But foon the fun with milder rays defcends VARIATION. Ver. 91. Me love inflames, nor will his fires allay. 99 AUT U THE THIRD PASTORAL, HYLAS and EGON. BE TO MR, WYCHERLEY, ENEATH the fhade a spreading beech difplays, This mourn'd a faithless, that an absent love: Thou, whom the Nine with Plautus' wit inspire, 5 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; 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, A As fome fad Turtle his loft love deplores, And with deep murmurs fills the founding fhores; Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs along! Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs away! Die Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs along! 20 25 30 35 The birds fhall cease to tune their evening fong, 40 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 fhowers to larks, or fun-fhine to the bee, 45 Go, Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs away! She comes, my Delia comes !-Now ceafe my lay, 50 Next Ægon fung, while Windfor groves admir'd; 55 Rehearse, ye Muses, what yourselves infpir'd. Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful strain ! Here where the mountains, leffening as they rife, VARIATION. Ver. 48. Originally thus in the MS. With him through Libya's burning plains I'll go, 60 65 70 Re Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful strain! 1 Who loft my heart while I preferv'd my sheep. 75 80 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. D 4 95 WINTER. |