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? smart, 80 Pan came, and asked, what magic caused my 1 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! 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 WINTER: THE FOURTH PASTORAL, OR DAPHNE. TO THE MEMORY OF MRS. TEMPEST,1 LYCIDAS. HYRSIS, the music of that murmur. ing spring Is not so mournful as the strains you sing. 5 Nor rivers winding through the vales below, THYRSIS. Behold the groves that shine with silver frost, Their beauty withered, and their verdure lost. 10 Here shall I try the sweet Alexis' strain, That called the listening Dryads to the plain? Your 1 This lady was of an ancient family in Yorkshire, and particularly admired by the author's friend, Mr. Walsh, who, having celebrated her in a Pastoral Elegy, desired his friend to do the same, as appears from one of his letters, dated Sept. 9, 1706: last Eclogue being on the same subject with mine on Mrs. Tempest's death, I should take it very kindly in you to give it a little turn, as if it were to the memory of the same lady." Her death, having happened on the night of the great storm in 1703, gave a propriety to this Eclogue, which in its general turn alludes to it. The scene of the Pastoral lies in a grove; the time at midnight.-P. Thames heard the numbers, as he flowed along,' And bade his willows learn the moving song. LYCIDAS. 16 So may kind rains their vital moisture yield, And swell the future harvest of the field. Begin; this charge the dying Daphne gave, And said, "Ye shepherds, sing around my grave!" Sing, while beside the shaded tomb I mourn, And with fresh bays her rural shrine adorn. THYRSIS. 20 Ye gentle Muses, leave your crystal spring, Let Nymphs and Sylvans cypress garlands bring; Ye weeping Loves, the stream with myrtles hide,2 And break your bows as when Adonis died; And with your golden darts, now useless grown, Inscribe a verse on this relenting stone: "Let nature change, let heaven and earth deplore, 26 Fair Daphne's dead, and love is now no more!' 'Tis done, and nature's various charms decay, See gloomy clouds obscure the cheerful day! 30 Now hung with pearls the dropping trees appear, Their faded honours scattered on her bier. See, where on earth the flowery glories lie, With her they flourished, and with her they die. Ah what avail the beauties nature wore ? 35 Fair Daphne's dead, and beauty is no more! 1 "Audiit Eurotas, jussitque ediscere lauros." 2 "Inducite fontibus umbras Virg.-P. Et tumulum facite, et tumulo superaddite carmen." Virg.-P. For her the flocks refuse their verdant food, The thirsty heifers shun the gliding flood, The silver swans her hapless fate bemoan, In notes more sad than when they sing their own; In hollow caves sweet Echo silent lies, Silent, or only to her name replies; 40 Her name with pleasure once she taught the shore, Now Daphne's dead, and pleasure is no more! No grateful dews descend from evening skies, 45 Nor morning odours from the flowers arise; sings, 50 Shall listening in mid air suspend their wings; sprays: 55 No more the streams their murmurs shall for bear, A sweeter music than their own to hear, 60 Her fate is whispered by the gentle breeze, And told in sighs to all the trembling trees; The trembling trees, in every plain and wood, Her fate remurmur to the silver flood; The silver flood, so lately calm, appears Swelled with new passion, and o'erflows with 65 tears; |