[n]e’er the Bell proclaim’d some shepherd dead,
Startling the ear of night with sudden sound,
“For me why tolls not now the Bell?” he said,
“For me why yawns not the funereal Ground?
Must I for ever life’s hard bondage bear,
Must I for ever stem Misfortune’s wave,
For ever drop Affliction’s bitter tear,
Denied the last sad refuge of a Grave?
In vain the youthful beauties of the Spring
Bloom in each flow’r, and bud on ev’ry tree;
In vain the Birds their sweetest Cariols sing,
Their sweetest Cariols, what are they to me?
While Delia liv’d, the blackest Sky seem’d fair;
Each storm was milder than the Zephyr’s breath;
She died!;—the softest gale that fans the air,
Now blows with keenest rage the blast of Death.
While Delia liv’d, how jocund pass’d the day;!
How sweet the fragrance of yon vernal Grove!
There as we fondly smil’d the Hours away,
Each thought was rapture, & each look was Love.
Her face adorn’d with every charm of youth,
Deriv’d no beauties from the hand of Art,
Her Tongue, obedient to the voice of truth
Spoke the untainted Language of the Heart.
O! ask each stream, near whose luxur[i]ant Side
On the soft turf reclin’d the Damsel sung,
O! ask each conscious Echo that replied,
And spread the warbled Music of her Tongue;
Were not her songs, my Delia’s Songs more sweet,
Than the pure morn’s most Aromatick breath?
Or when the Cygnet at the Call of fate,
With its smooth songs soothes the last Pang of Death.?
How sweet was praise by Delia’s Eyes bestow’d,?
(For ever could I dwell on Delia’s name)
What ardent transports in my Bosom glow’d,
For me when Delia own’d a mutual flame?
At yonder Shrine the nuptial knot was tied,
The Nuptial lay was sung in yonder bower;
And every Shepherd haild my blushing bride,
And praised those sweet perfections—now no more.
That breast is now inanimate, and cold,
That breast, which late with every virtue glowd;
Those fair limbs form’d in nature’s sweetest mould,
Are now infolded in the Sable Shroud!
Awhile the gayest scenes did fortune shew,
(Oh! fortune! fickle as he changeful wind!)
Then snatched the glittering Landscape,
And left a barren, trackless waste behind!
The Sun, which made the glittering Landscape bright,
And usher’d in with with† Smiles each chearful Morn,
Is now involved in universal night,
And lost in shadows, never to return!
I saw, (and do I live the tale to speak)?
Saw death oercloud the lustre of her Eye,
I saw him crop the roses of her cheek,
I hear’d her last groan, and yet forbore to die!
Oft have I wished to end this hated life,
And in the grave lay all my sorrow low;
Despair has often aim’d the lifted knife,
And Stern Religion oft witheld† the Blow.
Fly swift ye Lightnings, blast this wretched head,
No longer now the stroke of fate Delay;
And you, ye shepherds, mourn Amyntas dead;
And to his Delia’s tomb the Course convey.!
Thus on Earthes† lap, reclin’d the Swain forlorn,
Till Morning rose, and shew’d the beam of light,
Then quick returning from the ray of Morn,
Again he waited the return of night.
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There are no distinct spaces between some of the quatrains in the manuscript.
