35

Let other swains attend the rural care, Feed fairer flocks, or richer fleeces shear: But nigh yon mountain let me tune my lays, Embrace my love, and bind my brows with bays. That flute is mine which Colin's tuneful breath1 Inspired when living, and bequeathed in death: 2

40

44

He said, "Alexis, take this pipe, the same
That taught the groves my Rosalinda's name:
But now the reeds shall hang on yonder tree,
For ever silent, since despised by thee.
Oh! were I made by some transforming power,
The captive bird that sings within thy bower!
Then might my voice thy listening ears employ,
And I those kisses he receives enjoy.

And yet my numbers please the rural throng, Rough satyrs dance, and Pan applauds the

song:

50

The nymphs, forsaking every cave and spring,
Their early fruit, and milk-white turtles bring!
Each amorous nymph prefers her gifts in vain,
On you their gifts are all bestowed again.
For you the swains the fairest flowers design, 55
And in one garland all their beauties join;
Accept the wreath which you deserve alone,
In whom all beauties are comprised in one.

See what delights in sylvan scenes appear! Descending gods have found Elysium here.3 60

1 The name taken by Spenser in his Eclogues, where his mistress is celebrated under that of Rosalinda.-P. 2 Virg. Ecl. ii. :

"Est mihi disparibus septem compacta cicutis Fistula, Damotas dono mihi quam dedit olim, Et dixit moriens, Te nunc habet ista secundum."-P. 3 "Habitarunt di quoque sylvas."—Virg. "Et formosus oves ad flumina pavit Adonis."

Idem.-P.

In woods bright Venus with Adonis strayed, And chaste Diana haunts the forest-shade. Come, lovely nymph, and bless the silent hours, When swains from shearing seek their nightly bowers;

When weary reapers quit the sultry field,

65

And crowned with corn their thanks to Ceres

yield.

This harmless grove no lurking viper hides,
But in my breast the serpent love abides.
Here bees from blossoms sip the rosy dew,
But your Alexis knows no sweets but you.
O deign to visit our forsaken seats,

70

The mossy fountains, and the green retreats! Where'er you walk, cool gales shall fan the

glade,

Trees, where you sit, shall crowd into a shade : Where'er you tread, the blushing flowers shall

rise,

75

And all things flourish where you turn your

eyes.

Oh! how I long with you to pass my days, Invoke the Muses, and resound your praise! Your praise the birds shall chant in every

grove,1

1

And winds shall waft it to the powers above.2 80 But would you sing, and rival Orpheus' strain, The wondering forests soon should dance again,

1 Your praise the tuneful birds to heaven shall bear,

And listening wolves grow milder as they hear." So the verses were originally written; but the author, young as he was, soon found the absurdity which Spenser himself overlooked, of introducing wolves into England.-P.

2 "Partem aliquam, venti, divum referatis ad aures!"

Virg.-P.

The moving mountains hear the powerful call, And headlong streams hang listening in their

fall!

But see, the shepherds shun the noonday

1

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? But soon the sun with milder rays descends To the cool ocean, where his journey ends: On me Love's fiercer flames for ever prey, By night he scorches, as he burns by day.

90

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 Ægon'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!

ΙΟ

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:

15

When tuneful Hylas with melodious moan, 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,
And with deep murmurs fills the sounding

shores;

Thus, far from Delia, to the winds I mourn,
Alike unheard, unpitied, and forlorn.

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
For her, the lilies hang their heads and die.
Ye flowers that droop, forsaken by the spring,
Ye birds that, left by summer, cease to sing,
Ye trees that fade when autumn-heats remove,
Say, is not absence death to those who love? 30
Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs away!
Cursed be the fields that cause my
Delia's stay;

Fade every blossom, wither every tree,
Die every flower, and perish all, but she.
What have I said? where'er my Delia flies, 35
Let spring attend, and sudden flowers arise;
Let opening roses knotted oaks adorn,1
And liquid amber drop from every thorn.

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?
She comes, my Delia comes !-Now cease my

lay,

And cease, ye gales, to bear my sighs away!

1

"Aurea duræ

Mala ferant quercus; narcisso floreat alnus,
Pinguia corticibus sudent electra myricæ."

Virg. Ecl. viii. —P.

Quale sopor fessis in gramine, quale per æstum Dulcis aquæ saliente sitim restinguere rivo.”

Virg. Ecl. v.-P.

3 "An qui amant, ipsi sibi somnia fingunt?"

Virg. Ecl. viii.-P.