ELEGY
TO
A
YOUNG
NOBLEMAN
Lord
J—
C—
.
LEAVING
THE
UNIVERSITY
.
MDCCLIII
.
BY
THE
SAME
.
EER
yet
,
ingenuous
youth
,
thy
steps
retire
From
Cam's
smooth
margin
,
and
the
peaceful
vale
,
Where
Science
call'd
thee
to
her
studious
quire
,
And
met
thee
musing
in
her
cloysters
pale
;
O
!
let
thy
friend
(
and
may
he
boast
the
name
)
Breathe
from
his
artless
reed
one
parting
lay
;
A
lay
like
this
thy
early
Virtues
claim
,
And
this
let
voluntary
Friendship
pay
.
Yet
know
,
the
time
arrives
,
the
dangerous
time
,
When
all
those
Virtues
,
opening
now
so
fair
,
Transplanted
to
the
world's
tempestuous
clime
,
Must
learn
each
passion's
boisterous
breath
to
bear
,
There
,
if
Ambition
pestilent
and
pale
,
Or
Luxury
should
taint
their
vernal
glow
;
If
cold
Self-interest
,
with
her
chilling
gale
,
Should
blast
th'
unfolding
blossoms
e'er
they
blow
;
If
mimic
hues
,
by
Art
,
or
Fashion
spread
,
Their
genuine
,
simple
colouring
should
supply
,
O
!
with
them
may
these
laureate
honours
fade
;
And
with
them
(
if
it
can
)
my
friendship
die
.
Then
do
not
blame
,
if
,
tho'
thyself
inspire
,
Cautious
I
strike
the
panegyric
string
;
The
muse
full
oft
pursues
a
meteor
fire
,
And
,
vainly
ventrous
,
soars
on
waxen
wing
.
Too
actively
awake
at
Friendship's
voice
,
The
poet's
bosom
pours
the
servent
strain
,
Till
sad
Reflection
blames
the
hasty
choice
,
And
oft
invokes
Oblivion's
aid
in
vain
.
Call
we
the
shade
of
Pope
,
from
that
blest
bower
Where
thron'd
he
sits
with
many
a
tuneful
Sage
;
Ask
,
if
he
ne'er
bemoans
that
hapless
hour
When
St.
John's
name
Alluding
to
this
couplet
of
Mr.
Pope's
,
To
Cato
,
Virgil
paid
one
honest
line
,
O
let
my
country's
friends
illumine
mine
.
illumin'd
Glory's
page
?
Ask
,
if
the
wretch
,
who
dar'd
his
memory
stain
,
Ask
,
if
his
country's
,
his
religion's
foe
,
Deserv'd
the
meed
that
Marlbro'
fail'd
to
gain
,
The
deathless
meed
,
he
only
could
bestow
?
The
bard
will
tell
thee
,
the
misguided
praise
Clouds
the
celestial
sunshine
of
his
breast
;
Ev'n
now
,
repentant
of
his
erring
lays
,
He
heaves
a
sigh
amid
the
realms
of
rest
.
If
Pope
thro'
friendship
fail'd
,
indignant
view
,
Yet
pity
Dryden
;
hark
,
whene'er
he
sings
,
How
Adulation
drops
her
courtly
dew
On
titled
Rhymers
,
and
inglorious
Kings
.
See
,
from
the
depths
of
his
exhaustless
mine
,
His
glittering
stores
the
tuneful
spendthrift
throws
;
Where
Fear
,
or
Interest
bids
,
behold
they
shine
;
Now
grace
a
Cromwell's
,
now
a
Charles's
brows
.
Born
with
too
generous
,
or
too
mean
a
heart
,
Dryden
!
in
vain
to
thee
those
stores
were
lent
:
Thy
sweetest
numbers
but
a
trifling
art
;
Thy
strongest
diction
idly
eloquent
.
The
simplest
Lyre
,
if
Truth
directs
its
lays
,
Warbles
a
melody
ne'er
heard
from
thine
:
Not
to
disgust
with
false
,
or
venal
praise
,
Was
Parnell's
modest
fame
,
and
may
be
mine
.
Go
then
,
my
friend
,
nor
let
thy
candid
breast
Condemn
me
,
if
I
check
the
plausive
string
;
Go
to
the
wayward
world
;
complete
the
rest
;
Be
,
what
the
purest
muse
would
wish
to
sing
.
Be
still
thyself
;
that
open
path
of
truth
,
Which
led
thee
here
,
let
Manhood
firm
pursue
;
Retain
the
sweet
simplicity
of
Youth
,
And
all
thy
virtue
dictates
,
dare
to
do
.
Still
scorn
,
with
conscious
pride
,
the
mask
of
Art
;
On
Vice's
front
let
fearful
Caution
lour
,
And
teach
the
diffident
,
discreeter
part
Of
knaves
that
plot
,
and
fools
that
fawn
for
power
.
So
,
round
thy
brow
when
age's
honours
spread
,
When
Death's
cold
hand
unstrings
thy
Mason's
lyre
,
When
the
green
turf
lies
lightly
on
his
head
,
Thy
worth
shall
some
superior
bard
inspire
:
He
,
to
the
amplest
bounds
of
time's
domain
,
On
rapture's
plume
shall
give
thy
name
to
fly
;
For
trust
,
with
reverence
trust
this
Sabine
strain
!
"
The
muse
forbids
the
virtuous
man
to
die
.
"