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A N 
 
 ELEGY 
 
 Wrote under a Gallows, 
 
 With a Preface concerning the Nature of 
 
 ELEGY. 
 
 Let me ajjociate with the ferious night , 
 slnd contemplation her fedate compeer. 
 
 Thomson’s Seasons.' 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 Printed for the AUTHOR, 
 
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 P R E F A C E. 
 
 Ithout doubt, Elegy was among the ear- 
 
 lieft productions of mankind, and ferved in 
 
 times of trouble and difirefs, for each one’s private 
 confolation and amufement. Who firft of all publifli- 
 ed his melancholy lucubrations for the general good, 
 after inveftigating all the Oriental , as well as Celtic 
 fragments, I have not yet been able to difcover ; 
 which is the lefi furprizing, as I find the Antiquarians 
 in the time of the poet Horace, who flourifhed in the 
 Augufian age, were equally ignorant of the matter: 
 For thus, he fays, in his art of poetry : 
 
 Qtiis tatnen exiguos elegos emiferit author, 
 
 Grammatici certant, et adhuc fub judicejis efl. 
 
 Flow ever this may be, it is pretty certain, that, among 
 the ancients, elegiac poetry was too much confined; 
 for they ufed it only to exprefs the paflions of love, 
 and grief. To enlarge its bounds was referved for 
 
 the 
 
[ iv ] 
 
 the prefent age, and moral' ty difplayed ail extenfive 
 field in which it might expatiate. 
 
 As for the remains of Grecian elegy, which have 
 defcended to our times, they are too inconfiderable, 
 not only in number, but in their manner, to defer ve 
 tli e attention of criticifm. Among the Roman, the 
 elegies which we at prefent poflefs, are chiefly thofe 
 of Tibullus, Propertius, and Ovid. And here I own, 
 I cannot but exprefs my admiration, that the firfl: 
 named authors, fliould by any perfon be preferred to 
 the latter, as if fimplicity, or native and genuine 
 feeling, were any way comparable to his brilliant wit, 
 and exquifitely fine turns. 
 
 Hammond, however, imitated Tibullus, and has fuc- 
 ceeded as one would have expected. Though I can- 
 not enough commend him forone excellency , which 
 his admirers feem to have overlooked, viz. the intro- 
 ducing into Englijh elegy, the Fane of Venus , Venus's fon 
 Cupid, the {lory of Apollo turned Her dj man , together 
 with Ceres and her daughter Proferpina; all which, in 
 my opinion, give his elegies a greater air of origina- 
 lity, and make them appear the more diftant from 
 
 tranfla- 
 
r v i 
 
 tranflation. The Britijh poet addrefles his Britifh fair 
 too, with great propriety, in the following words : 
 
 Wilt thou in tears thy lover’s corfe attend ? 
 
 With eyes averted light the folemn pyre , 
 
 Till all around the doleful flames afcend ? 
 
 He then charges her to bear the golden vafe , and cull 
 his afbcs, to embalm them with the odours of Pan- 
 chaia, Alia, and the farthefl eaft. Some might be apt 
 to call this literal tranflationfawt it is without doubt (as 
 the noble Prefacer juftly obferves) nature and fentiment 
 that dictated to a real miftrefs, not youthful and poetic 
 fancy to an imaginary one. I don’t at prefent recollect 
 any thing more in that author to commend; he has 
 almoft every where elfe transfufed the fimplicity and 
 tendernefs of his original, which to modern and true 
 tafte, is infufferable. And indeed, Love is a fubjett 
 not at all fuited for the ears of this cold and philofo- 
 phic clime, and Conftancy and Fidelity have long 
 lince been exploded as mere whims and idle chimae- 
 ras, the dreams of vifionaries, and tales of dotards are 
 not more abfurd and ridiculous. Convinced of this 
 truth, elegy has lately (as I before obferved) been 
 enlifted by modern improvement, in the fervice of 
 morality. The firft of the kind, if I miftake not, was 
 
 B the 
 
I Vi J 
 
 the elegy wrote in a country church-yard; but this, 
 like all primary attempts, was very imperfeft; and it 
 has been refeived for more happy Genii to bring to 
 its acme this fpecies of compofition. Heaven ! with 
 what delight do I reflect on the ivy-mantled towers y the 
 gloom-enveloped bowers , the cloud-afpiring hills y the gently- 
 tinkling rills y the foul-enchanting lafs, the faint-encyphercd 
 glafsy and all the flore of compound epithets with 
 which our fcanty language has by this means been en- 
 riched ! Then, morever, what “apt artful alliteration !’ y 
 # 
 
 and the precept beautifully introduced, Pleafure and 
 I nftrufflion walking fo lovingly hand inhand together! 
 But I forget myfelf, and Enthufiafm (which never 
 ought to be the cafe) has encroached upon Criticifm. 
 
 The following Elegy, gentle reader, which I here 
 lay before thee, I am convinced, will meet with thy 
 warmell approbation. The fubjedt is important . The 
 defcriptive part in the beginning, is truly defcriptive. 
 The moral part in the middle, is truly moral ; and 
 the pathetic part at the laft, is truly pathetic ; but I 
 will fay no more, becaufe I would by no means anti- 
 cipate thy judgment. 
 
 I am 
 
t vii j 
 
 I am peculiarly happy, that the fentiments of one, 
 whole decifions (was I to name him) none will dif- 
 pute in the literary world, coincide with mine ; af- 
 ter reading the elegy, he fent it back with the follow- 
 ing lines : 
 
 I think, my eye a fault will fpy, 
 
 If any fault there be. 
 
 But faith and troth, (and that’s an oath 
 I here no fault can fee. 
 
 Imprimatur meo periculo * 
 
 AN 
 

 
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2017 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign Alternates 
 
 - 
 
 https://archive.org/details/elegywroteundergOOdowm 
 
A N 
 
 E 
 
 L 
 
 E 
 
 Wrote under a Gallows. 
 
 4++-J* •?••}• 444 44444 444 
 
 D UN-VESTE D Twilight now along the fky, 
 With tardy-moving pace, begins to creep ; 
 Toward their folemn gloom-wrap’d manfions fly 
 The ebon rooks, fpread o’er the mountain fteep. 
 
 And now from Stygian cave, would haggard night 
 Throw her deep horrors o’er the fliuddering ground, 
 Did not pale Cynthia give a lurid light 
 Through the thick clouds which gird th* horizon round. 
 
 Soul-fad’ning ftillnels lulls the pen five air. 
 
 Save that from far, with awe-imprefling knowl. 
 The fwinging bell keep ftated time I hear, 
 Slowly-refponfive to the clamant owl : 
 
 C 
 
 Now, 
 
I 1° ] 
 
 Now, melancholy milling, takes her fill, 
 
 Alone from diftant home doth file remain, 
 
 With, faintly-falling foot winds up the hill, 
 
 Or plods along the folitary plain. 
 
 Where this bald barren fpot of earth expands, 
 Deck’d with no fliade of plant, or flow ’rets fmile. 
 Rear’d by fome {kill-conducted artift’s hands,. 
 
 A o-allows frowns, a terror-ftriking pile. 
 
 Full of the nurfe, his fell of hair ereeft, 
 
 The late returning fchool-boy dreads to pafs ; 
 And far around (unlefs her fwain protect) 
 Wanders the rural fimple-minded lafs. 
 
 Yet underneath does contemplation fit, 
 
 Leaning her cheek againft the dewy poll r 
 And tho’ the moifture down her bofom flit. 
 
 She heeds it not, in deep reflexion loft. 
 
 How many haplefs mortal beings here, 
 
 In hempen firing, have dangled out of life. 
 
 Ne’er laid upon the confecrated bier. 
 
 But given to the furgeon’s ruthlefs knife ! 
 
 Some, 
 
I • II ] 
 
 Some, whofe blank minds, no fpark of mercy knew, 
 To horrid deeds of defperation flow, 
 
 And driv’n by hot-brain’d frenzy not a few, 
 
 To lift their hands, and drike the fatal blow. 
 
 Here pettyfogging forgery has oft 
 
 Its due defert, and lad fad tremors felt: 
 
 Here wiudow-fcaling elves have fwung aloft ; 
 
 And rape has dy’d, for deeds he never dealt. 
 
 Here thieves of every fize, and every fort. 
 
 Who, once firm-joined in many a focial gang, 
 Dar’d with the legiflative pow’r to lport, 
 
 At various times, in various numbers hang. 
 
 Of graceful mein the highway-robber, here. 
 
 Who, mounted bravely on his gallant deed. 
 
 Could a whole caravan half-kill with fear, 
 
 Nor youth can fave, nor valour’s hardy deed. 
 
 Yet not unmourn’d, he pafs’d along the road, 
 
 On the flow-dragging cart exalted high, 
 
 Caught by his form, the virgin’s bofom glow’d, 
 And tearful pity dole into her eye. 
 
 Ah!. 
 
f 12 ] 
 
 All 1 why would {he behold this difmal fight ? 
 Ah ! why her young unharden’cl bread expofe : 
 Beficle her couch, all the dead hours of night, 
 His ghoft fliall (land, and banifli her repofe. 
 
 But curiofity with fluttering wing, 
 
 Idle awakener of the human bread. 
 
 Perhaps of knowledge too the fruitful fpring, 
 
 In every human bofom reigns confed. 
 
 Lod to itfelf beneath th’ incurious fliade. 
 
 Some novel fcenes th* excurfive mind requires. 
 Confin’d the active principle would fade, 
 
 Its ardour waded, and extindfl its fires. 
 
 Hence birth-night balls , and coronations proud , 
 Hence wax-work puppets draw the gazing eye. 
 Hence the Lord May* r’ s and his proceflive crowd. 
 And haplefs thieves whole defliny is nigh. 
 
 Nor you ye rich, aud haughty of the earth, 
 Look on thefe humble lays with eye alkance ; 
 Perhaps you owe to accident and birth, 
 
 That you not fhare with them their airy dance . 
 
 The 
 
C '3 3 
 
 The murd’rer deaf to pity’s whilp’ring breath, 
 
 Had he been born a ruler of mankind. 
 
 Haply o’er half the globe had fcatter’d death, 
 
 And nations prais’d his high heroic mind. 
 
 The ftatefman, planted in their meaner fphere, 
 Untouch’d the wealth of an impoverifli’d land, 
 
 The nightly thiev’ry with fuperior fliare 
 Of deep-direding policy had plann’d. 
 
 For funk in low eftate, the Fates deny’d 
 To them the broken laws, and venial fin. 
 
 Safe by the whirl the larger veflels ride. 
 
 Whole waves devouring draw the fmaller in. 
 
 Of nice dependencies is form’d the fcale, 
 
 Each imperceptible gradation juft. 
 
 From thofe who fcarce may breathe the common gale. 
 To thofe who perpetrate whate’er they luft. 
 
 For me, howbeit a fagely-finging wight, 
 
 Thefe myfteries to others I confign. 
 
 Enough for me, that, in this dufky night, 
 
 The melancholy garland I intwine. 
 
 D 
 
 Enough 
 
L H 1 
 
 Enough for me, that, while I tune the lay 
 In which thefe ill ftarr’d fuff’rers I bemoan. 
 
 My thoughts pace dark reflections mazy way, 
 
 And their fad exit warns me of my oivn. 
 
 Yes, all mult drink the draught which death fliall pour. 
 Nor I’ll my loitering lips iti vain refufe. 
 
 Yet come when will the courage-chilling hour. 
 
 Kind Ileav’n forbid my dying in my Jboes ! 
 
 Ye loft Parnaflian maids defend your bard. 
 
 Nor let him to his grave go down with fhame ; 
 
 He doth not feel one with by dying hard , 
 
 Among th’ applauding crowd to gain a name. 
 
 Should you your facred care remove, alas! 
 
 And meagre hunger urge him to a crime. 
 
 Should dire neceflity bring this to pals. 
 
 And he be blalted in his vernal prime : 
 
 This on his grave be writ, that all may view: 
 
 Here lyes a lucklefs youth, whofe ready quill 
 The fairy face of nature nicely drew, 
 
 And wrote quaint elegies with matchlefs /kill : 
 
 But 
 
t *5 ] 
 
 But ah ! by thefe he earn’d a fcanty fare, 
 
 Though fraught with genius they were cart: afide. 
 
 He hir'd a purfe, he could not feed on air. 
 
 And, rather than by famine perifli, dy’d. 
 
 Great Rogues may thrive — and candour’s felf muft own 
 Strong the temptation was, and fmall the fault ; 
 
 Be then to time his virtues only known, 
 
 The caufe and manner of his death forgot* 
 
 FINIS. 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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