The moving mountains hear the powerful call, And headlong streams hang listening in their fall! But see, the shepherds shun the noonday heat, 85 The lowing herds to murmuring brooks retreat, To closer shades the panting flocks remove; Ye gods! and is there no relief for love?1 But soon the sun with milder rays descends To the cool ocean, where his journey ends: 90 On me Love's fiercer flames for ever prey, By night he scorches, as he burns by day. AUTUMN: THE THIRD PASTORAL, B OR HYLAS AND EGON.2 TO MR. WYCHERLEY.3 ENEATH the shade a spreading beech displays, Hylas and Ægon sung their rural lays: This mourned a faithless, that an absent love, 1 "Me tamen urit amor, quis enim modus adsit amori?"-Virg.-P. 2 This Pastoral consists of two parts, like the eighth of Virgil: the scene, a hill; the time, at sunset.-P. 3 Mr. Wycherley, a famous author of Comedies, of which the most celebrated were the Plain-Dealer and Country-Wife. He was a writer of infinite spirit, satire, and wit: the only objection made to him was that he had too much. However, he was followed in the same way by Mr. Congreve; though with a little more correctness.-P. And Delia's name and Doris' filled the grove. Ye Mantuan nymphs, your sacred succour bring; Hylas and Egon's rural lays I sing. 5 Thou, whom the Nine with Plautus' wit inspire, The art of Terence, and Menander's fire; Whose sense instructs us, and whose humour charms, Whose judgment sways us, and whose spirit warms! 10 Oh, skilled in nature! see the hearts of swains, Their artless passions, and their tender pains. Now setting Phoebus shone serenely bright, And fleecy clouds were streaked with purple light: When tuneful Hylas with melodious moan, 15 Taught rocks to weep, and made the mountains groan. Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs away! To Delia's ear the tender notes convey. As some sad turtle his lost love deplores, shores; Thus, far from Delia, to the winds I mourn, 20 Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs along! For her, the feathered quires neglect their song: For her, the limes their pleasing shades deny ; 25 Fade every blossom, wither every tree, Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs along! The birds shall cease to tune their evening song, 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 balmy sleep to labourers faint with pain, Not showers to larks, or sunshine to the bee, 45 Are half so charming as thy sight to me. Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs 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. 50 Ye powers, what pleasing frenzy soothes my mind! 3 Do lovers dream, or is my Delia kind? lay, And cease, ye gales, to bear my sighs away! 1 2 "Aurea duræ Mala ferant quercus; narcisso floreat alnus, Quale sopor fessis in gramine, quale per æstum Virg. Ecl. v.-P. 3 "An qui amant, ipsi sibi somnia fingunt?" Virg. Ecl. viii.-P. Next Egon sung, while Windsor groves admired: 55 Rehearse, ye Muses, what yourselves inspired. Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful strain! Of perjured Doris, dying I complain: Here where the mountains, lessening as they rise, Lose the low vales, and steal into the skies; 60 While labouring oxen, spent with toil and heat, In their loose traces from the field retreat; While curling smokes from village-tops are seen, And the fleet shades glide o'er the dusky green. The garlands fade, the vows are worn away; 70 Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful strain! Now bright Arcturus glads the teeming grain, Now golden fruits on loaded branches shine, And grateful clusters swell with floods of wine; Now blushing berries paint the yellow grove; 75 Just Gods! shall all things yield returns but love? Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful lay! The shepherds cry, "Thy flocks are left a prey." Ah! what avails it me, the flocks to keep, sheep? 80 Pan came, and asked, what magic caused my smart, Or what ill eyes malignant glances dart ? 1 What eyes but hers, alas, have power to move? And is there magic but what dwells in love? Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful strains! 85 I'll fly from shepherds, flocks, and flowery plains. From shepherds, flocks, and plains, I may re move, Forsake mankind, and all the world—but love! I know thee, Love! on foreign mountains bred,2 Wolves gave thee suck, and savage tigers fed. 90 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! 94 One leap from yonder cliff shall end my pains, No more, ye hills, no more resound my strains! Thus sung the shepherds till the approach of night, The skies yet blushing with departing light, When falling dews with spangles decked the glade, And the low sun had lengthened every shade. 100 1 "Nescio quis teneros oculus mihi fascinat agnos.” P. 2 "Nunc scio quid sit Amor: duris in cotibus illum," &c.-P. M |
