Obrazy na stronie

Whose sense instructs us, and whofe humour charms,
Whofe judgment sways us, and whose spirit warms!
Oh, skill'd in Nature! fee the hearts of Swains,
Their artlefs paffions, and their tender pains.
Now fetting Phoebus fhone ferenely bright,
And fleecy clouds were freak'd 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 fighs away!

To Delia's ear, the tender notes convey.
As fome fad Turtle his loft love deplores,
And with deep murmurs fills the founding fhores;
Thus, far from Delia, to the winds I mourn,
Alike unheard, unpity'd, and forlorn.

Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs along!
For her, the feather'd quires neglect their fong:
For her, the limes their pleafing fhades deny ;'
For her, the lilies hang their heads and die.
Ye flow'rs that droop, forfaken by the fpring,
Ye birds that, left by fummer, ceafe to fing.
Ye trees that fade when autumn-heats remove,
Say, is not abfence death to those who love?

Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs away;
Curs'd be the fields that caus'd my Delia's ftay;
Fade ev'ry bloffom, wither ev'ry tree,
Die ev'ry flow'r, and perifh all, but the.
What have I faid? where'er my Delia flies,
Let fpring attend, and fudden flow'rs arife;
Let op'ning rofes knotted oaks adorn,
And liquid amber drop from ev'ry thorn.





VER. 37.



Aurea dure


Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs along! The birds fhall cease to tune their ev'ning fong, 40 The winds to breathe, the waving woods to move, And streams to murmur, e'er I ceafe to love: Not bubling fountains to the thirsty swain, Not balmy fleep to lab'rers faint with pain, 'Not fhow'rs to larks, or fun-fhine to the bee, Are half so charming as thy fight to me.


Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs away! Come, Delia, come; ah why this long delay ? Thro' rocks and caves the name of Delia founds, Delia, each cave and echoing rock rebounds. 50 Ye pow'rs, what pleafing frenzy fooths my mind! Do lovers dream, or is my Delia kind? She comes, my Delia comes!-Now ceafe my lay, And ceafe, ye gales, to bear my fighs away!


Next Ægon fung, while Windfor groves admir'd; Rehearse, ye Muses, what yourselves inspir❜d. Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful ftrain! Of perjur❜d Doris, dying I complain :



VER. 48. Originally thus in the MS.

With him thro' Libya's burning plains I'll go,
On Alpine mountains tread th' eternal fnow
Yet feel no heat but what our loves impart,
And dread no coldness but in Thyrfis' heart.


Mala ferant quercus; narciffo floreat alnus, Pinguia corticibus fudent electra myricæ.Virg. Ecl. viii. P. VER. 43, etc.]

Quale fopor felis in gramine, quale per aflum

Dulcis aqua faliente fitim reftinguere rivo. Ecl. v. P. VER. 52. An qui amant, ipfi fibi fomnie fingunt ? Id. viii. P.


Here where the mountains less'ning as they rife
Lose the low vales, and steal into the skies:
While lab'ring oxen, spent with toil and heat,
In their loose traces from the field retreat:
While curling fmoaks from village-tops are seen,
And the fleet shades glide o'er the dusky green.
Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful lay! 65
Beneath yon' poplar oft we past the day :
Oft' on the rind I carv'd her am'rous vows,
While fhe with garlands hung the bending boughs:
The garlands fade, the vows are worn away;
So dies her love, and fo my hopes decay.


Refound, ye hills, refound 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
Juft Gods! fhall all things yield returns but love?
Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful lay!
The fhepherds cry, "Thy flocks are left a prey-
Ah! what avails it me, the flocks to keep,
Who loft my heart while I preferv'd my fheep. 80
Pan came, and afk'd, what magic caus'd my smart,
Or what ill eyes malignant glances dart?

What eyes but hers, alas, have pow'r to move!
And is there magic but what dwells in love?



VER. 74. And grateful cluflers, etc.] The fcene is in Windfor-foreft. So this image not fo exact.


VER. 82. Or what ill eyes]

Nefcio quis teneros oculus mihi fufcinat agnos.



Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful strains! I'll fly from fhepherds, flocks, and flow'ry plains. From fhepherds, flocks, and plains, I may remove, Forfake mankind, and all the world—but love! I know thee, Love! on foreign Mountains bred, Wolves gave thee fuck, and favage Tigers fed. 90 Thou wert from Ætna's burning entrails torn, Got by fierce whirlwinds, and in thunder born! Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful lay! Farewell, ye woods, adieu the light of day! One leap from yonder cliff fhall end my pains, 95 No more, ye hills, no more refound my ftrains! Thus fung the fhepherds till th' approach of night, The skies yet blushing with departing light, When falling dews with spangles deck'd the glade, And the low fun had lengthen'd ev'ry shade.


VER. 98, 100.] There is a little inaccuracy here; the first line makes the time after fun-fet; the fecond, before.


VER. 89. Nunc fcio quid fit Amor: duris in cotibus illum, etc. P.







To the Memory of Mrs. TEMPEST.



HYRSIS, the music of that murm'ring spring Is not fo mournful as the ftrains you fing. Nor rivers winding thro' the vales below, So fweetly warble, or fo fmoothly flow.


WINTER.] This was the Poet's favourite Pastoral. Mrs. Tempeft.] 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 Paftoral Elegy, defired his friend to do the fame, as appears from one of his Letters, dated Sept. 9, 1706. "Your laft Eclogue "being

VER. 1. Thyrfis, the mufic, etc.]
Adú ri, etc. Theocr. Id. i.

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