Page:The works of Anna Laetitia Barbauld volume 1.djvu/182

How shall I now your wonted aid implore;
Where seek your footsteps on this savage shore,
Whose ruder echoes ne'er were taught to bear
The poet's numbers or the lover's care?

Yet here, for ever here, your bard must dwell,
Who sung of sports and tender loves so well.
Here must he live:—But when he yields his breath,
O let him not be exiled even in death!
Lest mixed with Scythian shades, a Roman ghost
Wander on this inhospitable coast.
Caesar no more shall urge a wretch's doom;
The bolt of Jove pursues not in the tomb.
To thee, dear wife, some friend with pious care
All that of Ovid then remains shall bear;
Then wilt thou weep to see me so return,
And with fond passion clasp my silent urn.
O check thy grief, that tender bosom spare,
Hurt not thy cheeks, nor soil thy flowing hair.