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$1. A Pastoral. In Four Paris. Pope. Why sit we sad when Phosphor shines lo clcar,
And lavith Nature paints the purple year?
Sing then, and Damon thall attend the strain,
While yon flow oxen turn the furrow'd plain. FIRST in these fields I try the fylyan strains,
Nor blush to tporton Windsor's blissful plains : Here the bright crocus and blue vi'let glow; Fair Thames, how gently from thy sacred spring, I'll take yon lamb that near the fountain plays,
Here western winds on breathing roses blow. While on thy banks Sicilian Mulus fing; Let vernal airs thro' trembling ofiers play,
And from the brink his dancing Thade surveys. And Albion's cliffs refound the rural lay.
And I this bowl, where wanton ivy twincs, And carrying with you all the world can boast, Four figures rising from the work, appear
And swelling clusters bend the curling vincs : To all the world illustriously are lott!
The various seasons of the rolling year;
And what is that, which binds the radiant skv, So when the Nightingale to rest removes,
Where twelve fair signs in beautcous order lie? The Thrush may chant to the forsaken groves; Bur charm'd to silence, listens while she fings, And all th’aèrial audience clap their wings.
Then sing by turns, by turns the Mufes fing, Soon as the flocks fhook of the nightly dews, Now hawthorns blossom, now the daisies spring, Two Swains, whom love kept wakeful, and the Now leaves the trees and flow’rs adorn the ground; Muse,
Begin, the valcs shall cr’ry note rebound. Pourd o'er the whitening vale their fleecy care, Fresh as the morn, and as the season fair: The dawn now blushing on the mountain's fide, Inspire me, Phæbus, in my Delia's praise, Thus Daphnis spoke, and Strephon thus reply'd With Valler's strains, or Granville's moving lays!
A milk-white Bull fall at your altars stand, DAPHNIS.
That threais a light, and spurns the rising fand. Hear how the birds, on ev'ry bloomy spray,
DAPHNIS. With joyous music wake the dawning day ! Why fit we mute when carly linnets fing, O Love! for Sylvia let me gain the prize, When warbling Philomel salutes the fpring? And make my tongue victorious as her cyes:
No lanbs or sheep for victims I'll imparti,
Cease to contend; for, Daphnis, I decree
The bowl to Strephon, and the lamb to thee : Mc gentle Delia beckons from the plain,
Bleft Swains, whose Nymphs in ev'ry grace excel; Then, hid in shades, eludes ber eager sivain ;
Bleft Nymphs, whose Swains those graces fing
so well! But fcigns a laugh to see me search around,
Now rise, and haste to yonder woodbine bow'rs, And by that laugh the willing fair is found,
A soft retreat froin sudden rernal show'rs;
The turf with rural daintics llall be crown'd, The sprightly Sylvia trips along the green ;
While op’ning blooms diffuse their sıvects around. •
For fee! the gath’ring Aocks to fhelter tend,
And from the Plciads fruitful show'rs dcscend. How much at variance are her feet and eyes !
PASTORAI, II, SUMMER.
Aldrefjed to Dr. Garth.
A Shepherd's Boy (he secks no better name) Bien Thames's thorcs the brightest beauties yield; Led forth his Ancks along the filver Thame, Fccd hcre, my lambs, I'll feck no distant field.
Where dancing fun-beams on the waters play'd,
And verdant alders form'd a quiv'ring Thade.
Soft as he mourn’d, the streams forgot to flow, Ccleftial Venus haunts Idalia's groves ; The flocks around a dumb compatsion show, Diana Cynthus, Ceres Hybla loves;
The Naiads wept in ev'ry wat’ry bow'r,
Accept, O Garth, the Muse's early lays,
Hear what from Love unpraEtis'd hearts endure, All nature mourns, the skies relcnt in show'rs, From Love, the sole diseate thou canst not cure. Huth'd are the birds, and clos'd the drooping
Ye shady beeches, and ye cooling streams, If Delia smile, the flow'rs begin to spring, [Aow'rs; Defence from Phoebus', not from Cupid's beams, The skies to brighten, and the birds to fing,
To you I mourn, nor to the deaf I sing;
The woods thall antiver, and their echo ring.
The hills and rocks attend any doleful lay,
While in thy heart eternal winter reigns.
Where stray ye, Muses, in what lawn or grove, In spring the fields, in autumn hills I love, While
your Alexis pines in hopeless love ? At morn the plains, at noon the shady grove, In those fair fields where sacred Ifis glides, But Delia always; absent from her sight,
Or else where Cain his winding vales divides? Nor plains at morn, nor groves at noon delight.
As in the crystal spring I view my face,
But since those graces please thy eyes no more,
To cure thy lambs, but not to heal thy heart !
Let other fivains attend the rural care,
Feed fairer Accks, or richer fleeces sheer:
Embrace iny Love, and bind my brows with bays. Tell ine but this, and I'll disclain the prize, That Alute is mine which Colin's tüneful breath And give the conquest to thy Sylvia's eyes. Inspir'd when living, and bequeath'd in death :
He said; Alexis, take this pipe, the fame
That taught the groves my Rosalinda's name:
Oh! were I made by fome transforming pow'r For Sylvia, charming Sylvia, shall be thine.. The captive bird that sings within thy bow'r !
Then might my voice thy lift'ning ears employ, Now setting Phæbus shone serenely bright, And I those kiffes he receives enjoy.
And feecy clouds were treak'd with purple light; And yet my numbers please the rural throng, When runeful Hylas, with melodious moan, Rough Satyrs dance, and Pan applauds the song: Taught rocks to weep, and made the mountains The Nymphs, forfaking ev'ry cave and spring,
groan. Their carly fruit and milk-white turtles bring! Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs away! Each am'rous nymph prefers her gifts in vain,
To Delia's ear the tender notes' convey. On you their gifts are all bestow'd again ;
As lome sad turtle his loft love deplores, For you the swains the fairest flow'rs design, And with deep murmurs fills the founding shores And in one garland all their beauties join : Thus, far from Delia, to the winds I mourn, Accept the wreath which you deserve alone, Alike unheard, unpity'd, and forlorn. In whom all beauties are compriz'd in one. Go, gentle gales, and bear iny fighs along!
See what delights in sylvan scenes appear ! For her, the feather'd quires neglect their long: Descending Gods have found Elysium herc. For her, the limes their plcasing Thades deny; In woods bright Venus with Adonis ftray'd, For her, the lilies hang their heads and dic. And chaste Diana haunts the forest shade. Ye flow'rs that droop, forsaken by the spring; Come, lovely nymph, and bless the filent hours, Ye birds that, left by summer, ccafe to fing; When fivains from sheering seek their nightly Ye trees that fade when aucuinn heats remove, When weary reapers quit the fultry field, [bow'rs; Say, is not ablence death to those who love ? And crown dwith corn their thanksto Ceres yield. Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs away! This harmless grove no lurking vapour hides,
Curs'd be the fields that cause my Delia's stay; But in my breast the ferpent Love abides. Fade ev'ry blossom, wither ev'ry tree, Here bees froin blossoms fip the rosy dew, Die ev'ry flow'r, and perith all, but the. But your Alexis knows no sweets but you.
What have I said? where'er my Delia Alies, Oh deign to visit our forsaken seats,
Let ipring attend, and sudden flow'rs arile; The mossy fountains, and the green retreats ! Let op'ning rofes knotted oaks adorn, Where'er you walk, cool gales shall fan the glade, And liquid amber drop froin ev'ry thorn. Trees, where you sit, shall crowd into a shade : Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs along! Where'er you tread, the blushing Pow'rs Thall The birds shall cease to tune their ev’ning long, rife,
The winds to breathe, the waving woods to move, And all things flourish where you turn your eyes. And streams to murmur, ere I cease to love. Oh! how I long with you to pass my days, Not bubbling fountains to the thirsty swain, Invoke the Mules, and resound your praise ! Not balmy llccp to lab’rers faint with pain, Your praise the birds thall chant in ev'ry grove, Not show'rs to larks, or fun thine to the bee, And winds shall waft it to the pow’rs above. Arc half fo charming as thy right to me. But would you fing, and rival Orpheus' strain, Go, gentle gales, and bear my lighs away! The wond'ring forests foon should dance again, Come, Delia, come; ah, why this long delay? The moving mountains hear the pow'rful call, Thro’rocks and caves the name of Delia sounds; And hcadlong streams hang list’ning in their fall! Delia, each cave and echoing rock rebounds.
But see, the shepherds thun the noon-day heat, Ye pow'rs, what pleasing frenzy fonths iny mind! The lowing herds to murm’ring hrooks retrcat; Do lovers dream, or is my Delia kind? [lay, To closer shades the panting flocks remove; She comes, my Delia coines ! .
Now ceasc iny Ye Gods! and is there no relief for love? And ceale, ye galcs, to bear my sighs away! But soon the sun with milder rays descends Next/Egon fung, while Windfor groves adinir'd; To the cool ocean, where his journey ends : Rchcarse, ye Mutes, what yourselves inspir’d. On me Love's fiercer flames for ever prey;
Resound, ye hills, refound my mournful ftrain ! By night he scorches, as he burns by day. Of perjur'd Doris, dying, I complain :
Herc, where the mountains, less'ning as they rise, PASTORAL III. AUTUM N.
Lose the low valcs, and ftcal into the skies i
Whilc lab’ring oxen, spent with toil and heat, Aldrefod to Mr. Wycherley.
In their loole traces from the field retreat :
Whilc curling smokes from village tops are seen, BENEATHthc thade a sprcading becch displays, And the ficet shades glide o'er the dulky green. Hylas and Egon sung their rural lays :
Refound, ye hills, l'esound my mournful lay!. This mourn'd a faithless, that an absent love; Beneath yon p-plar oft we pass the day : And Delia's name and Doris' fill'd the grove. Oft on the rind I cary'd the am'rous vows, Ye Mantuau nymphs, your facred succour bring; While she with garlands hung the bending boughs Hylas and Ægon's rural lays I ing.
The garlands fade, her vows are worn away; Thou, whom the Nine with Plautus' wit inspire, So dies her love, and so my hopes decay. The art of Terence, and Menander's fire; Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful strain! Whose sense instructs us, and whose humour Now bright Arcturus glads the teeming grain; charms,
(warms! Now goldon fruits on loaded branches ihine, Whose judgment (ways us, and whose humnour And grateful clusters fwell with floods of wine; Oh, skill'd in nature ! see the hearts of fivains, Now blufhing berries paint the yellow grcre; Their artless paftions, and their tender pains. Juf Gods! Thall all things yield returns hus love!
Refoan1, ve lills, resound my mournful lay! Now hung with pearls the dropping trees appear, The illeperds cry,“ Thy flocks are left a prey.” Their faded honours scatter'd on her bier. Ah! wliat avails it me the Aucks to keep, Sce where, on carth, the fou'ry glories lie; Who lost my bicart while I preferv'd my sheep. With her they fourth’d, and with her they die. Pan came, and ask'd what magic caus'd iny mart, Ah, what avail the beauties nature wore? Or what ili eyes malignant glances dart! Fair Daphne's dead, and beauty is no more! What eves but hers, alas! have pow'r to move! For her the flocks refuse their verdant food, And is there magic but what dwells in love! The thirsty heifers thun the gliding flood,
Refound, ve hills, resound my mournful itrains! The silver livans her hapleis fate bemoan I'll Hy from thepherds, flocks, and flow'ry plains; In notes more lad than when they fing their own; From shepherds, flocks, and plains, I may reinove, In hollow cares Tweet echo filent lies, Forsake mankind, and all the world but Love? | Silent, or only to her name replies ; [shore; I know thee, Love! on foreign mountażns bred, Her name with pleasure once the taught the Wolves gave thee fuck, and savage tigers fed : Now Daphne's dead, and pleature is no more! Thou were from Etna's burning entrails torn, No grateful dews descend from ev’ning ikies, Got by fierce whirlwinds, ind in thunder horn! Nor morning odours from the How'rs arile;
Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful lay! No rich perfumes refresh the fruitful field,
No more the birds thall imitate her lavs,
Or, huth'd with wonder, hearken from the sprays;
No more the Itreams their murmurs thall forbear
A sweeter music than their own to hear;
Fair Daphne's dead, and music is no more! THYRSIS, the music of that murm’ring spring
Her fate is whitjer'd by the gentle breeze, Is nor fo mournful as the trains you sing;
And told in fighs to all the trembling trees ; Nor rivers winding thro’the vales below,
The treinbling trees, in ev'ry plain and wood, So livectly warbie, or fo linoothly flow.
Her fate remurinur to the silver food : Now sleping flocks on their fott fceces lie,
The Giver Hood, to lately calm, appears The moon, ferenc in glory, mounts the sky,
Swell’d with new pallion, and o'erflows with tears; Whilc filent birds forget their tuneful lays,
The winds, and trees, and foods her death deplore, Oh ting of Daphnc's fate and Daphne's praise ! Daphne, our grief! our glory now no more!
But fee! where Daphne, wond'ring, mounts on THYRSIS.
Above the clouds, above the starry sky! (high, Behold the groves that shine with silver frost, Eternal beauties grace the thining scene, Their beauty wither'll, and their verdure loft. Fields ever freth, and groses for ever green! Here fle)! I try the fiveet Alexis' ftrain, There, while you rett in Amaranthine bow'rs, That ca!ld the litt’ning Dryads to the plain! Or from those meads select unfading Rowirs, Thames heard the numbers, as he flow'd along, Behold us kindly, who your name implore, And badc his willows lcarn the moving fong. Daphue, our Goddess, and our grief ng more! LYCIDAS,
LYCIDAS. So may kind rains their vital moisture yield, How all things listen, while thy Muse complains! And fivell the future harvest of the field.
Such filence waits on Philomela's strains. Begin ; this charge the dying Daphne gave, In some itill ev’ning, when the whisp'ring breeze And said, Y c flicpherds, fiug around my grave.' Pants on the leaves, and dics upon the trees, Sing, whild beside the mailed tomb I mourn, To thee, bright goddess, oft a lanb shall bleed, And with frefi bays her rural shrine adorn,
If tecming ewes increase my fleccy breed. (yive, THYRSIS.
While plants their fhade, or now'rs their odour3 Ye gentle Mufes, leave your cryftal spring,
Thy name, thy honour, and thy praise hall live! Let V;amphs and Sylvans cypress garlands bring; Ye weeping Loves, thc ítream with myrtles hide, But see, Orion sheds unwholesome dews; And break your bows as when Adonis dy'd; Arise, the pines a noxious fhade diffuse; And wish your golden darts, now uteless grown, Sharp Boreas blows, and nature feels decav; Intcribe a verte on this relenting stone:
Time conquers all, and we must Time obev. • Letnature change, let heav'n and carth deplore; Adieu, ye vales, ye mountains, streams and groves; “Fair Daphne's dead, and Love is now nomore.' Adieu, ye shepherds, rural lays, and loves;
'Tis done, and nature's various charms decay, Adieu, my focks; farewell, ye fylvan crew; See, slcomy clouds obscure the cheerful day! Dapline, fare well; and all the world adicu.
2. Wind/or-Forejt. Pope. Proud Nimrod first the bloody chace began; : To the Rt. Hon. George Lord Lansdown.
A mighty hunter, and his prey was man :
Our laughty Norman boasts that barb'rous naine, TY forests, Windfort and thy grcen retreats, And makes his trembling laves the royal game.
The fields are ravilh'd from th'industrious swains, Invite my lays. Be prefent, fylvan maids ! From men their cities, and, froin Gods their fancs: Unbock
your springs, and open all your thades. Thc levell'd towns with weeds lie cover'd o'er; Granville cominands; your aid, o Mutes bring! | The hollow winds thro' naked temples roar; Wlar Muse for Granville can refuse to ling! Round broken columns clasping ivy twin'd;
The Groves of Eden, vanith'd now to long, O'cr heaps of ruins stalk'd the stately lind;
The wanton victims of his sport remain.
Her cheerful head, and leads the golden years. The weeping amber or the balmy tree,
Ye vig'rous swains ! while youth ferments your While by our oaks the precious loads are borne, And purer fpirits sivell the sprightly food, [blood, And realms commanded which thole trees adorn. Now range the hills, the gameful woods befet, Not proud Olympus yields a nobler light, Wind the thrill horn, or ipread the waving net, Tho' Gods assembled grace his tow'ring height, When milder autumn fummer's heat succeeds, Than what more humble mountains offer here, And in the new-fhorn field the partridge feeds, Where, in their bleffings, all those gods appear. Before his lord the ready spaniel bounds, See Pan with tlocks, with fruits Pomona crown'd; Panting with hope, he trics the furrow'd grounds; Here blushing Flora paints th'enamellid ground; But when the tainted gales the game betray, Here Ceres' gifts in waving prospect stand, Couch'd close he lies, and meditates the prey : And, nodding, tempt the joyful reaper's hand; Secure, they trust th'unfaithful field beset, Rich Industry fits similing on the plains, Till, hov’ring o'er'em, fweeps the livelling net, And Peace and Plenty tell, a Stuart reigns. Thus (if finallthings we may with great compare) Not thus the land appear'd in ages past,
When Albion sends her eager sons to war, (bleft, A dreary defart, and a gloomy watte;
Some thoughtlefs town, with case and plenty To savage beasts and favage laws a prey; Near and more near the closing lines invest; And kings more furious and levere than they; Sudden thcy seize th'amaz’d, defenceless prize, Who claim'd the skies, difpeopled air and floods, And high in air Britannia's standard flies. The lonely lords of empty wilds and woods: See! from the brake the whirring pheasant Cities laid waste, they storm'd the dens and caves
springs, (For wiser brutes were backward to be slaves). And mounts, exulting, on triumphant wings : What could be free, when lawless beasts obey'd, Short is his joy; he feels the fiery wound, And ev’n the elements a tyrant (way'd ? Flutters in blood, and panting beats the ground. In vain kind seasons swellid the tecming grain, Ah! what avail his glossy varying dyes, Soft Show'rs dittill’d, and suns grew warm in His purple creft, and scarlet circled eyes! vain ;
The vivid green his thining plumes unfold, The swain with tears his frustrate labour yields, His painted wings, and breast that flames with And familh'd dies amidst his ripen'd fields.
gold ! What wonder then, a beast or subject Nain Nor yet, when moist Arcturus clouds the sky, Were equal crimes in a despotic reign? The woods and fields tler plealing toils deny. Both, doom'd alike, for sportive tyrants bled; To plains with well-breath'd beagles we repair, But while the subject farv'd, the beast was fed. And trace the mazes of the circling hare: