Sing what thou wilt, ill-nature will prevail;
And ev'ry elf has skill enough to rail.
But yet, tho' poor and artlefs is my
vein,
Menalcas feems to like my fimple ftrain;
And long as he is pleas'd to hear my song,
That to Menalcas does of right belong,
Nor night, nor day, fhall my rude mufic ceafe;
I ask no more, fo I Menalcas please.
Menalcas, lord of all the neighb'ring plains,
Preferves the sheep, and o'er the shepherds reigns.
For him our yearly wakes and feasts we hold,
And choose the fattest firstling from the fold.
He, good to all that good deserve, shall give
Thy flock to feed, and thee at ease to live
Shall curb the malice of unbridled tongues,
And with due praise reward thy rural fongs.
First then shall lightsome birds forget to fly,
The briny ocean turn to pastures dry,
And ev'ry rapid river cease to flow,
Ere I unmindful of Menalcas grow.
This night thy cares with me forget; and fold Thy flock with mine, to ward th' injurious cold. Sweet milk and clotted cream, foft cheese and curd, With fome remaining fruit of laft year's hoard, Shall be our ev'ning fare: and for the night, Sweet herbs and mofs, that gentle fleep invite. And now behold the fun's departing ray O'er yonder hill, the sign of ebbing day.
With fongs the jovial hinds return from plow,
And unyok'd heifers, pacing homeward, low.
WHEN Virgil thought no fhame the Dorick reed
To tune, and flocks on Mantuan plains to feed,
With young Auguftus' name he grac'd his fong;
And Spenfer, when amidst the rural throng
He carol'd sweet, and graz'd along the flood
Of gentle Thames, made ev'ry founding wood
With good Eliza's name to ring around;
Eliza's name on ev'ry tree was found.
Since, then, thro' Anna's cares at ease we live,
And see our cattle in full paftures thrive;
Like them will I my flender music raise,
And teach the vocal valleys Anna's praise.
Mean time on oaten pipe a lowly lay,
While my kids browse, obscure in shades I play:
Yet not obfcure, while Dorset thinks not scorn
To vifit woods, and fwains ignobly born.
Two country fwains, both mufical, both young,
In friendship's mutual bonds united long,
Retir'd within a moffy cave, to shun
The crowd of fhepherds, and the noon-day fun,
A melancholy thought poffefs'd their mind:
Revolving now the folemn day they find,
When young Albino dy'd. His image dear
Bedews their cheek with many a trickling tear:
To tears they add the tribute of their verse;
These Angelot, those Palin did rehearse.
Thus yearly circling by-past times return;
And yearly thus Albino's fate we mourn:
Albino's fate was early, fhort his stay;
How sweet the rofe! how speedy the decay!
Can we forget how ev'ry creature moan'd,
And fympathizing rocks in echo groan'd,
Prefaging future woe, when, for our crimes,
We loft Albino-pledge of peaceful times,
The pride of Britain, and the darling joy
Of all the plains and ev'ry shepherd boy?
No joyous pipe was heard, no flocks were feen,
Nor fhepherds found upon the graffy green;
No cattle graz'd the field, nor drank the flood,
No birds were heard to warble thro' the wood.
In yonder gloomy grove ftretcht out he lay,
His beauteous limbs upon the dampy clay;
The roses on his pallid cheeks decay'd,
And o'er his lips a livid hue display'd:
Bleating around him lay his penfive sheep,
And mourning fhepherds came in crouds to weep:
The pious mother comes, with grief oppress'd;
Ye, conscious trees and fountains, can attest
With what fad accents, and what moving cries,
She fill'd the grove, and importun'd the skies,
And ev'ry star upbraided with his death,
When in her widow'd arms, devoid of breath,
She clafp'd her fon. Nor did the nymph for this Place in her darling's welfare all her blifs,
And teach him young the filvan crook to wield, And rule the peaceful empire of the field.
As milk-white fwans on filver ftreams do fhow, And filver ftreams to grace the meadows flow; As corn the vales, and trees the hills adorn, So thou to thine an ornament waft born.
Since thou, delicious youth, didft quit the plains, Th' ungrateful ground we till with fruitless pains; In labour'd furrows fow the choice of wheat, And over empty fheaves in harvest sweat:
A thin increase does our whole substance yield, And thorns and thiftles overspread the field.
How all our hopes are fled, like morning dew!
And we but in our thoughts thy manhood view.
Who now shall teach the pointed fpear to throw,
To whirl the fling, and bend the stubborn bow?
Nor doft thou live to bless thy mother's days,
And fhare the facred honours of her praise;
In foreign fields to purchase endless fame,
And add new glories to the British name.
O peaceful may thy gentle spirit rest,
And flow'ry turf lie light upon thy breaft;
Nor fhrieking owl nor bat fly round thy tomb,
Nor midnight fairies there to revel come!
No more, mistaken Angelot, complain; Albino lives, and all our tears are vain. And now the royal nymph who bore him, deigns To blefs the fields, and rule the fimple fwains,
While from above propitious he looks down.
For this, the golden fkies no longer frown,
The planets shine indulgent on our ifle,
And rural pleasures round about us smile.
Hills, dales and woods with fhrilling pipes refound;
The boys and virgins dance with garlands crown'd,
And hail Albino bleft: the vallies ring
Albino bleft! O now, if ever, bring
The laurel green, the fmelling eglantine,
And tender branches from the mantling vine,
The dewy cowflip, that in meadow grows,
The fountain violet and garden rofe:
Your hamlets ftrew, and ev'ry public way,
And confecrate to mirth Albino's day.
Myself will lavish all my little ftore,
And deal about the goblet, flowing o'er :
Old Moulin there fhall harp, young Mico fing,
And Cuddy dance the round amidst the ring,
And Hobbinol his antic gambols play.
To thee these honours yearly will we pay,
When we our fhearing feast and harvest keep,
To fpeed the plow, and bless our thriving sheep.
While mallow kids, and endive lambs pursue;
While bees love thyme, and locufts fip the dew;
While birds delight in woods their notes to ftrain,
Thy name and fweet memorial fhall remain.
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