AN
E L E G Y
WRITTEN AMONG THE
RUINS OF AN ABBEY.
By the AUTHOR of the NUN.
LONDON:
Printed for J. Dodsley, in Pall-Mall.
MDCCLXV.
[Price Six Pence.]
AN
E L E G Y.
WHERE sighs the Zephyr to yon lonely Tree,
A solemn Grove its leafy Mantle spread:
Where bend yon mould’ring Turrets o’er the Sea,
A venerable Dome once rear’d its Head.
A solemn Grove its leafy Mantle spread:
Where bend yon mould’ring Turrets o’er the Sea,
A venerable Dome once rear’d its Head.
The solemn Grove, the venerable Dome,
Were erst frequented by a num’rous Train,
Ev’n chaste as they who Dian’s Mountain roam,
But not subjected to her gentle Reign:{4}
Were erst frequented by a num’rous Train,
Ev’n chaste as they who Dian’s Mountain roam,
But not subjected to her gentle Reign:{4}
Far other Goddess did this Train obey,
Far other Temples, other Altars rais’d,
Far other Meaning breath’d their Choral Lay,
Far other Incense on their Altars blaz’d:
Far other Temples, other Altars rais’d,
Far other Meaning breath’d their Choral Lay,
Far other Incense on their Altars blaz’d:
Veil’d Superstition wak’d her magic Sound,
Bad Albion’s Sons forsake the splendid Court,
Forsake Amusement’s variegated Round,
And to her sable Standard here resort:
Bad Albion’s Sons forsake the splendid Court,
Forsake Amusement’s variegated Round,
And to her sable Standard here resort:
Alas! obsequious to her stern Command,
A sullen-pensive Brotherhood they came,
Refus’d to trace the Paths by Nature plan’d,
And raz’d from Glory’s Page their ancient Name.{5}
A sullen-pensive Brotherhood they came,
Refus’d to trace the Paths by Nature plan’d,
And raz’d from Glory’s Page their ancient Name.{5}
Nor these alone were found incloister’d here,
Here also dwelt the simple-minded Swain,
Who wrapt in Sloth dream’d out the lazy Year,
‘While Industry sat weeping on the Plain.’
Here also dwelt the simple-minded Swain,
Who wrapt in Sloth dream’d out the lazy Year,
‘While Industry sat weeping on the Plain.’
The many Temples rising fair to view,
Which tow’ring Superstition call’d her own,
With Hand unerring radiant Truth o’erthrew,
And snatch’d th’ Impostor from her tinsel’d Throne:
Which tow’ring Superstition call’d her own,
With Hand unerring radiant Truth o’erthrew,
And snatch’d th’ Impostor from her tinsel’d Throne:
On yon Dust-level’d Spire the crafty Maid,
With Indignation brooding in her Breast
Sits gloomily—Her Vot’ries all are fled,
Her Lamps extinguish’d, and her Rites suppress’d:{6}
With Indignation brooding in her Breast
Sits gloomily—Her Vot’ries all are fled,
Her Lamps extinguish’d, and her Rites suppress’d:{6}
Within her Hand a vacant String she holds
That once connected many a hallow’d Bead:
The blotted Scroll the other Hand unfolds,
Contains the Maxims of her slighted Creed:
That once connected many a hallow’d Bead:
The blotted Scroll the other Hand unfolds,
Contains the Maxims of her slighted Creed: