While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves, Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air, Affrights thy shrinking train, And rudely rends thy robes: So long, regardful of thy quiet rule, Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, rose-lipp’d Health Thy gentlest influence own, And hymn thy favourite name! _460._ _Fidele_ To fair Fidele’s grassy tomb Soft maids and village hinds shall bring Each opening sweet of earliest bloom, And rifle all the breathing Spring. No wailing ghost shall dare appear To vex with shrieks this quiet grove; But shepherd lads assemble here, And melting virgins own their love. No wither’d witch shall here be seen, No goblins lead their nightly crew; The female fays shall haunt the green, And dress thy grave with pearly dew. The redbreast oft at evening hours Shall kindly lend his little aid, With hoary moss, and gather’d flowers, To deck the ground where thou art laid. When howling winds, and beating rain, In tempests shake thy sylvan cell; Or ’midst the chase, on every plain, The tender thought on thee shall dwell; Each lonely scene shall thee restore, For thee the tear be duly shed; Beloved, till life can charm no more; And mourn’d, till Pity’s self be dead. MARK AKENSIDE 1721-1770 _461._ _Amoret_ If rightly tuneful bards decide, If it be fix’d in Love’s decrees, That Beauty ought not to be tried But by its native power to please, Then tell me, youths and lovers, tell-- What fair can Amoret excel? Behold that bright unsullied smile, And wisdom speaking in her mien: Yet--she so artless all the while, So little studious to be seen-- We naught but instant gladness know, Nor think to whom the gift we owe. But neither music, nor the powers Of youth and mirth and frolic cheer, Add half the sunshine to the hours, Or make life’s prospect half so clear, As memory brings it to the eye From scenes where Amoret was by. This, sure, is Beauty’s happiest part; This gives the most unbounded sway; This shall enchant the subject heart When rose and lily fade away; And she be still, in spite of Time, Sweet Amoret in all her prime. _462._ _The Complaint_ Away! away! Tempt me no more, insidious Love: Thy soothing sway Long did my youthful bosom prove: At length thy treason is discerned, At length some dear-bought caution earn’d: Away! nor hope my riper age to move. I know, I see Her merit. Needs it now be shown, Alas! to me? How often, to myself unknown, The graceful, gentle, virtuous maid Have I admired! How often said-- What joy to call a heart like hers one’s own!