ELEGY V. To a FRIEND Sick. Written at Rome, 1756. William Whitehead Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
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Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T131163 K104099.006 Dodsley, Robert, 1703-1764. A Collection of Poems in Six Volumes. By Several Hands. Vol. VI. London printed by J. Hughs, for R. and J. Dodsley 1763 [1st ed. 1758] pp. 54-56. 6v.: music; 8⁰.

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ELEGY V. To a FRIEND Sick . Written at Rome , 1756. 'TWAS in this The Insula Tiberina , where there are still some small remains of the famous temple of Aesculapius . isle , O Wright indulge my lay , Whose naval form divides the Tuscan flood , In the bright dawn of her illustrious day Rome fix'd her Temple to the healing God . Here stood his altars , here his arm he bared , And round his mystic staff the serpent twin'd , Through crowded portals hymns of praise were heard , And victims bled , and sacred seers divin'd . On every breathing wall , on every round Of column , swelling with proportion'd grace , Its stated seat some votive tablet found , And storied wonders dignified the place . Oft from the balmy blessings of repose , And the cool stillness of the night's deep shade , To light and health th' exulting Votarist rose , Whilst fancy work'd with med'cine's powerful aid . Oft in his dreams ( no longer clogg'd with fears Of some broad torrent , or some headlong steep , With each dire form Imagination wears When harrass'd Nature sinks in turbid sleep ) Oft in his dreams he saw diffusive day Through bursting glooms its cheerful beams extend ; On billowy clouds saw sportive Genii play , And bright Hygeia from her heaven descend . What marvel then , that man's o'erflowing mind Should wreath-bound columns raise , and altars fair , And grateful offerings pay , to Powers so kind , Tho' fancy-form'd , and creatures of the Air . Who that has writh'd beneath the scourge of pain , Or felt the burthen'd languor of disease , But would with joy the slightest respite gain , And idolize the hand which lent him ease ? To Thee , my friend , unwillingly to thee For truths like these the anxious Muse appeals . Can Memory answer from affliction free , Or speaks the sufferer what , I fear , he feels ? No , let me hope ere this in Romely grove Hygeia revels with the blooming Spring , Ere this the vocal seats the Muses love With hymns of praise , like Paeon's temple , ring . It was not written in the book of Fate That , wand'ring far from Albion's sea-girt plain , Thy distant Friend should mourn thy shorter date , And tell to alien woods and streams his pain . It was not written . Many a year shall roll , If aught th' inspiring Muse aright presage , Of blameless intercourse from Soul to Soul , And friendship well matur'd from Youth to Age .