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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 blossoms sip the rofy dew,
But Alexis knows no fweets but you.


Oh deign to vifit our forfaken feats,

The moffy fountains, and the green retreats!




Where'er you walk, cool gales fhall fan the glade,
Trees, where you fit, fhall croud into a shade:
Where'er you tread, the blushing flowers fhall rife, 75
And all things flourish where you turn your eyes.
Oh! how I long with you to pass my days,
Invoke the Muses, and refound your praise !
Your praise the birds shall chant in every grove,
And winds fhall waft it to the powers above.
But would you fing, and rival Orpheus' ftrain,
The wondering forests foon should dance again,
The moving mountains hear the powerful call,
And headlong streams hang listening in their fall!
But fee, the shepherds fhun the noon-day heat,
The lowing herds to murmuring brooks retreat,
To clofer fhades the panting flocks remove;
Ye gods! and is there no relief for Love?


Very 79, 80.



Your praife the tuneful birds to heaven fhall bear, And liftening wolves grow milder as they hear. So the verses were originally written: But the author, young as he was, foon found the abfurdity, which Spener himself overlooked, of introducing wolves into England

But foon the fun with milder rays defcends

To the cool ocean, where his journey ends:
On me Love's fiercer flames for ever prey,
By night he fcorches, as he burns by day.


Ver. 91. Me love inflamés, nor will his fires allay,


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ENEATH the fhade a fpreading beech difplays,
Hylas and Ægon fung their rural lays :
This mourn'd a faithless, that an absent love :
And Delia's name and Doris' fill'd the grove.
Ye Mantuan nymphs, your facred fuccour bring;
Hylas and Ægon's rural lays I fing.

Thou, whom the Nine with Plautus' wit inspire,

The art of Terence and Menander's fire;


Whose sense instructs us, and whose humour charms, Whofe judgment sways us, and whose spirit warms! 10 Oh, skill'd in Nature! fee the hearts of Swains,

Their artlefs paffions, and their tender pains.

Now fetting Phoebus fhone ferenely bright,

And fleecy clouds were streak'd with purple light;
When tuneful Hylas, with melodious moan,

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Taught rocks to weep, and made the mountains groan. 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; 20
Thus, far from Delia, to the winds I mourn,
Alike unheard, unpity'd, and forlorn.",

Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs along!
For her, the feather'd quires neglect their fong:
For her, the limes their pleasing shades deny;
For her, the lilies hang their heads, and die.
Ye flowers 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 absence death to those who love;

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Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs away!
Curs'd be the fields that cause my Delia's stay;
Fade every bloffom, wither every tree,
Die every flower, and perifh all, but she.
What have I faid? where'er my Delia flies,
Let fpring attend, and fudden flowers arife!
Let opening roses knotted oaks adorn,
And liquid amber drop from every thorn.



Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs along!
The birds fhall cease to tune their evening fong,


The winds to breathe, the waving woods to move,

And streams to murmur, ere I cease to love.

Not bubbling fountains to the thirsty swain,

Not balmy fleep to labourers faint with pain,

Not showers to larks, or fun-fhine to the bee,
Are half fo charming as thy fight to me.


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Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs away!
Come, Delia, come; ah, why this long delay?
Through rocks and caves the name of Delia founds;
Delia, each cave and echoing rock rebounds.
Ye powers, what pleafing frenzy fooths my mind!
Do lovers dream, or is my Delia kind?

She comes, my Delia comes!-Now ceafe my lay,
And cease, ye gales, to bear my fighs away!



Next Ægón fung, while Windfor groyes admir'd; 55 Rehearse, ye Mufes, what yourselves infpir'd. Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful strain! Of perjur'd Doris, dying I complain: Here where the mountains, leffening as they rife, Lose the low vales, and fteal into the skies; While labouring oxen, fpent with toil and heat, In their loofe traces from the field retreat: While curling fmoaks from village-tops are seen, And the fleet shades glide o'er the dusky green. Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful lay! Beneath yon' poplar oft we past the day: Oft' on the rind I carv'd her amorous vows, While fhe with garlands hung the bending boughs The garlands fade, the vows are worn away; So dies her love, and fo my hopes decay.

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Ver. 48. Originally thus in the MS.

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With him through Libya's burning plains I'll go,
On Alpine mountains tread th' eternal fnow;
Yet feel no heat but what our loves impart,
And dread no coldness but in Thyrfis' heart.




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