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He said, ' Alexis, take this pipe, the same
And yet my numbers please the rural throng,
See what delights in silvan scenes appear! Descending gods have found Elysium here. In woods bright Venus with Adonis stray'd, And chaste Diana haunts the forest-shade. Come, lovely nymph, and bless the silent hours, When swains from sheering seek their nightly bow'rs; When weary reapers quit the sultry field, And, crown'd with corn, their thanks to Ceres yield. This harmless grove no lurking viper hides, But in my breast the serpent Love abides. Here bees from blossoms sip the rosy dew, But your Alexis knows no sweets but you. O deign to visit our forsaken seats, The mossy fountains, and the green retreats! Where'er you walk, cool gales shall fan the glade, Trees, where you sit, shall crowd into a shade:
Where'er you tread, the blushing flowers shall rise,
But see, the shepherds shun the noon-day heat,
AUTUMN; OR HYLAS AND EGON.
TO MR. WYCHERLEY.
BENEATH the shade a spreading beech displays,
Thou, whom the Nine with Plautus' wit inspire, The art of Terence, and Menander's fire ; Whose sense instructs us,and whose humour charms, Whose judgment sways us, and whose spirit warms;
O, skill'd in nature! see the hearts of swains,
Now setting Phoebus shone serenely bright,
'Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs away! To Delia's ear the tender notes convey. As some sad turtle his lost love deplores, And with deep murmurs fills the sounding shores; Thus, far from Delia, to the winds I mourn, Alike unheard, unpitied, and forlorn.
'Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs along! For her, the feather'd quires neglect their song; For her, the limes their pleasing shades deny; For her, the lilies hang their heads and die. Ye flowers that droop, forsaken by the spring, Ye birds that, left by summer, cease to sing, Ye trees, that fade when autumn-heats remove, Say, is not absence death to those who love?
'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 bave I said? Where'er my Delia flies, Let spring attend, and sudden flowers 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 sunshine to the bee,
'Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs away!
She comes, my Delia comes!-Now cease my lay, And cease, ye gales, to bear my sighs away!'
Next Egon 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 the skies: 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.
'Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful lay! Beneath yon poplar oft we pass'd the day : Oft on the rind I carv'd her amorous vows, While she with garlands hung the bending boughs:The garlands fade, the vows are worn away; So dies her love, and so my hopes decay.
'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: 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!
'Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful strains! I'll fly from shepherds, flocks, and flowery plains; From shepherds, flocks, and plains, I may remove, Forsake mankind, and all the world-but love! I know thee, Love, on foreign mountains bred, Wolves gave thee suck, and savage tigers fed; Thou wert from Ætna's burning entrails torn, Got by fierce whirlwinds, and in thunder born! Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful lay! Farewell, ye woods; adieu the light of day! 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 deck'd the glade, And the low sun had lengthen'd every shade.
WINTER; OR DAPHNE.
TO THE MEMORY OF MRS. TEMPEST.
THYRSIS! the music of that murmuring spring