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Now fleeping flocks on their soft fleeces lie,
THYR SI S.
Behold the groves that shine with filver froft,
So may kind rains their vital moisture yield,
VER. 13. Thames beard, etc.]
Audiit Eurotas, juffitque edifcere lauros. Virg.
his friend to do the fame, as appears from one of his Letters, dated Sept. 9, 1706. "Your laft Eclogue being on the fame subject with mine on Mrs. Tempeft's death, I should take it 66 very kindly in you to give it a little turn, as if it were to "the memory of the fame lady." Her death having happened on the night of the great ftorm in 1703, gave a propriety to this eclogue, which in its general turn alludes to it. The scene of the Paftoral lies in a grove, the time at midnight.
ade ev'ry DAGARSI
Die ev'ry now: .... *.
What have i
et fpring attz-,
et op meg ruIEL BELANG. nd liquid amet: w), Go, gente gast., a. he birds fe. £tust he winds to DICAL. D. nd ftreams to Jarst) än. ot bubbling loa of baimy iEL IS ot fnow rs to Aditi, re half to charli
Sing, while befide the shaded tomb I mourn,
THYRS I S.
Ye gentle Mufes, leave your crystal spring, Let Nymphs and Sylvans cyprefs 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, 25 Infcribe a verfe 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 fcatter'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 fhun the gliding flood,
VER. 29. Originally thus in the MS.
'Tis done, and nature's chang'd fince you are gone;
VER. 23, 24, 25.
Inducite fontibus umbras
Et tumulum facite, et tumulo fuperaddite carmen.
The filver fwans her hapless fate bemoan,
In notes more fad than when they fing their own;
No grateful dews defcend from ev'ning fkies, 45
Shall lift'ning in mid air fufpend their wings;
Her fate is whisper'd by the gentle breeze,
Her fate remurmur to the filver flood;