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Whofe fense inftructs us, and whose humour charms,
Whofe judgment fways us, and whose spirit warms!
Oh, skill'd in Nature! fee the hearts of Swains, 11
Their artlefs paffions, and their tender pains.
Now fetting Phoebus fhone ferenely bright,


And fleecy clouds were streak'd with purple light;
When tuneful Hylas with melodious moan,
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.
As fome fad Turtle his loft love deplores,

And with deep murmurs fills the founding shores; 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; 25 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 stay;


fpirit, fatire, and wit. that he had too much.



The only objection made to him was
However he was followed in the fame

way by Mr. Congreve; tho' with a little more correctness.

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 arise;
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 cease to tune their ev'ning fong, 40
The winds to breathe, the waving woods to move,
And streams to murmur, e'er I cease to love.
Not bubbling fountains to the thirsty fwain,
Not balmy sleep to lab'rers faint with pain,
Not show'rs to larks, or fun-fhine to the bee,
Are half fo charming as thy fight to me.


VER. 48. Originally thus in the MS.

With him thro' 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.



Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs away! Come, Delia, come; ah, why this long delay?

VER. 43. etc.]

Quale fopor feffis in gramine, quale per æftum

Dulcis aquæ faliente fitim reftinguere rivo. Ecl. v.


VER. 37.

Aurea duræ

Mala ferant quercus; narciffo floreat alnus,

Pinguia corticibus fudent electra myricæ. Virg. Ecl. viii.


Thro' rocks and caves the name of Delia founds,
Delia, each cave and echoing rock rebounds.
Ye pow'rs, what pleasing frenzy fooths my mind!
Do lovers dream, or is my Delia kind?
She comes, my Delia comes!-Now cease my lay,
And ceafe, ye gales, to bear my fighs away!

Next Ægon fung, while Windfor groves admir'd; Rehearfe, ye Mufes, what yourselves 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, Lose the low vales, and fteal into the skies; 60 While lab'ring oxen, spent with toil and heat, In their loofe traces from the field retreat: While curling fmoaks from village-tops are seen,, And the fleet fhades glide o'er the dusky green.

Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful lay! 65 Beneath yon' poplar oft we paft 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 strain! Now bright Arcturus glads the teeming grain, Now golden fruits on loaded branches fhine, And grateful clusters fwell with floods of wine;


VER. 52. An qui amant, ipfi fibi fomnia fingunt? Id. viii.


Now blushing berries paint the yellow grove;

Just Gods! fhall all things yield returns but love?
Refound, 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 lost my heart while I preferv'd my fheep. 80
Pan came, and ask'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!


Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful strains!
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! on foreign mountains bred,
Wolves gave thee fuck, and favage tigers fed. 90
Thou wert from Ætna'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 shall end my pains, 95
No more, ye hills, no more refound my strains!

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





VFR. 82. Or ruhat ill eyes]

Nefcio quis teneros oculus mihi fafcinat agnos.

VER. 89. Nunc fcio quid fit Amor: duris in cotibus illum, etc.






To the Memory of Mrs. TEMPEST.



'HYRSIS, the music of that murm'ring fpring Is not fo mournful as the ftrains Nor rivers winding thro' the vales below, So fweetly warble, or fo fmoothly flow.

you fing.


Mrs. Tempeft.] This Lady was of an ancient family in Yorkfhire, and particularly admired by the Author's friend Mr. Walsh, who, having celebrated her in a Paftoral Elegy, defired


VER. I. Thyrfis, the music, etc.]
Adú Ti, etc. Theocr. Idyl, i.

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