DAMON.

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

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 diffuse their sweets around.
For fee the gath'ring flocks to fhelter tend,
And from the Pleiads fruitful fhow'rs descend.

PASTORAL II. SUMMER.

Addressed to Dr. Garth.

A Shepherd's Boy (he fecks 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 streams 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 fhow'r.

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

Ye fhady beeches, and ye cooling ftreams, Defence from Phoebus', not from Cupid's beams, To you I mourn, nor to the deaf I fing; The woods thall anfier, and their echo ring. The hills and rocks attend my doleful lay, Why 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 thirty plains, While in thy heart eternal winter reigns.

Where ftray ye, Mufes, in what lawn or grove, While your Alexis pines in hopeless love? In those fair fields where facred Ifis glides, Or else where Cam his winding vales divides? 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 fhun 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 fhepherd, what avails thy art, To cure thy lambs, but not to heal thy heart! Let other fwains attend the rural care, Feed fairer flecks, or richer fleeces sheer: But nigh yon mountain let ne tune my lays, Embrace iny Love, and bind my brows with bars. 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 fings within thy bow'r!

Thea

Then might my voice thy lift'ning ears employ, And I thofe kiffes he receives enjoy.

On

And yet my numbers please the rural throng, Rough Satyrs dance, and Pan applauds the fong: The Nymphs, forfaking ev'ry cave and fpring, Their carly fruit and milk-white turtles bring! Each am'rous nymph prefers her gifts in vain, you their gifts are all bestow'd again; For you the fwains 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 compriz'd in one. See what delights in fylvan fcenes appear! Defcending Gods have found Elyfium here. In woods bright Venus with Adonis ftray'd, And chafte Diana haunts the foreft fhade. Come, lovely nymph, and blefs the filent hours, When fwains from theering feek their nightly When weary reapers quit the fultry field, [bow'rs; And crown'dwith corn their thanks to Ceres yield. This harmless grove no lurking vapour 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 visit our forsaken seats, The moffy 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 blufhing flow'rs fhall rife,

Now fetting Phoebus fhone ferenely bright, And fleecy clouds were ftreak'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 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, unpity'd, and forlorn.

Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs along! For her, the feather'd quires neglect their long: 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 fpring; 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 ftay; 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 fpring attend, and fudden flow'rs arife; 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 ceafe to tune their ev'ning long, The winds to breathe, the waving woods to move, And ftreams to murmur, ere I ceafe to love. Not bubbling fountains to the thirty fwain, Not balmy fleep to lab'rers faint with pain, Not fhow'rs to larks, or funfhine to the bee, Are half fo charming as thy fight to me.

[lay,

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 frenzy fooths my mind! Do lovers dream, or is my Delia kind? She comes, my Delia comes! Now ceafe my And ceate, ye gales, to bear my fighs away! Next Egon fung, while Windfor groves adinir'd; Rehcarfe, ye Mufes, what yourfelves infpir'd. Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful strain ! Of perjur'd Doris, dying, I complain: Here, where the mountains, lefs'ning as they rife, Lofe the low vales, and fteal into the skies I 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 dufky green.

Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful lay! · Beneath yon poplar oft we pafs the day: Oft on the rind I carv'd the am'rous vows, While fhe with garlands hung the bending boughs The garlands fade, her vows are worn away; So dies her love, and fo my hopes decay.

Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful strain ! 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! Refoun,

M4

Refound, ve hills, refound my mournful lay! The thepherds 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 fheep. Pan came, and afk'd what magic caus'd my fart, 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! Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful ftrains! 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 Etna'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 thall end my pains; No more, ye hills, no more refound my ftrains! Thus fung the thepherds till th'approach of night, The fkies yet bluthing with departing light, When falling dews with spangles deck'd the glade, And the low fun had lengthen'd ev'ry thade.

Behold the groves that fhine with filver froft, Their beauty wither'd, and their verdure loft. Here fhall I try the fweet Alexis' ftrain, That call'd the lift'ning Dryads to the plain' Thames heard the numbers, as he flow'd along, And bade his willows learn the moving fong. LYCIDAS,

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

THYRSIS.

Ye gentle Mufes, leave your cryftal fpring, Let Nymphs and Sylvans cyprefs 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 ufclefs grown, Infèribe a verfe on this relenting ftone: Let nature change, let heav'n 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 carth, the flow 'ry glories lie,
With her they flourish'd, and with her they die.
Ah, what avail the beautics 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 fwans her haplets 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; [fhore;
Her name with pleasure once the taught the
Now Daphne's dead, and pleature is no more!
No grateful dews descend from ev'ning skies,
Nor morning odours from the flow'rs arife;
No rich perfumes refresh the fruitful field,
Nor fragrant herbs their native incenfe yield.
The balmy Zephyrs, filent fince her death,
Lament the cealing of a fweeter breath;
Th'induftrious bees neglect their golden fhore!
Fair Daphne's dead, and fweetnefs is no more!
No more the mounting larks, while Daphne fings,
Shall, lift'ning in mid air, suspend their wings;
No more the birds fhall imitate her lavs,
Or, hufh'd with wonder, hearken from the fprays;
No more the streams their murmurs fhall forbear
A fweeter mufic than their own to hear;
But tell the reeds, and tell the vocal shore,
Fair Daphne's dead, and mufic is no more!

And told in fighs to all the trembling trees;
Her fate is whiper'd by the gentle breeze,
The trembling trees, in ev'ry 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;
The winds, and trees, and floods her death deplore,
Daphne, our grief! our glory now no more!

But fee! where Daphne, wond'ring, mounts on
Above the clouds, above the starry sky! [high,
Eternal beauties grace the fhining fcene,
Fields ever freth, and groves for ever green!
There, while you reft in Amaranthine bow`rs,
Or from thofe meads felect unfading flow'rs,
Behold us kindly, who your name implore,
Daphne, our Goddess, and our grief no more!

§ 2. Windfor-Foreft. POPE.

To the Rt. Hon. George Lord Lanfdown.

THY forefts, Windfort and thy green retreats, once the Monarch's feats, Invite my lays. Be prefent, fylvan maids! Unlock your fprings, and open all your thades. Granville commands; your aid, O Mufes bring! What Mufe for Granville can refuse to sing!

The Groves of Eden, vanish'd now fo long, Live in defcription, 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 cruth'd and bruis'd, But, as the world, harmonioully confus'd: Where order in variety we fec,

And where, tho' all things differ, all agree. "Here waving groves a chequer'd feene difplay, And part admit, and part exclude the day; As fome coy nymph her lover's warm add.cfs Nor quite indulges, nor can quite rèprefs : There, interipers'd in lawns and op'ning glades, Thin trees arile that fhun each other's fhades: Here, in full light the ruffet plains extend: There, wrapt in clouds, the bluish hills afcend. Ev'n the wild heath difplays her purple dyes, And 'midft the defart fruitful fields arife, That crown'd with tufted trees and fringing corn, Like verdant ifles, the fable waste adorn. Let India boaft her plants, nor envy we The weeping amber or the balmy tree, While by our oaks the precious loads are borne, And realms commanded which thofe trees adorn. Not proud Olympus yields a nobler sight, Tho' Gods affembled grace his tow'ring height, Than what more humble mountains offer here, Where, in their bleffings, all those gods appear. 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 Induftry fits finiling on the plains, And Peace and Plenty tell, a Stuart reigns.

Not thus the land appear'd in ages paft, A dreary defart, and a gloomy wafte; To favage beafts and favage laws a prey; And kings more furious and fevere than they; Who claim'd the fkies, difpeopled air and floods, The lonely lords of empty wilds and woods: Cities laid wafte, they storm'd the dens and caves (For wifer brutes were backward to be flaves). What could be free, when lawless beafts obey'd, And ev'n the elements a tyrant sway'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 famifh'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 fubject ftarv'd, the beast was fed.