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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.

VARIATION.

Ver. 91. Me love inflames, nor will his fires allay.

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AUT U
TU M N.

THE

THIRD PASTORAL,

HYLAS and EGON.

BE

TO MR, WYCHERLEY,

ENEATH the fhade a spreading beech difplays,
Hylas and Ægon fung 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 facred fuccour bring;
Hylae and Ægon's rural lays I fing.

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

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Whose sense instructs us, and whofe humour charms, Whose judgment sways us, and whose spirit warms! 10 Oh, skill'd in Nature! fee the hearts of Swains,

Their artless paffions, and their tender pains.

Now setting Phoebus fhone ferenely bright,

And fleecy clouds were streak'd with purple light;
When tuneful Hylas, with melodious moan,

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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,

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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 limes their pleafing fhades deny;
For her, the lilies hang their heads, and die.
Ye flowers that droop, forfaken by the spring,
Ye birds that, left by fummer, cease 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 cause my Delia's stay;
Fade every bloffom, wither every tree,

Die
every flower, and perish all, but she.
What have I faid? where'er my Delia flies,
Let spring attend, and sudden flowers arise !
Let opening rofes knotted oaks adorn,
And liquid amber drop from
every thorn.

Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs along!

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The birds fhall cease to tune their evening fong,

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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 labourers faint with pain,

Not fhowers to larks, or fun-fhine to the bee,
Are half so charming as thy fight to me.
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Go,

Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs away!
Come, Delia, come; ah, why this long delay?
Through rocks and caves the name of Delia sounds;
Delia, each cave and echoing rock rebounds.
Ye powers, what pleasing frenzy fooths my mind!
Do lovers dream, or is my Delia kind?

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

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Next Ægon fung, while Windfor groves admir'd; 55 Rehearse, ye Muses, what yourselves infpir'd.

Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful strain !
Of perjur'd Doris, dying I complain :

Here where the mountains, leffening as they rife,
Lose the low vales, and steal into the skies;
While labouring oxen, spent with toil and heat,
In their loofe traces from the field retreat:
While curling smoaks from village-tops are seen,
And the fleet shades glide o'er the dusky green.
Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful lay!
Beneath yon' poplar oft we past the day:
Oft' on the rind I carv'd her amorous 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.

VARIATION.

Ver. 48. Originally thus in the MS.

With him through Libya's burning plains I'll go,
On Alpine mountains tread th' eternal fnow;
Yet feel no heat but what our loves impart,
And dread no coldness but in Thyrfis' heart.

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Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful strain!
Now bright Arcturus glads the teeming grain,
Now golden fruits on loaded branches shine,
And grateful clusters fwell with floods of wine;
Now blushing berries paint the yellow grove;
Juft gods! fhall all things yield returns but love!
Refound, ye hills, resound my mournful lay!
The fhepherds cry, “Thy flocks are left a prey.”
Ah! what avails it me, the flocks to keep,

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Who loft my heart while I preferv'd my sheep.
Pan came, and ask'd, what magic caus'd my fmart,
Or what ill eyes malignant glances dart?
What eyes but hers, alas, have power to move?
And is there magic but what dwells in love!

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Resound, ye hills, refound my mournful strains! 85 I'll fly from fhepherds, flocks, and flowery plains. From fhepherds, 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 Ætna's burning entrails torn, Got by fierce whirlwinds, and in thunder born! Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful lay! Farewell, ye woods, adieu the light of day! One leap from yonder cliff shall end my pains, No more, ye hills, no more refound my strains!

Thus fung the fhepherds till th' approach of night, The skies yet blushing with departing light, When falling dews with spangles deck'd the glade, And the low fun had lengthen'd every shade.

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WINTER.

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