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Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs away!
Ye powers, what pleasing frenzy fooths my mind!
She comes, my Delia comes !-Now cease my lay,
Next Ægon fung, while Windfor groves admir'd; 55 Rehearse, ye Mufes, what yourselves infpir'd.
Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful strain !
Here where the mountains, leffening as they rife,
Ver. 48. Originally thus in the MS.
With him through Libya's burning plains I'll go,
Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful strain!
Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful strains! .85 I'll fly from fhepherds, flocks, and flowery plains. From fhepherds, 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 savage 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 shall end my pains,
No more, ye hills, no more refound my ftrains!
Thus fung the fhepherds till th' approach of night, The skies yet blushing with departing light, When falling dews with fpangles deck'd the glade, And the low fun had lengthen'd every flade.
HYRSIS, the mufic of that murmuring spring
Behold the groves that shine with filver froft,
So may kind rains their vital moisture yield,
And fwell the future harvest of the field.
Begin; this charge the dying Daphne gave,
Ye gentle Mufes, leave your crystal spring, Let Nymphs and Sylvans cypress garlands bring; Ye weeping Loves, the ftream with myrtles hide, And break your bows as when Adonis dy'd; And with your golden darts, now useless grown, Infcribe a verfe on this relenting stone:
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:
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!
For her the flocks refufe their verdant food,
The thirsty heifers fhun the gliding flood,
The filver swans her hapless fate bemoan,
In notes more fad than when they fing their own;
In hollow caves fweet Echo filent lies,
Silent, or only to her name replies;
Ver. 29. Originally thus in the MS.
'Tis done, and nature's chang'd fince you are gone; Behold the clouds have "put their mourning on."
Her name with pleasure once the taught the shore,
No grateful dews defcend from evening skies,
Th' industrious bees neglect their golden store!
No more the mounting larks, while Daphne fings,
Or, hufh'd with wonder, hearken from the sprays:
No more the streams their murmurs fhall forbear,
But tell the reeds, and tell the vocal fhore,
Her fate is whisper'd by the gentle breeze, And told in fighs to all the trembling trees; The trembling trees, in every plain and wood, Her fate remurmur to the filver flood:
The filver flood, fo lately calm, appears
Swell'd with new paffion, and o'erflows with tears;
But fee! where Daphne wondering mounts on high
Above the clouds, above the starry sky!
Fields ever fresh, and groves for ever green!