On the Death of a justly admir'd AUTHOR. Mary Leapor Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T127827 p. 413 K101776.000 Leapor, Mrs. (Mary), 1722-1746. Poems upon several occasions: By Mrs. Leapor of Brackley in Northamptonshire. London printed: and sold by J. Roberts 1748 pp. 252-254. 15,[5],282p. ; 8⁰.

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On the Death of a justly admir'd AUTHOR . WHEN pale-ey'd Winter rules the mourning Fields , And shiv'ring Nature to his Sceptre yields , Dejected Earth is strip'd of all her Pride , And sculking Flowers in her Bosom hide ; Through naked Groves afflicted Warblers fly , And Storms of Hail come rattling through the Sky : But when soft April lifts her downy Wing , And calls the blushing Infants of the Spring , The verdant Groves their wonted Charms regain , And laughing Nature paints the gaudy Plain ; Sweet-scented Vi'lets take their usual Blue , And the fair Primrose drinks the Morning Dew ; Again revive their Beauty and their Smell , But Man once blasted takes a long Farewel . Ah silly Muse ! thy fond Complaints give o'er , Departed Sylvius shall return no more : No Charms of Verse can win the heav'nly Mind , Back to the slighted Case she left behind ; Not tho' each Line shou'd make our Bosoms glow , Like his grand Numbers , and as sweetly flow . His Name shall last to warm a distant Age , Nor want th' Assistance of a Title-page ; For his bright Lines are by their Lustre known , Ev'n Homer shines with Beauties not his own : Unpolish'd Souls , like Codrus or like mine , Fill'd with Ideas that but dimly shine , Read o'er the Charms of his instructive Pen , And taste of Raptures never known till then . Ill-nature listen'd , and approv'd the Song ; And blushing Envy check'd her burning Tongue : Happy are those , tho' Grief their Hours attend , Whom once he honour'd with the Name of Friend ; Whose pleasing Thoughts at least may ponder o'er The smiling Days , that shall return no more : Ev'n we condemn'd at distance to admire , Bewail the Hopes that with our Guide expire : Ah ! who shall now our rustick Thoughts refine , And to grave Sense and solid Learning join Wit ever sparkling , and the Sweets of Rhyme ? Farewel , ye Themes , which none but he can sing , And sylvan Scenes that wear eternal Spring ; Fair Nymphs , that in his fairer Paintings glow , And ye smooth Lines that Sylvius taught to flow : But hush , sad Muse , thy dull Complaint give o'er : Hence sigh in secret , and his Loss deplore , Who ne'er , O ne'er , shall grace our Regious more .