Page images
PDF
EPUB

Accept the wreath which you deserve alone,
In whom all beauties are compriz'd in one.

See what delights in fylvan scenes appear!
Defcending Gods have found Elyzium here.
In woods bright Venus with Adonis stray'd,
And chafte Diana haunts the foreft-fhade.
Come, lovely nymph, and blefs the filent hours,
When fwains from fheering feek their nightly bow'rs;
When weary reapers quit the fultry field,

60

65 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 bloffoms fip the rofy dew, But your Alexis knows no fweet but you. Oh deign to vifit our forfaken feats, The moffy fountains, and the green retreats! Where-e'er you walk, cool gales fhall fan the glade, Trees, where you fit, fhall croud into a fhade;

70

Where-e'er you tread, the blushing flow'rs fhall rife, 75
And all things flourish where you turn your eyes.
Oh! how I long with you to païs my days,
Invoke the Mufes, and refound your praise!
Your praise the birds fhall chant in ev'ry grove,
And winds fhall waft it to the pow'r above.
But would you fing, and rival Orpheus' strain,
The wond'ring forests foon should dance again,
The moving mountains hear the pow'rful call,
And headlong ftreams hang lift'ning in their fall!

But fee, the shepherds fhun the noon-day heat,
The lowing herds to murm'ring brooks retreat,
To closer 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 scorches, as he burns by day.

3

80

85

90

AUTUMN.

AUT U M

THE

N.

THIRD PASTORAL*.

To Mr. WYCHERLY.

B

Eneath the shade a spreading Beech displays,

Hylas and Ægon 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.

[ocr errors]

Thou, whom the Nine with Plautus' wit infpire,
The art of Terence, and Menander's fire;

Whose fense inftructs us, and whofe humour charms,
Whofe judgment sways us, and whose spirit warms!
Oh, fkill'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 ftreak'd with purple light;
When tuneful Hylas, with melodious moan

10

15

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.

* This Paftoral consists of two parts, like the eighth of Virgil. The feene, a Hill, the time, at Sun-fet.

VOL. I.

D

As

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 fong;
For her, the lymes their pleafing shades deny ;
For her, the lillies, hang their heads and die.
Ye flow'rs 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 abfence death to those who love?

20

25

30

Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs away! Curs'd be the fields that cause my Delia's ftay; Fade ev'ry bloffom, wither ev'ry tree,

Die ev'ry flow'r, and perish all, but she.
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.

35

Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs along!

The birds fhall ceafe to tune their ev'ning fong,

40

The winds to breathe, the waving woods to move,

And ftreams to murmur, e'er I cease to love.

Not bubbling fountains to the thirsty swain,
Not balmy fleep to lab'rers faint with pain,

Not fhow'rs to larks, or funfhine to the bee,

45

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!

50

Do lovers dream, or is my Delia kind?

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

Next Ægon fung, while Windfor groves admir'd, 55 Rehearfe, ye Mufes, what yourselves infpir'd.

Refound,

Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful ftrain!
Of perjur❜d Doris, dying I complain:
Here where the mountains lefs'ning as they rife
Lose the low vales, and fteal into the skies:
While lab'ring oxen, fpent with toil and heat,
In their loose traces from the field retreat :
While curling fmoaks from village-tops are feen,
And the fleet fhades glide o'er the dusky green.

Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful lay!
Beneath yon' poplar oft we pafs'd the day :
Oft' on the rind I carv'd her am'rous 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.

Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful ftrain!
Now bright Arcturus glads the teeming grain,
Now golden fruits on loaded branches fhine,
And grateful clusters fwell with floods of wine;
Now blufhing berries paint the yellow grove;
Juft gods! fhall all things yield returns but love?
Resound, ye hills, refound my mournful lay !
The shepherds 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 sheep.
Pan came, and afk'd, what magic caus'd my fmart,
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?

60

65

70

75

80

Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful ftrains! 85 I'll fly from fhepherds, flocks, and flow'ry plains. From fhepherds, flocks, and plains, I may remove, Forfake mankind, and all the world-but love! I know thee, Love! wild as the raging main, More fell than tygers on the Lybian plain : Thou wert from Atna'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! D 2

90

One

1

One leap from yonder cliff fhall 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 ev'ry fhade.

95

100

WINTER.

« PreviousContinue »