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Thus, far from Delia, to the winds I mourn,
Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs along!
Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs away! Curs'd 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, Let spring attend, and sudden dowers arise! Let opening roses knotted oaks adorn, And liquid amber drop from every thorn.
Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs along! The birds shall cease to tune their evening song. 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 sun-shine to the bee, 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. Ye powers, what pleasing frenzy sooths my mind! 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!
Next JEgon sung, while Windsor groves admir'd Rehearse, ye muses, what yourselves inspir'd.
Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful strain! Of perjur'd Doris, dying I complain; Here where the mountains, lessening as they rise. Lose the low vales, and steal into tfie skies;
While labouring oxen, spent with toil and heat,
Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful layl
Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful strain! Now bright Arcturus gkids the teeming grain! Now golden fruils on loaded branches shine, And grateful clusters swell with floods of wine; Now blushing berries paint the yellow grove; 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, Who lost my heart while I preserv'd my sheep? Pan came, and ask'd, what magic caus'd my smart, Or what ill eyes malignant glances dart? 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!
Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful lay!
Thus sung the shepherds till th' approach of night,
THE FOURTH PASTORAL, OR DAPHNE.
THYRSIS, the music of that murmuring spring
Behold the groves that shine with silver frost, Their beanty wither'd, and their verdure lost. Here shall I try the sweet Alexis' strain, ThatcalI'd the listening Dryads to the plain? Thames heard the numbers as he flow'd along, And bade his willows learn the moving song.
LYCIDAS. So may kind rains their vital moisture yield, And swell the future harvest of the field. Begin; this charge the dyinij 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. Ye gentle muses, leave your crystal spring, Let nymphs and sylvans cypress garlands bring; Ye weeping loves, the stream with myrtles hide, And, break your bows as when Adonis dy'd;
And with your golden darts. now useless grown,
Tis done, and nature's various charms decay:
For her the flocks refuse their verdant food.
No grateful dews descend from evening skies,
No more the mounting larks, while Daphne sings,
Her fate is whisper'd by the gentle breese, 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 Rood, so lately calm, appears
But see! where Daphne wonderingmountsonhigh,
How all things listen, while thy muse complains! Such silence waits on Philomela's strains, In some still evening, when the whispering breeze Pants on the leaves, and dies upon the trees. To thee, bright goddess, oft a lamb shall bleed, If teeming ewes increase my fleecy breed. While plants their shade, or flowers their odours give, Thy name, thy honour, and thy praise, shall live!
THYRSiS. But see, Orion sheds unwholesome dews; Arise, the pines a noxious shade diffuse; Sharp Boreas blows, and nature feels decay, Time conquers all, and we must Time obey. Adien, ye vales, ye mountains, streams, and groves; Adien, ye shepherds' rural lays and loves; Adien, my flocks; farewel, ye sylvan crew; Daphne, farewel! and all the world adien!