He loft his Crook, he left his Flocks,
And wand'ring thro the lonely Rocks,
He nourish'd endless Woe.

The Nymphs and Shepherds round him came,
His Grief fome pity, others blame,
The fatal Caufe all kindly feek:
He mingl'd his Concern with theirs,
He gave 'em back their Friendly Tears;
He figh'd, but wou'd not speak.

Clorinda came among the reft,
And the too kind Concern exprefs'd,
And ask'd the Reafon of his Woe?
She ask'd, but with an Air and Mein,
That made it easily forefeen,

She fear'd too much to know.

The Shepherd rais'd his mournful Head;
And will you pardon me, he faid,
While I the Truth reveal?

Which nothing from my Breaft fhou'd tear,
Which never fhou'd offend your Ear,
But that you bid me tell.

'Tis thus I rove, 'tis thus complain,
Since you appear'd upon the Plain,

You are the Cause of all my Care:
Your Eyes ten thousand Dangers dart,
Ten thoufand Torments vex my Heart;
I love, and I defpair.

Too much, Alexis, I have heard
'Tis what I thought, 'tis what I fear'd,
And yet I pardon you, the cry'd;

But you fhall promife ne'er again,

To breath your Vows, or fpeak your Pain;
He bow'd, obey'd, and dy'd.

Mr. Prior.

XU.

XII.

David's Song under Michal's Window.

I.

Awake, awake, my Lyre,

And tell thy Silent Mafter's humble Tale,
In founds that may prevail;
Sounds that gentle Thoughts infpire,
Tho' fo exalted the,

And I fo lowly be,

Tell her fuch diff'rent Notes make all thy Harmony.

2.

Hark, how the Strings awake,
And tho' the Moving Hand approach not near,
Themselves with awful fear,

A kind of numerous Trembling make..
Now all thy Forces try,

Now all thy Charms apply,

Revenge upon her Ear the Conquests of her Eye.

3.

Weak Lyre! Thy Virtue fure

Is useless here, fince thou art only found
To Cure, but not to Wound,

And the to Wound, but not to Cure.
Too weak too wilt thou prove,

My Paffion to remove,

Phyfick to other lils, thou art Nourishment to Love.

4.

Sleep, Sleep again, my Lyre,
For thou can'ft never tell my humble Tale,

In Sounds that will prevail,

Nor gentle Thoughts in her infpire;
All thy vain Mirth lay by,

Bid thy Strings filent lie,

Sleep, Sleep again, my Lyre, and let thy Mafter die.

Cowley.

Pfalm

XIII.
Pfalm 114.

WHEN Ifrael was from Bondage led,
Led by th' Almighty's Hand,
From out a Foreign Land,

The great Sea beheld, and fled.

As Men purfu'd, when that fear paft they find,
Stop on fome higher Ground to look behind,
So whilft through wondrous ways,
The Sacred Army went,

The Waves afar ftood up to gaze,
And their own Rocks did reprefent,
Solid as Waters are above the Firmament.
Old Jordan's Waters to their Spring,
Start back with fudden Fright;
The Spring amazed at the Sight,
Ask'd what News from Sea they bring."
The Mountains hook; and to the Mountains fide,
The little Hills leap'd round themselves to hide,
As young affrighted Lambs,

When they ought dreadful Spy,
Run trembling to their helpless Dams,
The mighty Sea and River by,

Were glad for their excufe to fee the Hills to fly.

What ail'd the mighty Sea to flee?
Or why did Jordan's Tide,
Back to his Fountain Glide?
Jordan's Tide, what ailed thee?

Why leap'd the Hills? Why did the Mountains fake?
What ail'd them their fix'd Natures to forfake?
Fly where thou wilt, O Sea!
And Jordan's Current cease;
Jordan, there is no need of thee,

For at God's Word, when e're he pleafe,

The Rocks fhall weep new Waters forth instead of th

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XIV.

The Grove.

By the Earl of Roscommon.

H, happy Grove! Dark and fecure Retreat Of Sacred Silence, Reft's Eternal Seat : How well your cool and unfrequented Shade, Sutes with the chafte Retirements of a Maid. Oh! If kind Heav'n had been fo much my Friend, To make my Fate upon my Choice depend: All my Ambition I would here confine, And only this Elyftum fhould be mine. Fond Men, by Paflion wilfully betray'd, Adore thofe Idols which their Fancy made: Purchasing Riches with our Time and Care, We lose our Freedom in a gilded Snare; And having all, all to our felves refufe, Opprefs'd with Bleflings which we fear to ufe. Fame is at beft but an inconftant Good, Vain are the boafted Titles of our Blood; We fooneft lofe what we moft highly prize, And with our Youth our fhort-liv'd Beauty dies. In vain our Fields and Flocks increase our Store, If our abundance makes us with for more. How happy is the harmless Country Maid, Who, rich by Nature, fcorns fuperfluous Aid! Whofe modeft Clothes no wanton Eyes invite, But, like her Soul, preferves the native White: Whofe little Store, her well-taught Mind does please, Not pinch'd with Want,nor cloy'd with wanton eafe, Who free from Storms, which on the great ones fall, Makes but few Wishes, and enjoys them all:

No

No Care but Love can difcompofe her Breaft,
Love, of all Cares, the sweetest and the best.
Whilft on fweet Grafs her Bleating Charge does lie,
Our happy Lover feeds upon her Eye:

Not one on whom, or Gods, or Men impofe,
But one whom Love has for this Lover chofe.
Under fome favourite Myrtle's fhady Boughs,
They fpeak their Paffions in repeated Vows:
And whilft a Blufh confeffes how the burns,
His faithful Heart makes as fincere Returns.
Thus in the Arms of Love and Peace they lie,
And whilst they live, their Flames can never die.

XV.

A Defcription of Goliah's marching out of the Phi liftian Army.

ND from the midft, a monftrous Man ftept out, Aloud they shouted at each Step he took; We, and the Earth it felf, beneath him hook, Vaft as the Fill, down which he march'd,h'appear'd; Amaz'd all Eyes, nor was their Army fear'd. A young tall Squire (tho' then he feem'd not fo) Did from the Camp, at firft, before him go; At first he did, but fcarce cou'd follow strait, Sweating beneath a Shields unruly weight, On which was wrought the Gods and Gyants fight, Rare Work! All fill'd with Terrour and Delight. Here a vaft Hill, 'gainft thund'ring Baal was thrown, Trees and Beafts on't fell,burnt with Light'ning down. One flings a Mountain, and its River too

Torn up with't; that Rains back on him that threw. Some from the Main to pluck whole lands try; The Sea boils round with Flames fhot thick from Sky.

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