STREPHON.

In spring the fields, in autumn hills I love, At morn the plains, at noon the shady grove, But Delia always; absent from her sight, Nor plains at morn, nor groves at noon delight.

DAPHNIS.

Sylvia's like autumn ripe, yet mild as May, More bright than noon, yet fresh as early day; Een spring displeases, when she shines not here: But, blest with her, 'tis spring throughout the year.

STREPHON.

Say, Daphnis, say, in what glad soil appears A wond'rous Tree that sacred Monarchs bears: Tell me but this, and I'll disclaim the prize, And give the conquest to thy Sylvia's eyes.

DAPHNIS.

Nay, tell me first, in what more happy fields The Thistle springs, to which the Lily yields : And then a nobler prize I will resign; For Sylvia, charming Sylvia, shall be thine.

DAMON.

Cease to contend; for, Daphnis, I decree The bowl to Strephon, and the lamb to thee: Blest Swains, whose Nymphsinevery grace excel; Blest Nymphs, whose Swains those graces sing so well!

Now rise, and haste to yonder woodbine bow'rs,
A soft retreat from sudden vernal show'rs;
The turf with rural dainties shall be crown'd

While op'ning blooms diffuse their sweets around.
For, see the gathʼring flocks to shelter tend,
And from the Pleiads fruitful show'rs descend.

PASTORAL II. SUMMER.

Addressed to Dr. Garth.

A SHEPHERD's boy (he seeks no better name) Led forth his flocks along the silver Thame, Where dancing sunbeams on the waters play'd, And verdant alders form'd a quiv'ring shade. Soft as he mourn'd, the streams forgot to flow, The flocks around a dumb compassion show, The Naiads wept, in ev'ry wat'ry bow'r, And Jove consented in a silent show'r.

Accept, O Garth, the Muse's early lays, That adds this wreath of ivy to thy bays; Hear what from Love unpractis'd hearts endure, From Love, the sole disease thou cans't not cure. Defence from Phabus, not from Cupid's beans, Ye shady beeches, and ye cooling streams, To you I mourn, nor to the deaf I sing; The woods shall answer, and their echo ring. The hills and rocks attend my doleful layWhy art thou prouder and more hard than they? The bleating sheep with my complaints agree, They parch'd with heat, and I inflam'd by thee. The sultry Sirius burns the thirsty plains, While in thy heart eternal winter reigns.

Where stray, ye Muses, in what lawn or grove, While your Alexis pines in hopeless love? In those fair fields where sacred Isis glides, Or else where Cam his winding vales divides?

As

As in the crystal spring I view my face,
Fresh rising blushes paint the wat'ry glass;
But since those graces please thy eres no more,
I shun the fountains which I sought before.
Once I was skifl'd in ev'ry herb that
grew,
And ev'ry plant that drinks the morning dew;
Ah, wretched shepherd, what avails thy art,
To cure thy lambs, but not to heal thy heart!
Let other swains attend the rural care,
Feed fairer flocks, or richer fleeces shear:
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
Inspir'd when living, and bequeath'd in death:
He said- Alexis, take this pipe, the same
That taught the groves my Rosalinda's name :
But now the recds shall hang on yonder tree,
For ever silent, since despis'd by thee.
Oh! were I made by some transforming pow'r
The captive bird that sings within thy bow'r!
Then might my voice thy list'ning cars employ,
And I those kisses he receives enjoy.

And yet my numbers please the rural throng,
Rough Satyrs dance, and Pan applauds the song.
The Nymphs, forsaking ev'ry cave and spring,
Their early fruit and milk-white turtles bring:
Each am'rous nympli prefers her gifts in vain,
On you their gifts are all bestow'd again.
For you the swains the fairest flow'rs design,
And in one garland all their beauties join:
Accept the wreath which you deserve alone,
In whom all beauties are compris'd in one.

See what delights in sylvan scenes appear!
Descending gods have found Elysium here."
In woods bright Venus with Adonis stray'd,
And chaste Diana haunts the forest-shade.
Come, lovely nymph, and bless the silent hours,
When swains from shearing seek their nightly
bow'rs;

When weary reapers quit the sultry field,
And crown'd with corn their thanks to Ceres yield.
This harmless grove no lurking viper hides,
But in my breast the serpent love abides,
Here bees from blossoms sip the rosy dew,
But your Alexis knows no sweets but you.
Oh deign to visit our forsaken seats,
The mossy fountains, and the green retreats!
Where'er you walk, cool gales shall fan the glade,
Trees, where you sit, shall crowd into a shade:
Where'er you tread, the blushing flow'rs shall

rise,

And all things flourish where you turn your eyes.
Oh! how I long with you to pass my days,
Invoke the Muses, and resound your praise!
Your praise the birds shall chant in ev'ry grove,
And winds shall waft it to the pow'rs above.
But would you sing, and rival Orpheus' strain,
The wond'ring forests soon should dance again.
The moving mountains hear the pow'rful call,
And headlong streams hang list'ning in their fall!
But see, the shepherds shun the noon-dayheat,
The lowing herd to murm'ring brooks retreat;
To closer shades the panting flocks remove;
Ye gods! and is thei no relief for Love?

But soon the sun with milder rays descends To the cool ocean, where his journey ends: On me Love's fiercer flames for ever prey; By night he scorches, as he burns by day.

PASTORAL III. AUTUMN.

Addressed to Mr. Wycherley.

BENEATH the shade a spreading beech displays
Hylas and gon sung 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 sacred succour bring,
Hylas and Egon's rural race I sing.

Thou, whom the Nine with Plautus' wit in-
The art of Terence, and Menander's fire; [spire,
Whose sense instructs us, and whose humor
charms,
[warms!
Whose judgement sways us, and whose spirit
Oh, skill'd-in nature! see the hearts of swains,
Their artless passions, and their tender pains.

Now setting Phobus shone serenely bright, And fleecy clouds were streak'd with purple light; When tuneful Hylas with melodious moan Taught rocks to weep, and made the mountains

groan.

Go gentle gales, and bear my sighs away! To Delia's ear the tender notes convey, As some sad Turtle his lost love deplores, And with deep murmurs fills thesounding shores, Thus, far from Delia, to the winds I mourn, Alike unheard, uupitied, and forlorn. Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs along! For her, the feather'd choirs neglect their song; For her, the limes their pleasing shades deny; For her, the lilies hang their heads and die. Ye flow'rs that droop, forsaken by the spring; Ye birds that, left by summer, cease to sing Ye trees that fade when autumn heats remove, Say, is not absence death to fliose who love?

Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs away! Curs'd be the fields that caus'd my Delia's stay; Fade ev'ry blossom, wither ev'ry tree, Die ev'ry flow'r, and perish all but she! What have I said? where'er my Delia flies, Let spring attend, and sudden flow'rs arise; Let op'ning roses knotted oaks adorn, And liquid amber drop from ev'ry thorn.

Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs along! The birds shall cease to tune their ev'ning song, 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 sleep to lab'rers famt with pain, Not show'rs to larks, or sunshine to the bee, Are half so charming as thy sight to me.

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

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

LYCIDAS.

How all things listen whilethy Muse complains!

Such silence waits on Philomela's strains

§ 5. Windsor-Forest. Pope.

To the Rt. Hon. George Lord Lansdown. THY forests, Windsor! and thy green retreats, At once the Monarch's and the Muses' seats, Invite my lays. Be present, sylvan maids! Unlock your springs, and open all your shades. Glanville commands; your aid, O Muses bring! What Muse for Granville can refuse to sing?

The groves of Eden, vanish'd now so long,
Live in description, and look green in song:
These, were my breast inspir'd with equal flame,
Like them in beauty, should be like in fame.
Here hills and vales, the woodland and the plain,
Here earth and water seem to strive again!
Not, chaos-like, together crush'd and bruis'd,
But, as the world, harmoniously confus'd:
Where order in variety we see,

And where, tho' all things differ, all agree.
Here waving groves a chequer'd scene display,
And part admit, and part exclude the day;
As some coy nymph her lover's warm address
Nor quite indulges, nor can quite repress.
There interspers'd in lawns and op'ning glades,
Thin trees arise that shun each other's shades:
Here, in full light the russet plains extend;
There, wrapt in clouds, the bluish hills ascend.
Ev'n the wild heath displays her purple dyes,
And 'midst the desart fruitful fields arise,
That, crown'd with tufted trees and fringing corn,
Like verdant isles, the sable waste adorn.
Let India boast her plants, nor envy we
The weeping amber or the baliny tree,
While by our oaks the precious loads are borne,
And realins commanded which those trees adorn,
Not proud Olympus yields a nobler sight,
Tho' gods assembled grace his tow'ring height,
Than what more humble mountains offer here,
Where, in their blessings, all those gods appear.

Cities laid waste, they storm'd the dens and caves
(For wiser brutes were backward to be slaves),
What could be free, when lawless beasts obey'd,
And ev'n the elements a tyrant sway'd?
In vain kind seasons swell'd the teeming grain,
Soft showr's distill'd, and suns grew warm in vain;
The swain with tears his frustrate labor yields,
And famish'd dies amidst his ripen'd fields.
What wonder then, a beast or subject slain
Were equal crimes in a despotic reign?
Both doom'd alike for sportive tyrants bled;
But while the subject starv'd, the beast was fed.
Proud Nimrod first the bloody chace began;
A mighty hunter, and his prey was nian:
Our haughty Norman boasts that barb'rous name,
And makes his trembling slaves the royal game.
The fields are ravish'd from th' industrious swains.
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 clasping ivy twin'd;
O'er heaps of ruin stalk'd the stately hind;
The fox obscene to gaping tombs retires;
And savage howlings fill the sacred quires.
Aw'd by his nobles, by his commons curst,
Th' oppressor rul'd tyrannic where he durst;
Stretch'd o'er the poor and church his iron rod,
And serv'd alike his vassals and his God.
Whom ev'n the Saxon spar'd, and bloody Dane,
The wanton victims of his sport remain.
But see, the man who spacious regions gave
A waste for beasts, himself denied a grave!
Stretch'd on the lawn his second hope survey,
At once the chaser, and at once the prey:
Lo! Rufus, tugging at the deadly dart,
Bleeds in the forest like a wounded hart.
Succeeding monarchs heard the subject's cries,
Nor saw displeas'd the peaceful cottage rise.
Then gath'ring flocks on unknown mountains fed;
O'er sandy wilds were yellow harvests spread;
The forests wonder'd at the unusual grain,
And secret transport touch'd the conscious swain.
Fair Liberty, Britannia's Goddess, rears
Her cheerful head, and leads the golden years.

Ye vig'rous swains! while youth ferments your And purer spirits swell the sprightly flood,[blood, Now range the hills, the gameful woods beset, Wind the shrill horn, or spread the waving net. When milder autumn summer's heat succeeds, And in the new-shorn field the partridge feeds, Before his lord the ready spaniel bounds, Panting with hope, he tries the furrow'd grounds;

But

But when the tainted gales the game betray,
Couch'd close he lies, and meditates the prey:
Secure they trust th' unfaithful field beset,
Till hov'ring o'er 'em sweeps the swelling net.
Thus (if small things we maywith great compare)
When Albion sends her eager sons to war,
Some thoughtless town, with ease and plentyblest,
Near, and more near, the closing lines invest;
Sudden they seise th' amaz'd, defenceless prize,
And high in air Britannia's standard flies.
See! from the brake the whirring pheasant
springs,

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 glossy, varying dyes,
His purple crest and scarlet-circled
eyes,
The vivid green his shining plumes unfold,
His painted wings, and breast that flames with
gold!

Nor yet, when moist Arcturus clouds the sky,
The woods and fields their pleasing toils deny.
To plains with well-breath'd beagles we repair,
And trace the mazes of the circling hare :
(Beasts, urg'd by us, their fellow beasts pursue,
And learn of man each other to undo): [roves,
With slaught'ring guns th' unwearied fowler
When frosts have whiten'd all the naked groves;
Where doves in flocks the leafless trees o'ershade,
And lonely woodcocks haunt the wat'ry glade.
He lifts the tube, and levels with his eye;
Straight a short thunder breaks the frozen sky:
Oft, as in airy rings they skim the heath,
The clan'rons lapwings feel the leaden death;
Oft, as the mounting larks their throats prepare,
They fall, and leave their little lives in air.

In genial spring, beneath the quiv'ring shade, Where cooling vapors breathe along the mead, The patient fisher takes his silent stand, Intent, his angle trembling in his hand: With looks unmov'd he hopes the scaly breed, And eyes the dancing cork and bending reed, Our plenteous streams a various race supply: The bright-eyed perch, with fins of Tyrian dye; The silver eel, in shining volumes roll'd; The yellow carp, in scales bedropt with gold; Swift trouts, diversified with crimson stains; Aud pikes, the tyrants of the wat'ry plains. Now Cancer glows with Phebus' fiery car; The youth rush cager to the sylvan war, Swarm o'er the lawns, the forest walks surround, Rouse the fleet hart,and cheer the openinghound. Thinpatient courser pants in every vein, And pawing scerus to beat the distant plain: Hills, vales, and floods, appear already cross'd, And ere he starts a thousand steps are lost. See the bold youth strain up the threat'ning steep, Rush thro' the thickets, down the valley sweep, Hang o'er their coursers' heads with eager speed, And earth rolls back beneath the flying steed. Let old Arcadia boast her ample plain, Th immortal huntress, and her virgin train; Nor envy, Windsor! since thy shades have seen As bright a Goddess, and as chaste Queen:

Whose care, like hers, protects the sylvan reign,
The earth's fair light, and Empress of the main.
Here too, 'tis sung of old Diana stray'd,
And Cynthus' top forsook for Windsor-shade;
Here was she seen o'er airy wastes to rove,
Seek the clear spring, or haunt the pathless grove;
Here arm'd with silver bows, in early dawn,
Her buskin'd Virgins trac'd the dewy lawn.

Above the rest a rural nymph was fain'd, Thy offspring, Thames! the fair Lodona nam'd (Lodona's fate, in long oblivion cost,

The Muse shall sing,and what she sings shall last): Scarce could the goddess from her nymph be known,

But by the crescent, and the golden zone.
She scorn'd the praise of beauty, and the care;
A belt her waist, a fillet binds her hair;
A pointed quiver on her shoulder sounds,
And with her dart the flying deer she wounds.
It chanc'd, as, eager of the chace, the maid"
Beyond the forest's verdant limits stray'd,
Pan saw and lov'd; and, burning with desire,
Pursu'd her flight; her flight increas'd his fire.
Not half so swift the trembling doves can fly,
When the fierce cagle cleaves, the liquid sky;
Not half so swiftly the fierce eagle moves,
When thro' the clouds he drives the trembling
doves;

As from the god she flew with furious pace,
Or as the god more furious urg'd the chace.
Now fainting, sinking, pale, the nymph appears;
Now close behind his sounding steps she hears
And now his shadow reach'd her as she run,
His shadow lengthen'd by the setting sun;
And now his shorter breath, with sultry air,
Pants on her neck, and fans her parting hair.
In vain on father Thames she calls for aid,
Nor could Diana help her injur❜d maid.
Faint, breathless, thus she pray'd, nor pray'd in
vain-

"Ah Cynthia! ah-tho' banish'd from thy train,
"Let me, O let me, to the shades repair,
"My native shades-there weep, and murmur
She lay, and melting as in tears she lay, [there."
In a soft silver streain dissolv'd away.
The silver stream a virgin coldness keeps,
For ever murinurs, and for ever weeps;
Still bears the name the hapless virgin bore,
And bathes the forest where she rang'd before.
In her chaste current oft the goddess laves,
And with celestial tears augments the waves.
Oft in her glass the musing shepherd spies
Theheadlong mountains and the downward skies,
The wat'ry landskip of the pendent woods,
And absent trees that tremble in the floods;
In the clear azure gleam the flocks are seen,
And floating forests paint the waves with green;
Thro' the fair scene roll slow the ling'ringstreams,
Then foaming pour along, and rush into she