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Pour'd o'er the whitening vale their fleecy care,
Fresh as the morn, and as the season fair :
The dawn now blushing on the mountain's side,
Thus Daphnis spoke, and Strephon thus reply'd.

Hear how the birds, on every bloomy spray,
With joyous music wake the dawning day!
Why fit we mute, when early linnets sing,
When warbling Philomel salutes the fpring?
Why sit we fad, when Phosphor shines so clear,
And lavish Nature paints the purple year?

Şing then, and Damon shall attend the strain,
While yon' slow oxen turn the furrow'd plain.
Here the bright crocus and blue violet glow;
Pere western wiņds on breathing rofes blow.
l'll stake yon' lamb, that near the fountain plays,
And from the brink his dancing fhade surveys.

And ļ this bowl, where wanton ivy twines,
And swelling clusters bend the curling vires :
Four figures rising from the work appear,
The various seasons of the rolling year ;
And what is that, which binds the radiant sky,
Where twelve

signs in beauteous lie?

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VARIATIONS, Ver. 34. The first reading was,

And his own image from the bank surveys. Ver. 36. And clusters lurk beneath the curling vines.


Then sing by turns, by turns the Muses sing, Now hawthorns blossom, now the daisies spring, Now leaves the trees, and flowers adorn the ground; Begin, the vales shall every note rebound.



Inspire me, Phoebus, in my Delia's praise,
With Waller's strains, or Granville’s moving lays !
A milk-white bull shall at your altars stand,
That threats a fight, and spurns the rising fand.




O Love! for Sylvia let me gain the prize,
And make my tongue victorious as her eyes ;
No lambs or sheep for victims I'll impart,
Thy victim, Love, shall be the shepherd's heart.

Me gentle Delia beckons from the plain,
Then, hid in shades, eludes her eager swain;
But feigns a laugh, to see me search around,
And by that laugh the willing fair is found.

The fprightly Sylvia trips along the green,
She runs, but hopes she does not run unseen;
While a kind glance at her pursuer flies,
How much at variance are her feet and eyes!




Ver. 49. Originally thus in the MS.

Pan, let my numbers equal Strephon's lays,
Of Parian itone thy ftatue will I raise ;
But if I conquer and augment my fold,
Thy Parian itatue shall be chang‘d to gold.

O'er golden sands let rich Pactolus flow,
And trees weep amber on the banks of Po;
Blest Thames's shores the brightest beauties yield,
Feed here my lambs, I'll seek no distant field.



Celestial Venus haunts Idalia's groves ;
Diana Cynthus, Ceres Hybla loves :
If Windsor shades delight the matchless maid,
Cynthus and Hybla yield to Windsor-shade.


All nature mourns, the skies relent in showers, Hush'd are the birds, and clos’d the drooping flowers ; If Delia smile, the flowers begin to spring,

71 The skies to brighten, and the birds to sing.



Ver. 61. It stood thus at first :

Let rich Iberia golden fleeces boast,
Her purple wool the proud Assyrian coast,

Lleft Thames's shores, &c.
Ver. 61. Originally thus in the MS.

Go, flowery wreath, and let my Sylvia know,
Compar'd to thine how bright her beauties show :
Then die; and dying, teach the lovely maid
How soon the brightest beauties are decay'd.

Go, tuncful bird, that pleas'd the woods so long,
Of Amaryllis learn a sweeter song:
To Heav'n arising then her notes convey,
For Heav'n alone is worthy such a lay.



All nature laughs, the groves are fresh and fair,
The fun's mild lustre warms the vital air ;
If Sylvia smiles, new glories gild the shore,
And vanquish'd nature seems to charm no more.

In spring the fields, in autumn hills I love,
At murn the plains, at noon the shady grove,
But Delia always ; absent from her light,
Nor plains at morn, nor groves at noon delight.




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Sylvia 's like autumn ripe, yet mild as May,
More bright than noon, yet fresh as early day ;
E'en Spring displeases, when she shines not here;
But, bless'd with her, 'tis spring throughout the year.




Say, Daphnis, say, in what glad foil appears,
A wondrcus Tree that sacred Monarchs bears :
Teül me but this, and I'll disclaim the prize,
And give the conquest to thy Sylvia's eyes.

Nay, tell me first, in what more happy fields
The Thistle springs, to which the Lily yields :



Ver. 59. &c. These verses were thus at first:
All nature mourns, the birds their songs deny,
Nor wasted brooks the thirsty flowers fupply;

Delia fmile, the flowers begin to spring,
Tie brooks to murmur, and the birds to fing.

And then a nobler prize I will resign;
For Sylvia, charming Sylvia, shall be thine.

Cease to contend; for, Daphnis, I decree,
The bowl to Strephon, and the lamb to thee.
Bleft Swains, whose Nymphs in every grace excell; 95
Bleft Nymphs, whose Swains those graces sing so well!
Now rise, and haste to yonder woodbine bowers,
A soft retreat from sudden vernal showers;
The turf with rural dainties shall be crown'd,
While opening blooms diffuse their sweets around. 100
For see! the gathering flocks to shelter tend,
And from the Pleiads fruitful showers defcend.


Ver. 99. was originally,

The turf with country dainties shall be spread,
And trees with twining branches shade your head.

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