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
.