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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=539277" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Elegy XXIV. He Takes Occasion, From the Fate of Eleanor of Bretagne</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">He Takes Occasion, From the Fate of Eleanor of Bretagne, To Suggest the Imperfect Pleasures of a Solitary Life.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>When Beauty mourns, by Fate's injurious doom,<br>Hid from the cheerful glance of human eye,<br>When Nature's pride inglorious waits the tomb,<br>Hard is that heart which checks the rising sigh.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Fair Eleonora! would no gallant mind,<br>The cause of Love, the cause of Justice, own?<br>Matchless thy charms, and was no life resign'd<br>To see them sparkle from their native throne?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Or had fair Freedom's hand unveil'd thy charms,<br>Well might such brows the regal gem resign;<br>Thy radiant mien might scorn the guilt of arms,<br>Yet Albion's awful empire yield to thine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O shame of Britons! in one sullen tower<br>She wet with royal tears her daily cell;<br>She found keen anguish every rose devour;<br>They sprung, they shone, they faded, and they fell.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Through one dim lattice, fringed with ivy round,<br>Successive suns a languid radiance threw,<br>To paint how fierce her angry guardian frown'd,<br>To mark how fast her waning beauty flew.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">This, age might bear; then sated Fancy palls,<br>Nor warmly hopes what splendour can supply;<br>Fond Youth incessant mourns if rigid walls<br>Restrain its listening ear, its curious eye.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Believe me -- the pretence is vain!<br>This boasted calm that smooths our early day;<br>For never yet could youthful mind restrain<br>The alternate pant for pleasure and for praise.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Even me, by shady oak or limpid spring,<br>Even me, the scenes of polish'd life allure!<br>Some genius whispers, 'Life is on the wing,<br>And hard his lot that languishes obscure.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'What though thy riper mind admire no more-<br>The shining cincture, and the broider'd fold,<br>Can pierce like lightning thorough the figured ore,<br>And melt to dross the radiant forms of gold.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Furs, ermines, rods, may well attract thy scorn,<br>The futile presents of capricious Power!<br>But wit, but worth, the public sphere adorn,<br>And who but envies then the social hour?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Can Virtue, careless of her pupil's meed,<br>Forget how -- sustains the shepherd's cause?<br>Content in shades to tune a lonely reed,<br>Nor join the sounding pÃ¦an of applause?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For public haunts, impell'd by Britain's weal,<br>See Grenville quit the Muse's favourite ease;<br>And shall not swains admire his noble zeal?<br>Admiring praise, admiring strive to please?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Life,' says the sage, 'affords no bliss sincere,<br>And courts and cells in vain our hopes renew:<br>But, ah! where Grenvile charms the listening ear,<br>'Tis hard to think the cheerless maxim true.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'The groves may smile; the rivers gently glide;<br>Soft through the vale resound the lonesome lay;<br>Even thickets yield delight, if taste preside,<br>But can they please, when Lyttleton's away?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Pure as the swain's the breast of -- glows;<br>Ah! were the shepherd's phrase, like his, refined!<br>But, how improved the generous dictate flows<br>Through the clear medium of a polish'd mind!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Happy the youths who, warm with Britain's love,<br>Her inmost wish in -- periods hear!<br>Happy that in the radiant circle move,<br>Attendant orbs, where Lonsdale gilds the sphere!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'While rural faith, and every polish'd art,<br>Each friendly charm, in -- conspire,<br>From public scenes all pensive must you part;<br>All joyless to the greenest fields retire!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Go, plaintive Youth! no more by fount or stream,<br>Like some lone halcyon, social pleasures shun;<br>Go, dare the light, enjoy its cheerful beam,<br>And hail the bright procession of the sun.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Then, cover'd by thy ripen'd shades, resume<br>The silent walk, no more by passion tost;<br>Then seek thy rustic haunts, the dreary gloom,<br>Where every art, that colours life, is lost.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In vain! the listening Muse attends in vain!<br>Restraints in hostile bands her motions wait-<br>Yet will I grieve, and sadden all my strain,<br>When injured Beauty mourns the Muse's fate.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Shenstone">William Shenstone</a><div class=q>
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When Beauty mourns, by Fate's injurious doom,
Hid from the cheerful glance of human eye,
When Nature's pride inglorious waits the tom..."></div>
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