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Sing then, and Damon thall attend the strain, FIRST in the foc fields in the entire rufipriainsHere thi@right crocus and blue y Professioni

While yon flow oxen turn the furrow'd plain. Fair Thames, how gently from thy faered spring, I'll stake yon lamb that near the fountain plays, While on thy banks Sicílian Muse's sing; Let vernal airs thro' trembling ofiers play,

And from the brink his dancing shade surveys. And Albion's cliffs resound the rural lay.

You, that too wise for pride, too good for pow'r,

And I this bowl, where wanton ivy twines,
Enjoy the glory to be great no more,
And carrying with you all the world can boast, Four figures rising from the work, appear

And swelling clusters bend the curling vincs : To all the world illustriously are lost !

The various seafons of the rolling year; O let my Muse her slender reed inspire,

And what is that, which binds the radiant skv, Tiil in your native fhades you tune the lyre: So when the Nightingale to rest removes,

Where twelve fair signs in beau cous order lie? The Thrush may chant to the forsaken groves ; Bur charm'd to filence, listens while she fings, And all th’aèrial audience clap their wings.

Then sing by turns, by turns the Muses fing, Soon as the Aocks thook off the nightly dews, Now hawthorns blossom, now the daisies spring, Two Swains, whom love kept wakeful, and the Now leaves the trees and flow’rs adorn the ground; Muse,

Begin, the vales shall cv'ry note icbound. Pourd o'er the whitening vale their fleecy care, Fresh as the morn, and as the season fair : The dawn now blushing on the mountain's side, Inspire me, Phæbus, in my Delia's praise, Thus Daphnis spoke, and Strephon thus reply'd With Waller's strains, or Granville's moving lays!

A milk-white Bull fall at your altars stand, DAPHNIS.

That threats a fight, and spurns the rising fand. Hear how the birds, on ev'ry bloomy spray,

DAPHNIS. With joyous music wake the dawning day ! Why sit we mute when carly linnets ling, O Love! for Sylvia let me gain the prize, When warbling Philomel falutes the fprirg! And make my tongue victorious as her eyes :



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No lambs or fheep for victims I'll impart ;
Thy victim, Love, fhall be the fhepherd's heart.


Mc gentle Delia beckons from the plain, Then, hid in fhades, eludes her eager fwain; But feigns a laugh to fee me fearch around, And by that laugh the willing fair is found,


The fprightly Sylvia trips along the green; She runs, but hopes the does not run unfeen; While a kind glance at her purfuer flies, How much at variance are her feet and eyes!


O'er golden fands let rich Pactolus flow,
And trees weep amber on the banks of Po;
Bleft Thames's fhores the brightest beauties yield;
Feed here, my lambs, I'll feck no diftant field.


Celestial Venus haunts Idalia's groves ; Diana Cvnthus, Ceres Hybla loves; If Windfor-fhades delight the matchlefs maid, Cynthus and Hybla yield to Windfor-fhade.


All nature mourns, the skies relent in fhow'rs, Huth'd are the birds, and clos'd the drooping If Delia fimile, the flow'rs begin to fpring, [flow'rs; The fkies to brighten, and the birds to fing.


All nature laughs, the groves are fresh and fair, The fun's mild luftre warms the vital air; If Sylvia fimiles, new glories gild the shore, And vanquish'd nature feems to charm no more.


In fpring the fields, in autumn hills I love, At morn the plains, at noon the fhady grove, But Delia always; abfent from her fight, Nor plains at morn, nor groves at noon delight.


Sylvia's like autumn ripe, yét mild as May, More bright than noon, yet fresh as carly day; E'en fpring difpleafes when the fhines not here; But, blefs'd with her, 'tis fpring throughout the



Say, Daphnis, fay, in what glad foil appears A wond'rous tree that facred monarchs bears; Tell me but this, and I'll disclaim the prize, And give the conqueft to thy Sylvia's eyes.


Nay, tell me first, in what more happy fields The Thistle fprings to which the lily yields: And then a nobler prize I will refign; For Sylvia, charming Sylvia, fhall be thine.


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.


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!


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


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,

And all things flourish where you turn your eyes.
Oh how I long with you to pafs my days,
Invoke the Mules, and refound your praife!
Your praife the birds fhall chant in ev'ry grove,
And winds fhall waft it to the pow'rs above.
But would you fing, and rival Orpheus' strain,
The wond'ring forefts foon fhould dance again,
The moving mountains hear the pow'rful call,
And headlong ftreams hang lift'ning in their fall!
But fee, the fhepherds fhun the noon-day heat,
The lowing herds to murm'ring brooks retreat;
To clofer fhades the panting flocks remove;
Ye Gods! and is there no relief for love?
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.


Addreffed to Mr. Wycherley. BENEATH the fhade a fpreading beech difplays, Hylas and Egon fung their rural lays : This mourn'd a faithlefs, that an abfent 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 infpire, The art of Terence, and Menander's fire; Whose fenfe inftructs us, and whofe humour [warms! Whofe judgment fways us, and whofe humour Oh, skill'd in nature! fee the hearts of fwains, Their artless paffions, and their tender pains.


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


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.


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,


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.

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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.


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!

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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!

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§ 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.

Proud Nimrod first the bloody chace began;
A mighty hunter, and his prey was man :
Our haughty Norman boasts that barb'rous name,
And makes his trembling flaves the royal game.
The fields are ravish'd from th’industrious fwains,
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 ruins stalk'd the stately kind;
The fox obfcene to gaping tombs retires;
And favage howlings fill the facred quires.
Aw'd by his nobles, by his commons curft,
Th'oppreffor rul'd tyrannic where he durft;
Stretch'd o'er the poor and church his iron rod,
And ferv'd alike his vaffals and his God.
Whom ev'n the Saxon spar'd, and bloody Dane,
The wanton victims of his fport remain.
But fee, the man who fpacious regions gave
A wafte for beafts, himfelf deny'd a grave!
Stretch'd on the lawn, his fecond hope furvey,
At once the chacer, and at once the prey:
Lo! Rufus, tugging at the deadly dart,
Bleeds in the foreft, like a wounded hart.
Succeeding monarchs heard the fubjects cries,
Nor faw difpleas'd the peaceful cottage rise.
Then gath'ring flocks on unknown mountains feda.
O'er fandy wilds were yellow harvests spread;
The forefts wonder'd at th’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 fwains! while youth ferments your
And purer fpirits fwell the fprightly flood, [blood,
Now range the hills, the gameful woods befet,
Wind the thrill horn, or fpread the waving net.
When milder autumn fummer's heat fucceeds,
And in the new-fhorn field the partridge feeds,
Before his lord the ready fpaniel bounds,
Panting with hope, he tries the furrow'd grounds;
But when the tainted gales the game betray,
Couch'd clofe he lies, and meditates the prey:
Secure, they trust th’unfaithful field befet,
Till, hovʼring o'er 'em, fweeps the fwelling net,
Thus (if fmall things we may with great compare)
When Albion fends her eager fons to war, [bleft,
Some thoughtiefs town, with cafe and plenty
Near and more near the clofing lines inveft;
Sudden they feize th'amaz'd, defenceless prize,
And high in air Britannia's standard flies.

See! from the brake the whirring pheasant


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 gloffy varying dyes,
His purple creft, and scarlet circled eyes!
The vivid green his thining plumes unfold,
His painted wings, and breast that flames with

Nor yet, when moift Arcturus clouds the sky, The woods and fields tler pleafing toils deny. To plains with well-breath'd beagles we repair, And trace the mazes of the circling hare:


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