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WINTE

THE

R.

FOURTH PASTORAL.

T

To the Memory of Mrs. TEMPEST*.

HYRSIS,

LYCIDAS.

the music of that murm'ring spring,

Is not fo mournful as the strains you fing.

Nor rivers winding thro' the vales below,
So fweetly warble, or so smoothly flow.
Now fleeping flocks on their soft fleeces lie,
The moon, ferene in glory, mounts the sky,
While filent birds forget their tuneful lays,
Oh fing of Daphne's fate, and Daphne's praise!

THYRSIS.

Behold the groves that shine with filver frost,
Their beauty wither'd, and their verdure loft.
Here shall I try the sweet Alexis' strain,
That call'd the lift'ning Dryads to the plain ?
Thames heard the numbers as he flow'd along,
And bad his willows learn the moving fong.

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* This, which was our Author's favourite Pastoral, was written to the memory of Mrs. Tempest, a lady of an ancient family in Yorkshire, and particularly admired by our Author's friend, Mr. Walsh, who having celebrated her in a Paftoral Elegy, defired his friend to do the fame, as appears from one of his letters, where he says, "Your last eclogue being on the fame subject with that of mine, on Mrs. Tempeft's death, &c." Her death happening on the night of the great storm in 1702, gave a propriety to this eclogue, which in its general turn alludes to it. The Scene of this Paftoral lies in a grove, the Time at Midnight.

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LYCIDAS.

:

Begin; this charge the dying Daphne gave,
And faid, "Ye shepherds, fing around my grave!
Sing, while beside the fhaded tomb I mourn,
And with fresh bays her rural shrine adorn.

THYRSIS.

Ye gentle Muses, leave your crystal spring, Let Nymphs and Sylvans cypress garlands bring; Ye weeping Loves, the stream with myrtles hide, And break your bows, as when Adonis dy'd; And with your golden darts, now useless grown, Inscribe a verse on this relenting stone: "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 chearful day ! Now hung with pearls the dropping trees appear, Their faded honours scatter'd on her bier. See, where on earth the flow'ry glories lie, 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 refuse their verdant food, The thirsty heifers seek the gliding flood.

The filver swans her hapless fate bemoan,
In notes more fad than when they fing their own;
In hollow caves sweet Echo filent lies,
Silent, or only to her name replies,
Her name with pleasure once she taught the shore.
Now Daphne's dead, and pleasure 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 incense yield.
The balmy Zephyrs, filent since her death,
Lament the ceafing of a sweeter breath;

Th'industrious bees neglect their golden store;
Fair Daphne's dead, and sweetness is no more!
. No more the mounting larks, while Daphne fings,
Shall lift'ning in mid-air fufpend their wings;
No more the birds shall imitate her lays,
Or hush'd with wonder, hearken from the sprays:
No more the streams their murmurs shall forbear,

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A fweeter music than their own to hear,
But tell the reeds, and tell the vocal shore,
Fair Daphne's dead, and music is no more!

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Her fate is whisper'd by the gentle breeze, And told in fighs to all the trembling trees;. The trembling trees, in ev'ry plain and wood, Her fate remurmur to the filver flood;

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The filver flood, so 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 high,

Above the clouds, above the starry sky!
Eternal beauties grace the shining scene,
Fields ever fresh, and groves for ever green !
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, while thy Muse complains!
Such filence waits on Philomela's strains,

In some still ev'ning, when the whisp'ring breeze
Pants on the leaves, and dies upon the trees.
To thee, bright goddess, oft' a lamb shall bleed,
If teeming ewes encrease my fleecy breed.
While plants their shade, or flow'rs their odours give,
Thy name, thy honour, and thy praise shall live!

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THYRSIS,

Sharp Boreas blows, and Nature feels decay, Time conquers all, and we must Time obey. Adieu'ye vales, ye mountains, streams, and gr Adieu ye shepherds' rural lays and loves; Adieu my flocks, farewell ye fylvan crew, Daphne farewell, and all the world adieu * !

* These four laft lines allude to the several fubjects of the fo and to the several scenes of them, particularized before in each.

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