May'st thou with Poverty and Age be curst, The Length of Winter, and the Summer's Thirst.
Others are jocose in different Ways, Instances of all which we meet with in _Ovid_.
Many Elegies are writ in the Epistolary Manner, as is obvious, to every one that has but the least Knowledge of the Poets I have now cited. Under this Head, therefore, _Ovid_'s _Heroine_ Epistles (as they are usually call'd, from their being writ by Ladies of Prowess and Renown) come very properly to be mention'd, since they partake of the Nature of Elegy, not only on account of their Verse, but Sentiment. They are deservedly esteem'd the best Part of that Poet's Works; as his Book _De Tristibus_, tho' the truest Elegies, are the worst. Nothing can have a more delicate Turn than some of these Epistles. I have given Instances of this elsewhere; and have no need of repeating them here, or producing new ones. His _Heroine_ Epistles differ from his Elegiac in this, that the former are fictitious, and personate the Character of some one or other mention'd in fabulous History; the latter are address'd, in the Poet's own Name, to his Friends of either Sex. Setting aside this Circumstance, and that of their Length, there is very little Difference between them. To return, therefore, to Elegy, according to the common Acceptation of the Word; its chief Property is to be easy and soft; to flow in one even Current, and captivate the Ear with Melody. It must be free from all Asperity, from every Thing that is harsh, or unpleasant. For, as _Propertius_ sweetly expresses it:
Soft flow the Lines that gentle Love indites.
And nothing is often more harmonious than Complaints; the Music of Birds is said by the Poets to be expressive of them, as in _Ovid_:
_Et latere ex omni dulce queruntur aves._
And all around The Birds return a sweetly plaintive Sound.
How vocal are Tears, how moving poetic Grief! Hear _Tibullus_ thus bewailing his Sickness in a foreign Land:
_Ibitis Ægæas sine me, Messala, per undas, O! utinam memor es ipse, cohorsque, mei! Me tenet ignotis ægrum Phæacia terris; Abstineas avidas, mors modo nigra, manus. Abstineas, mors atra, precor; non hic mihi mater, Quæ legat in mœstos ossa perusta sinus: Non soror, Assyrios cineri quæ dedat odores, Et fleat effusis ante sepulchra comis._