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In fpring the fields, in autumn hills I love, At morn the plains, at noon the fhady grove, But Delia always; abfent from her fight, Nor plains at morn, nor groves at noon delight.


Sylvia 's like autumn ripe, yet mild as May, More bright than noon, yet fresh as early day; E'en fpring difpleafes when the fhines not here; But, bleft with her, 'tis fpring throughout the year.

If Delia fmile, the flow'rs begin to spring, The fkies to brighten, and the birds to fing.


Say, Daphnis, fay, in what glad foil appears A wondrous Tree that facred Monarchs bears : Tell me but this, and I'll difclaim the prize, And give the conqueft to thy Sylvia's eyes.



All nature mourns, the fkies relent in fhow'rs, Huth'd are the birds, and clos'd the drooping flow'rs;

Nay, tell me firft, in what more happy fields The Thiftle fprings, to which the Lily yields: And then a nobler prize I will refign; For Sylvia, charming Sylvia, fhall be thine.


Ceafe to contend; for, Daphnis, I decree The bowl to Strephon, and the lamb to thee: Bleft Swains, whofe Nymphs in every grace excel; Bleft Nymphs, whofe Swains thofe graces fing fo



All nature laughs, the groves are fresh and fair, The fun's mild luftre warms the vital air; If Sylvia fmiles, new glories gild the fhore, And vanquish`d nature fecms to charm no more.

Now rife, and hafte to yonder woodbine bow'rs,
A foft retreat from fudden vernal show'rs;
The turf with rural dainties fhall be crown'd,
While op'ning blooms diffufe their fweets around.
For, fee! the gath'ring flocks to fhelter tend,
And from the Pleiads fruitful fhow'rs defcend.


A Shepherd's bov (he feeks no better name)

Led forth his flocks along the filver Thame, Where dancing fun-beams on the waters play'd, And verdant alders form'd a quiv'ring fhade. Soft as he mourn'd, the ftrcans forgot to flow, The flocks around a dumb compaffion fhow, The Naiads wept in ev'ry wat ry bow'r, And Jove confented in a filent show`r.

Accept, O Garth, the Mufe's carly lays, That adds this wreath of ivy to thy bays; Hear what from Love unpractis'd hearts endure, From Love, the fole difcafe thou canst not cure.

Ye fhady beeches, and ye cooling ftreams, Defence from Phabus', not from Cupid's beams, To you I mourn, nor to the deaf I fing; The woods fhall anfwer, and their echo ring. The hills and rocks attend my doleful layWhy art thou prouder and more hard than they? The bleating theep with my complaints agree; They parch'd with heat, and I inflam'd by thee. The fultry Sirius burns the thirsty plains, While in thy heart eternal winter reigns.

Where ftray ye, Mufes, in what lawn or grove, While your Alexis pings in hopeless love? In thofe fair fields where facred Ifis glides, Or clfe where Cam his winding vales divides? As

As in the cryftal fpring I view my face,
Fresh rifing blushes paint the wat'ry glass;
But fince thofe graces pleafe thy eyes no more,
I thun the fountains which I fought before.
Once I was skill'd in ev'ry herb that grew,
And ev'ry plant that drinks the morning dew;
Ah, wretched thepherd, what avails thy art,
To cure thy lambs, but not to heal thy heart!

Let other fwains attend the rural care, Feed fairer flocks, or richer fleeces fhear : But nigh yon mountain let me tune my lays, Embrace my Love, and bind my brows with bays. That flute is mine which Colin's tuneful breath Infpir'd when living, and bequeath'd in death: He faid- Alexis, take this pipe, the fame That taught the groves my Rofalinda's name: But now the reeds fhall hang on yonder tree, For ever filent, fince defpis'd by thee. Oh were I made by fome transforming pow'r The captive bird that sings within thy bow`r! Then might my voice thy lift'ning ears employ, And I thofe kiffes he receives enjoy.

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Come, lovely nymph, and blefs the filent hours,
When fwains from fheering feek their nightly
When weary reapers quit the fultry field,
And crown'd with corn their thanks to Ceres yield.
This harmless grove no lurking viper hides,
But in my breaft the ferpent Love abides.
Here bees from bloffoms fip the rofy dew,
But your Alexis knows no fweets but you.
Oh deign to vifit our forfaken feats,
The mofly fountains, and the green retreats!
Where'er you walk, cool gales fhall fan the glade,
Trees, where you fit, fhall crowd into a fhade:
Where'er you tread, the blushing flow'rs fhall

And all things flourish where you turn your eyes.
Oh how I long with you to pass my days,
Invoke the Mufes, and refound your praise!
Your praise the birds shall chant in ev'ry grove,
And winds fhall waft it to the pow'rs above.
But would you fing, and rival Orpheus' ftrain,
The wond'ring forefts foon fhould dance again,
The moving mountains hear the pow'rful call,
And headlong ftreams hang lift'ning in their fall!

But fee, the fhepherds fhun the noon-day heat,
The lowing herds to murm'ring brooks retreat;
To clofer fades the panting flocks remove;
Ye gods 1. and is there no relief for Love?

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Addeffed to Mr. Wycherley.

BENEATH the fhade a spreading beech dif Hylas and Egon fung their rural lays: [plays This mourn'd a faithlefs, that an abfent Love; And Delia's name and Doris' fill'd the grove. Ye Mantuan nymphs, your facred fuccour bring; Hylas and Egon's rural lays I fing.

Thou, whom the Nine with Plautus' wit inThe art of Terence, and Menander's fire; [fpire, Whofe fenfe inftructs us, and whofe humour charms, [warms! Whofe judgment fways us, and whofe fpirit Ch, skill'd in nature! fee the hearts of fwains, Their artless paffions, and their tender pains.

Now fetting Phoebus fhone ferenely bright, And fleecy clouds were freak'd with purple light; When tuneful Hylas with melodious moan Taught rocks to weep, and made the mountains


Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs away! To Delia's ear the tender notes convey. As fome fad Turtle his loft love deplores, And with deep murmurs fills the founding fhores; Thus, far from Delia, to the winds I mourn, Alike unheard, unpitied, and forlorn.

Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs along! For her, the feather'd choirs neglect their fong; For her, the limes their pleafing fhades deny For her, the lilies hang their heads and die. Ye flow'rs that droop, forfaken by the spring; Ye birds that, left by fummer, ceafe to fing; Ye trees that fade when autumn heats remove, Say, is not abfence death to those who love?

Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs away! Curs'd be the fields that caufe my "Delia's stay;" Fade ev'ry bloffom, wither ev'ry tree, Die ev'ry flow'r, and perifh all but the! What have I faid where'er my Delia flies Let Spring attend, and fudden flow'rs arise; Let op'ning rofes knotted oaks adorn,. And liquid amber drop from ev'ry thorn.

Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs along! The birds fhall cease to tune their cv'ning fong. The winds to breathe, the waving woods to move, And ftreams to murmur ere I ceafe to love. Not bubbling fountains to the thirsty fwain, Not balmy fleep to lab'rers faint with pain, Not show'rs to larks, or sunshine to the bee, Are half fo charming as thy fight to me.

Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs away! Come, Delia, come; ah, why this long delay? Thro' rocks and caves the name of Delia founds: Delia, each cave and echoing rock rebounds. Ye pow'rs, what pleafing phrenfy fooths my Do lovers dream, or is my Delia kind? [mind! She comes, my Delia comes! Now cease, my lay; And ceafe, ye gales, to bear my fighs away!

Next Egonfung, while Windfor groves admir'd;
Rehearfe, ye Mules, what yourfelves infpir'd.

Refound, ye hills, refound my mourntul strain!
Of perjur'd Doris, dying I complain:
Here where the mountains, lefs'ning as they rife,
Lofe the low vales, and steal into the fkies;
While lab'ring oxen, fpent with toil and heat,
In their loofe traces from the field retreat;
While curling fmokes from village-tops are feen,
And the fleet fhades glide o'er the dusky green.

Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful lay !
Beneath yon poplar oft we pafs'd the day :
Oft on the rind I carv'd her am'rous vows,

While the with garlands hung the bending boughs.
The garlands fade, the vows are worn away;
So dies her love, and fo my hopes decay.

Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful ftrain!
Now bright Arcturus glads the teeming grain,
Now golden fruits on loaded branches thine,
And grateful clusters fwell with floods of wine;
Now blushing berries paint the yellow grove;
Juft gods! fhall all things yield returns but love?

Refound, ye hilis, refound my mournful lay!
The fhepherds cry, "Thy flocks are left a prey.'
Ah! what avails it me the flocks to keep,
Who loft my heart while I preferv'd my theep?
Pan came, and afk'd what magic caus'd my smart,
Or what ill eyes malignant glances dart?
What eyes but hers, alas! have pow'r to move:
And is there magic but what dwells in love?

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Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful strains!
I'll fly from thepherds, flocks, and flow'ry plains.
From thepherds, flocks, and plains, I may remove,
Forfake mankind, and all the world-but Love!

I know thee, Love! on foreign mountains bred,
Wolves gave thee fuck, and favage tigers fed:
Thou wert from Ætna's burning entrails torn,
Got by fierce whirlwinds, and in thunder born!

Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful lay
Farewell, ye woods ! adieu, the light of day!
One leap from yonder cliff fhail end my pains:
No more, ye hills, no more refound my ftrains!
Thus fung the shepherds till th' approach of night,
The fkies yet blufhing with departing light;
When falling dews with fpangles deck'd the glade,
And the low fun had lengthen'd ev'ry fhade.

To the Memory of Mrs. Tempeft.

THYRSIS, the music of that murm'ring fpring
Is not fo mournful as the ftrains
Nor rivers winding thro' the vales Below
you fing;
So fweetly warble, or fo fmoothly flow.
Now fleeping flocks on their foft fleeces lie,
The moon, ferene in glory, mounts the sky,
While filent birds forget their tuneful lays,
Oh fing of Daphne's fate, and Daphne's praife!


Behold the groves that shine with filver froft,
Their beauty wither'd, and their verdure loft.
Here fhall I try the fweet Alexis' strain,
That call'd the lift'ning Dryads to the



Thames heard the numbers, as he flow'd along,
And bade his willows learn the moving fong.


So may kind rains their vital moisture yield,
And fwell the future harvest of the field.
Begin; this charge the dying Daphne gave,
Sing, while befide the shaded tomb I mourn,
And faid, Ye fhepherds, fing around my grave!'
And with fresh bays her rural shrine adorn.


Ye weeping Loves, the ftream with myrtles hide,
Ye gentle Mufes, leave your crystal spring,
Let Nymphs and Sylvans cyprefs garlands bring;
And break your bows as when Adonis died;
And with your golden darts, now useless grown,
Infcribe a verfe on this relenting ftone:
"Let nature change, let heaven and earth deplore!
"Fair Daphne's dead, and love is now no more!"*

'Tis done, and nature's various charms decay,
See gloomy clouds obfcure the cheerful day!
Now hung with pearls the dropping trees appear,
Their faded honours fcatter'd on her bier.
See where on earth the flow'ry glories lie,
With her they flourish'd, and with her they die.

Ah, what avail the beauties nature wore?
Fair Daphne's dead, and beauty is no more!

The thirsty heifers fhun the gliding flood;
For her the flocks refufe their verdant food,
In hollow caves fweet Echo filent lics,
The filver fwans her hapless fate bemoan
Silent, or only to her name replies;
In notes more fad than when they fing their own;

Now Daphne's dead, and pleasure is no more!
Her name with pleasure once the taught the shore ;

Nor morning odours from the flow'rs arife,
No grateful dews defcend from ev'ning skies,
No rich perfumes refresh the fruitful field,
Nor fragrant herbs their native incenfe yield.
The balmy Zephyrs, filent fince her death,
Fair Daphne's dead, and fweetness is no more 1
Lament the ceafing of a fweeter breath;
Th' industrious bees neglect their golden store;

Shall, lift'ning in mid air, fufpend their wings;
No more the mounting larks, while Daphne fings,
No more the birds fhall imitate her lays,
Or, hufh'd with wonder, hearken from the sprays:
No more the ftreams their murmurs fhall forbear,
A fweeter mufic than their own to hear;
Fair Daphne's dead, and mufic is no more!
But tell the reeds, and tell the vocal fhore,

Her fate is whifper'd by the gentle breeze,
And told in fighs to all the trembling trees;
The trembling trees, in ev'ry plain and wood,
Her fate remurmur to the filver flood;
The filver flood, fo lately calm, appears
The winds, and trees, and floods, her death deplore,
Swell'd with new paffion, and o'erflows with tears.
Daphne, our grief, our glory, now no more!

But fee! where Daphne wond'ring mounts on
Above the clouds, above the starry sky! [uigh,
Eternal beauties grace the thining fcene,
Fields ever fresh, and groves for ever green!


There, while you reft in amaranthine bow'rs,
Or from thofe meads select unfading flow'rs,
Behold us kindly, who your name implore,
Daphne, our goddefs, and our grief no more!


How all things liften while thy Mufe complains!
Such filence waits on Philomela's ftrains
In fome ftill ev'ning, when the whifp'ring breeze
Pants on the leaves, and dies upon the trees.
To thee, bright goddess, oft a lamb fhall bleed,
If teeming ewes increafe my fleccy breed. [give,
While plants their fhade, or flow'rs their odours
Thy name, thy honour, and thy praise fhall live!


But fee, Orion fheds unwholefome dews;
Arife, the pincs a noxious fhade diffufe;
Sharp Boreas blows, and nature feels decay;
Time conquers all, and we muft Tine obey.
Adicu, yevales, ye mountains, ftreams, and groves;
Adieu, ye thepherds' rural lays and loves;
Adieu, my flocks; farewel, ye fylvan crew;
Daphne, farewel, and all the world adieu!

See Pan with flocks, with fruits Pomona crown'd;
Here blushing Flora paints th' enamell'd ground;
Here Ceres' gifts in waving profpect stand,
And nodding tempt the joyful reaper's hand;
Rich Industry fits finiling on the plains,
And peace and plenty tell, a Stuart reigns.
Not thus the land appear'd in ages past,
A dreary defert, and a gloomy wafte;
To favage beafts and favage laws a prey;
And kings more furious and fevere than they;
Who claim'd the skies, difpeopled air and floods,
The lonely lords of empty wilds and woods:
Cities laid wafte, they ftorm'd the deus and caves
(For wifer brutes were backward to be flaves).
What could be free, when lawless beasts obey'd
And ev'n the elements a tyrant fway'd?
In vain kind feafons fwell'd the teeming grain,
Soft fhow'rs diftill'd, and funs grew warm in vain,
The fwain with tears his fruftrate labour yields,
And famish'd dies amidst his ripen'd fields.
What wonder then, a beast or fubject flain
Were equal crimes in a defpotic reign?
Both doom'd alike for fportive tyrants bled;
But while the fubje& ftarv'd, the beast was fed.
Proud Nimrod first the bloody chace began;
A mighty hunter, and his prey was man:
Our haughty Norman boasts that barb'rous name,
And makes his trembling flaves the royal game.
The fields are ravifh d froin th' induftrious fwains,
From men their cities, and from gods their fanes:
The levell'd towns with weeds lie cover'd o'er;
The hollow winds thro' naked temples roar;
Round broken columns clafping ivy twin'd;
O'er heaps of ruin ftalk'd the ftately hind;
The fox obfcene to gaping tombs retires;
And favage howlings fill the facred quires.
Aw'd by his nobles, by his commons curlt,
Th' oppreffor rul'd tyrannic where he durft;
Stretch'd o'er the poor and church his iron rod,
And ferv'd alike his vaffals and his God.
Whom ev'n the Saxon fpar'd, and bloody Danc,
The wanton victims of his fport remain.
But fee, the man who fpacious regions gave
A wafte for beafts, himself denied a grave!
Stretch'd on the lawn his fecond hope furvey,
At once the chafer, and at once the prey :
Lo! Rufus, tugging at the deadly dart,
Bleeds in the foreft like a wounded hart.
Succeeding monarchs heard the fubject's cries,
Nor faw difpleas'd the peaceful cottage rife.
Thengath'ring flocks on unknown mountains fed;
O'er fandy wilds were yellow harvests spread;
The forests wonder'd at th' unusual grain,
And fecret tranfport touch'd the confcious fwain.
Fair Liberty, Britannia's Goddess, rears
Her cheerful head, and leads the golden years.

$5. Windfor-Foreft. POPE.

To the Rt. Hon. George Lord Lansdown.
THY forchts, Windfor! and thy green retreats,
At once the Monarch's and the Mufes feats,
Invite my lays. Be prefent, fylvan maids!
Unlock your fprings, and open all your fhades.
Granville commands; your aid, O Mufes, bring
What Mufe for Granville can refuse to fing?
The groves
of Eden, vanifh'd now fo long,
Live in defeription, and look green in fong:
Thefe, were my breaft infpir'd with equal flame,
Like them in beauty, fhould be like in fame.
Here hills and vales, the woodland and the plain,
Here earth and water feem to ftrive again!
Not, chaos-like, together crush'd and bruis'd,
But, as the world, harmoniously confus'd:
Where order in variety we fee,

And where, tho' all things differ, all agree.
Here waving groves a chequer'd fcene difplay,
And part admit, and part exclude the day;
As fome coy nymph her lover's warm addrefs
Nor quite indulges, nor can quite reprefs.
There, interfpors'd in lawns and op'ning glades,
Thin trees arife that fhun each other's fhades:
Here, in full light the ruffet plains extend;
There, wrapt in clouds, the blucith hills afcend.
Ev'n the wild heath displays her purple dyes,
And 'midst the defert fruitful fields arife,
That, crown'd with tufted trees and fringing corn,
Like verdant ifles, the fable waste adorn.
Let India boat her plants, nor envy we
The weeping amber or the balmy tree,
While by our paks the precious loads are borne,
And realnis commanded which thofe trees adorn.
Not proud Olympus yields a nobler fight,
Tho' gods affembled grace his tow'ring height,
Than what more humble mountains offer here,
Where, in their bleffings, all thofe gods appear.


Ye vig'rous fwains! while youth ferments your
And purer fpirits fwell the fprightly flood, [blood,
Now range the hills, the gameful woods befet,
Wind the thrill horn, or spread the waving net.
When milder autumn fummer's heat fucceeds,
And in the new-fhorn field the partridge feeds,
Before his lord the ready spaniel bounds,
Panting with hope, he tries the furrow'd grounds,


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And mounts exulting on triumphant wings:
Short is his joy; he feels the fiery wound,
Flutters in blood, and panting beats the ground.
Ah! what avail his gloffy, varying dyes,
His purple creft and fcarlet-circled eyes,
The vivid green his fhining plumes unfold,
His painted wings, and breaft that flames with

Whofe care, like hers, protects the fylvan reign, The earth's fair light, and Emprefs of the main.

Nor yet, when moist Arcturus clouds the fky, The woods and fields their pleafing toils deny. To plains with well-breath'd beagles we repair, And trace the mazes of the circling hare (Beafts, urg'd by us, their fellow beafts purfue, And learn of man each other to undo): With flaught 'ring guns th'unwearied fowler roves, When froits have whiten'd all the naked groves; Where doves in flocks the leaflefs trees o'erfhade, And lonely woodcocks haunt the wat'ry glade. He lifts the tube, and levels with his eye; Straight a fhort thunder breaks the frozen fky: Oft, as in airy rings they fkim the heath, The clam'rous lapwings feel the leaden death; Oft, as the mounting larks their notes prepare, They fall, and leave their little lives in air.

In genial fpring, beneath the quiv'ring thade, Where cooling vapours breathe along the mead, The patient fifher takes his filent stand, Intent, his angle trembling in his hand : With looks unmov'd he hopes the icaly breed, And eyes the dancing cork and bending recd. Our plenteous ftreams a various race fupply: The bright-eyed perch, with fins of Tyrian dye; The filver eel, in fhining volumes roll'd; The yellow carp, in scales bedropt with gold; Swift trouts, diverfified with crimson ftains; And pikes, the tyrants of the watry plains.

Now Cancer glows with Phoebus' fiery car; The youth ruh eager to the fylvan war, Swarm o'er the lawns, the foreft walks furround, Roufe the fleet hart, and cheer the opening hound. The impatient courfer pants in every vein, And pawing feems to beat the diftant plain : Hills, vales, and floods appear already cross'd, And ere he starts a thousand fteps are loft. See the bold youth strain up the threat'ning fteep, Ruth thro' the thickets, down the valley fweep, Hang o'er their courfers' heads with eager fpeed, And earth rolls back beneath the flying ftced. Let old Arcadia boast her ample plain, Th' immortal huntrefs, and her virgin-train ; Nor envy, Windfor! fince thy fhades have scen As bright a Goddefs, and as chaste a Queen:

Here too, 'tis fung, of old Diana ftray'd, And Cynthus' top forfook for Windfor-fhade; Here was the feen o'er airy waftes to rove, Seck the clear fpring, or haunt the pathlefs grove; Here arm'd with filver bows, in carly dawn, Her buskin'd Virgins trac'd the dewy lawn.

Above the reft a rural nymph was fam’3, Thy offspring, Thames! the fair Lodona nam'd (Lodena's fate, in long oblivion caft, The Mufe fhall fing, and what the fings fhall last): Scarce could the Goddefs from her nymph be known,

But by the crefcent, and the golden zone.
She fcorn'd the praife of beauty, and the care;
A belt her waift, a fillet binds her hair;
A pointed quiver on her fhoulder founds,
And with her dart the flying deer the wounds.
It chanc'd, as, eager of the chace, the maid
Beyond the foreft's verdant limits stray'd,
Pan faw and lov'd; and, burning with defire,
Pursued her flight; her flight increas'd his fire..
Not half fo fwift the trembling doves can fly,
When the fierce eagle cleaves the liquid sky;
Not half fo fwiftly the fierce cagle moves,
When thro' the clouds he drives the trembling

As from the God fhe flew with furious pace,
Or as the God more furious urg'd the chace.
Now fainting, finking, pale, the nymph appears;
Now clofe behind his founding fteps the hears;
And now his thadow reach'd her as the run,
fis fhadow lengthen'd by the fetting fun;
And now his thorter breath, with fuitry air,
Pants on her neck, and fans her parting hair.
In vain on father Thames the calls for aid,
Nor could Diana help her injur'd maid.
Faint, breathlefs, thus the pray'd, nor pray'd in


"Ah Cynthia! ah—tho' banifli'd from thy train, "Let me, O let me, to the fhades repair,

My native thades-there weep, and murmur She faid, and melting as in tears the lay, [there." In a foft filver ftream diffolv'd away. The filver ftream her virgin coldness keeps, For ever murmurs, and for ever weeps; Still bears the name the haplefs virgin bore, And bathes the foreft where the rang'd before. In her chafte current oft the Goddefs laves, And with celeftial tears auginents the waves. Oft in her glafs the mufing thepherd spies The headlong mountains and the downward skies, The wat`ry landskip of the pendent woods, And abfent trees that tremble in the floods; In the clear azure gleam the flocks are feen, And floating forefts paint the waves with green; Thro' the fair fcene roll flow the ling'ring ftreams, Then foaming pour along, and rush into the


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Thou, too, great father of the British floods! With joyful pride furvey ft our lofty woods; · Where tow'ring oaks their growing honours rear, And future pavics on thy fhores appear :


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