On you their gifts are all beftow'd again.
For
you
the fwains the fairest flow'rs defign,
And in one garland all their beauties join;
Accept the wreath which you deserve alone,
In whom all beauties are compriz'd in one.
See what delights in fylvan scenes appear!
Descending Gods have found Elysium here.
In woods bright Venus with Adonis stray'd,
And chaite Diana haunts the foreft-shade.
Come, lovely nymph, and bless the filent hours,
When fwains from sheering feek their nightly bow'rs;
When weary reapers quit the fultry field,
And crown'd with corn, their thanks to Ceres yield,
This harmless grove no lurking viper hides,
But in my breaft the ferpent Love abides.
Here bees from bloffoms fip the rofy dew;
But your Alexis knows no sweets but you.
Oh deign to visit our forfaken feats,
The moffy fountains, and the green retreats.
Where-e'er you walk, cool gales shall fan the glade,
Trees, where you fit, shall croud into a shade.
Where-c'er you tread, the blushing flow'rs shall rife,
And all things flourish where you turn your eyes.
Oh! how I long with you to pass my days,
Invoke the Mufes, and refound your praise!
Your praise the birds shall chant in ev'ry grove,
And winds shall waft it to the Pow'rs above.
But would you fing, and rival Orpheus' strain,
The wond'ring forefts foon should dance again,
The moving mountains hear the pow'rful call,
And headlong ftreams hang liit'ning in their fall!
But fee, the shepherds shun the noon-day heat, The lowing herds to murm'ring brooks retreat, To clofer shades the panting flocks remove; Ye Gods! and is there no relief for love? But foon the fun with milder rays defcends To the cool ocean, where his journey ends : On me Love's fiercer flames for ever prey, By night he fcorches, as he burns by day.
ENEATH the shade a spreading beech displays, Hylas and Ægon fung their rural lays.
This mourn'd a faithless, that an absent love;
And Delia's name and Doris' fill'd the grove.
Ye, Mantuan Nymphs, your facred fuccour bring;
Hilas and Ægon's rural lays I fing.
Thou, whom the Nine with Plautus' wit infpire, The art of Terence, and Menander's fire;
Whose fenfe inftructs us, and whofe humour charms,
Whofe judgment fways us, and whose spirit warms!
Oh, skill'd in nature! fee the hearts of swains,
Their artless paffions, and their tender pains.
Now fetting Phoebus shone ferenely bright,
And fleecy clouds were ftreak'd with purple light;
When tuncful Hylas, with melodious moan,
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 shores;
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 negle&t theit song; For her, the limes their pleafing shades deny ; For her, the lilies hang their heads and die. Ye flow'rs, that droop, forfaken by the spring, Ye birds, that, left by fummer, cease 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 caufe my Delia's ftay; Fade ev'ry bloffom, wither ev'ry tree, Die ev'ry flow'r, and perish all, but she. What have I faid? where'er my Delia flics, Let Spring attend, and fudden flow'rs arife; Let op'ning rofes knotted oaks adorn, And liquid amber drop from ev'ry thorn.
Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs along! The birds shall ceafe to tune their ev'ning-fong, The winds to breathe, the waving woods to move, And ftreams to murmur, ere I ceafe to love. Not bubbling fountains to the thirsty swain, Not balmy fleep to lab'rers faint with pain, Not show'rs to larks, or fun-shine to the bee, Are half fo 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. Ye Pow'rs, what pleafing frenzy fooths my mind! Do lover's dream, or is my Delia kind?
She comes, my Delia comes!
And cease, ye gales, to bear my sighs away!
Next Ægon fung, while Wind/or groves admir'd; Rehearse, ye Mufes, what youríelves inspir❜d.
Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful @rain! Of perjur'd Doris, dying I complain.
Here, where the mountains less'ning as they rise,
Lofe 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 feen,
And the fleet shades glide o'er the dusky green.
Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful lay!
Beneath yon' poplar oft we pafs'd the day;
Oft on the rind I carv'd her am'rous vows,
While she 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 ftrain!
Now bright Ar&turus glads the teeming grain,
Now golden fruits on loaded branches shine,
And grateful clusters fwell with floods of wine,
Now blushing berries paint the yellow grove;
Juft Gods! shall all things yield returns but love!
Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful lay!
The shepherds 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 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 pow'r to move?
|