ELEGY
I.
WHILE
calm
you
sit
beneath
your
secret
shade
,
And
lose
in
pleasing
thought
the
summer-day
,
Or
tempt
the
wish
of
some
unpractis'd
maid
,
Whose
heart
at
once
inclines
and
fears
to
stray
:
The
sprightly
vigour
of
my
youth
is
fled
,
Lonely
and
sick
on
Death
is
all
my
thought
,
O
spare
,
Persephone
The
Goddess
of
Death
.
,
this
guiltless
head
,
Love
,
too
much
Love
,
is
all
thy
suppliant's
fault
.
No
virgin's
easy
faith
I
e'er
betray'd
,
My
tongue
ne'er
boasted
of
a
feign'd
embrace
,
No
poisons
in
the
cup
have
I
convey'd
,
Nor
veil'd
destruction
with
a
friendly
face
:
No
secret
horrors
gnaw
this
quiet
breast
,
This
pious
hand
ne'er
robb'd
the
sacred
fane
,
I
ne'er
disturb'd
the
Gods
eternal
rest
With
curses
loud
,
—
but
oft
have
pray'd
in
vain
.
No
stealth
of
Time
has
thinn'd
my
flowing
hair
,
Nor
Age
yet
bent
me
with
his
iron
hand
;
Ah
!
why
so
soon
the
tender
blossom
tear
?
E'er
Autumn
yet
the
ripen'd
fruit
demand
.
Ye
Gods
,
whoe'er
,
in
gloomy
shades
below
,
Now
slowly
tread
your
melancholy
round
,
Now
wandering
view
the
paleful
rivers
flow
,
And
musing
hearken
to
their
solemn
sound
:
O
let
me
still
enjoy
the
chearful
day
,
Till
many
years
unheeded
o'er
me
roll'd
,
Pleas'd
in
my
age
I
trifle
life
away
,
And
tell
how
much
we
lov'd
,
e'er
I
grew
old
.
But
you
,
who
now
with
festive
garlands
crown'd
In
chace
of
Pleasure
the
gay
moments
spend
,
By
quick
enjoyment
heal
Love's
pleasing
wound
,
And
grieve
for
nothing
but
your
absent
Friend
.