ELEGY III. James Hammond Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
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Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
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Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T116245 1137 K093079.004 Pearch, G. A collection of poems in four volumes. By several hands. Vol. IV. [The second edition]. London printed for G. Pearch 1770 pp. 110-113. 4v. ; 8⁰.

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ELEGY III . BY THE SAME . LET others boast their heaps of shining gold , And view their fields with waving plenty crown'd , Whom neighbouring foes in constant terror hold , And trumpets break their slumbers never sound : While calmly poor I trifle life away , Enjoy sweet leisure by my chearful fire , No wanton hope my quiet shall betray , But cheaply blest I'll scorn each vain desire . With timely care I'll sow my little field , And plant my orchard with its master's hand , Nor blush to spread the hay , the hook to wield , Or range my sheaves along the sunny land . If late at dusk , while carelessly I roam , I meet a strolling kid , or bleating lamb , Under my arm I'll bring the wanderer home , And not a little chide its thoughtless dam . What joy to hear the tempest howl in vain , And clasp a fearful mistress to my breast ? Or lull'd to slumber by the beating rain , Secure and happy sink at last to rest ? Or if the sun in flaming Leo ride , By shady rivers indolently stray , And with my Delia , walking side by side , Hear how they murmur , as they glide away . What joy to wind along the cool retreat , To stop and gaze on Delia as I go ? To mingle sweet discourse with kisses sweet , And teach my lovely scholar all I know ? Thus pleas'd at heart , and not with Fancy's dream , In silent happiness I rest unknown ; Content with what I am , not what I seem , I live for Delia , and myself alone . Ah , foolish man ! who thus of her possest , Could float and wander with Ambition's wind , And if his outward trappings spoke him blest , Not heed the sickness of his conscious mind . With her I scorn the idle breath of praise , Nor trust to happiness that's not our own , The smile of Fortune might suspicion raise , But here I know that I am lov'd alone . Stanhope , in wisdom as in wit divine , May rise and plead Britannia's glorious cause , With steady rein his eager wit confine , While manly Sense the deep attention draws : Let Stanhope speak his listening country's wrong , My humble voice shall please one-partial maid ; For her alone I pen my tender song , Securely sitting in his friendly shade . Stanhope shall come , and grace his rural friend , Delia shall wonder at her noble guest , With blushing awe the riper fruit commend , And for her husband's patron cull the best . Hers be the care of all my little train , While I with tender indolence am blest , The favourite subject of her gentle reign , By Love alone distinguish'd from the rest . For her I'll yoke my oxen to the plough , In gloomy forests tend my lonely flock , For her a goat-herd climb the mountain's brow , And sleep extended on the naked rock : Ah ! what avails to press the stately bed , And far from her 'midst tasteless grandeur weep , By marble fountains lay the pensive head , And , while they murmur , strive in vain to sleep ? Delia alone can please , and never tire , Exceed the paint of thought in true delight , With her , enjoyment wakens new desire , And equal rapture glows thro' every night : Beauty and Worth alike in her contend To charm the Fancy , and to fix the mind , In her , my wife , my mistress , and my friend ; I taste the joys of sense and reason join'd . On her I'll gaze , when other loves are o'er , And dying press her with my clay-cold hand — Thou weep'st already , as I were no more , Nor can that gentle breast the thought withstand . O when I die , my latest moments spare , Nor let thy grief with sharper torments kill , Wound not thy cheeks , nor hurt that flowing hair , Tho' I am dead , my soul shall love thee still : O quit the room , O quit the deathful bed , Or thou wilt die , so tender is thy heart , O leave me , Delia , e'er thou see me dead , These weeping friends will do thy mournful part : Let them , extended on the decent bier , Convey the coarse in melancholy state , Thro' all the village spread the tender tear , While pitying maids our wonderous loves relate .