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“ Ye nymphs," he cried, “ye Dryads, who so long Have favor'd Damon, and inspir'd his song ;
TO MR. DODDINGTON, AFTERWARDS LORD To seek tranquillity and peace with you.
HEAR, Dodding the notes that shepherds sing, Though Envy frowns not on your humble shades, Like those that warbling hail the genial Spring. Nor Calumny your innocence invades :
Nor Pan, nor Phæbus, tunes our artless reeds: Yet cruel Love, that troubler of the breast, From Love alone their melody proceeds. Too often violates your boasted rest;
From Love, Theocritus, on Enna's plains, With inbred storms disturbs your calm retreat, Learnt the wild sweetness of his Doric strains. And taints with bitterness each rural sweet. Young Maro, touch'd by his inspiring dart,
“Ah, luckless day! when first with fond surprise Could charm each ear, and soften every heart : On Delia's face I fix'd my eager eyes!
Me too his power has reach'd, and bids with thine Then in wild tumults all my soul was tost,
My rustic pipe in pleasing concert join. Then reason, liberty, at once were lost :
Damon no longer sought the silent shade, And every wish, and thought, and care, was gone, No more in unfrequented paths he stray'd, But what my heart employ'd on her alone.
But call'd the swains to hear his jocund song, Then too she smild: can smiles our peace destroy, And told his joy to all the rural throng. Those lovely children of Content and Joy?
"Blest be the hour,” he said, “ that happy hour, How can soft pleasure and tormenting woe
When first I own'd my Delia's gentle power; From the same spring at the same moment flow? Then gloomy discontent and pining care Unhappy boy! these vain inquiries cease,
Forsook my breast, and left soft wishes there ; Thought could not guard, nor will restore, thy peace: Soft wishes there they left, and gay desires, Indulge the frenzy that thou must endure, Delightful languors, and transporting fires. And soothe the pain thou know'st not how to cure. Where yonder limes combine to form a shade, Come, flattering Memory! and tell my heart These eyes first gaz'd upon the charming maid: How kind she was, and with what pleasing art There she appear'd, on that auspicious day, She strove its fondest wishes to obtain,
When swains their sportive rites to Bacchus pay: Confirm her power, and faster bind my chain. She led the dance-Heavens! with what grace she If on the green we danc'd, a mirthful band;
moy'd! To me alone she gave her willing hand :
Who could have seen her then, and not have lov'd ? Her partial taste, if e'er I touch'd the lyre,
I strove not to resist so sweet a flame, Still in my song found something to admire.
But gloried in a happy captive's name ; By none but her my crook with flowers was crown'a, Nor would I now, could Love permit, be free, By none but her my brows with ivy bound:
But leave to brutes their savage liberty. The world, that Damon was her choice, believ'd,
"And art thou then, fond youth, secure of joy? The world, alas ! like Damon, was deceiv'd. Can no reverse thy flattering bliss destroy? When last I saw her, and declar'd my fire Has treacherous Love no torment yet in store ? In words as soft as passion could inspire,
Or hast thou never prov'd his fatal power ? Coldly she heard, and full of scorn withdrew, Whence flow'd those tears that late bedew'd thy Without one pitying glance, one sweet adieu.
cheek? The frighted hind, who sees his ripen'd corn
Why sigh'd thy heart as if it strove to break? Up from the roots by sudden tempests torn,
Why were the desert rocks invok'd to hear Whose fairest hopes destroy'd and blasted lie, The plaintive accent of thy sad despair? Feels not so keen a pang of grief as I.
From Delia's rigor all those pains arose, Ah, how have I deserv'd, inhuman maid,
Delia, who now compassionates my woes, To have my faithful service thụs repaid ? Who bids me hope ; and in that charming word Were all the marks of kindness I receiv'd, Has peace and transport to my soul restor’d. But dreams of joy, that charm’d me and deceiv'd ? Begin, my pipe, begin the gladsome lay; Or did you only nurse my growing love,
A kiss from Delia shall thy music pay; That with more pain I might your hatred prove?
A kiss obtain'd 'twixt struggling and consent, Sure guilty treachery no place could find Given with forc'd anger, and disguis’d content In such a gentle, such a generous mind :
No laureate wreaths I ask, to bind my brows, A maid, brought up the woods and wilds among
Such as the Muse on lofty bards bestows: Could ne'er have learnt the art of courts so young : Let other swains to praise or fame aspire ; No; let me rather think her anger feign'd, I from her lips my recompense require. Still let me hope my Delia may be gain'd;
“Why stays my Delia in her secret bower ? 'Twas only modesty that seem'd disdain,
Light gales have chas'd the late impending shower And her heart suffer'd when she gave me pain." Th' emerging Sun more bright his beams extends ; Pleas'd with this flattering thought, the love-sick Oppos’d, its beauteous arch the rainbow bends! boy
Glad youths and maidens turn the new-made hay: Felt the faint dawning of a doubtful joy;
The birds renew their songs on every spray! Back to his flock more cheerful he return'd, Come forth, my love, thy shepherd's joys to crown When now the setting Sun more fiercely burn'd, All nature smiles.—Will only Delia frown? Blue vapors rose along the mazy rills,
* Hark how the bees with murmurs fill the plain And light's last blushes ting'd the distant hills. While every flower of every sweet they drain :
See, how beneath yon hillock's shady steep, Here, half-conceal'd in trees, a cottage stands,
So charming was the scene, awhile the swain And on her bosom dwells more soft repose. Beheld delighted, and forgot his pain:
“Ah! how, my dear, shall I deserve thy charms ? But soon the stings infix'd within his heart What gift can bribe thee to my longing arms ? With cruel force renew'd their raging smart: A bird for thee in silken bands I hold,
His flowery wreath, which long with pride he wore, Whose yellow plumage shines like polish'd gold; The gift of Delia, from his brows he tore, From distant isles the lovely stranger came, Then cried, “ May all thy charms, ungrateful maid, And bears the fortunate Canaries' name;
Like these neglected roses, droop and fade! In all our woods none boasts so sweet a note, May angry Heaven deform each guilty grace, Not ev'n the nightingale's melodious throat. That triumphs now in that deluding face! Accept of this; and could I add beside
Those alter'd looks may every shepherd fly, What wealth the rich Peruvian mountains hide: And ev'n thy Daphnis hate thee worse than I! If all the gems in eastern rocks were mine,
“Say, thou inconstant, what has Damon done, On thee alone their glittering pride should shine. To lose the heart his tedious pains had won? But, if thy mind no gifts have power to move, Tell me what charms you in my rival find, Phoebus himself shall leave th’ Aonian grove: Against whose power no ties have strength to bind! The tuneful Nine, who never sue in vain, Has he, like me, with long obedience strore Shall come sweet suppliants for their favorite To conquer your disdain, and merit lore? swain.
Has he with transport every smile ador'd, For him each blue-ey'd Naiad of the flood, And died with grief at each ungenile word? For him each green-hair'd sister of the wood, Ah, no! the conquest was obtain'd with ease ; Whom oft beneath fair Cynthia's gentle ray He pleas'd you, by not studying to please : His music calls to dance the night away. His careless indolence your pride alarm'd; And you, fair nymphs, companions of my love, And, had he lov'd you more, he less had charm'd. With whom she joys the cowslip meads to rove, “O pain to think! another shall possess I beg you recommend my faithful flame,
Those balmy lips which I was wont to press : And let her often hear her shepherd's name: Another on her panting breast shall lie, Shade all my faults from her inquiring sight, And catch sweet madness from her swimming eye! And show my merits in the fairest light: I saw their friendly flocks together feed, My pipe your kind assistance shall repay,
I saw them hand in hand walk o'er the mead: And every friend shall claim a different lay. Would my clos'd eye had sunk in endless night,
“ But see! in yonder glade the heavenly fair Ere I was doom'd to bear that hateful sight! Enjoys the fragrance of the breezy air
Where'er they pass’d, be blasted every flower, Ah, thither let me fly with eager seet;
And hungry wolves their helpless flocks devour Adieu, my pipe; I go my love to meet Ah, wretched swain, could no examples move 0, may I find her as we parted last,
Thy heedless heart to shun the rage of love? And may each future hour be like the past ! Hast thou not heard how poor Menalcas died So shall the whitest lamb these pastures feed, A victim to Parthenia's fatal pride? Propitious Venus, on thy altars bleed.
Dear was the youth to all the tuneful plain,
And all things mourn'd, but the relentless maid.
Would I could die like him, and be at peace! ECLOGUE III.
These torments in the quiet grave would cease ;
There my vex'd thoughts a calm repose would find, TO MR. EDWARD WALPOLE.
And rest, as if my Delia still were kind. The gods, O Walpole, give no bliss sincere ; No, let me live, her falsehood to upbraid: Wealth is disturbid by care, and power by fear: Some god perhaps my jest revenge will aid.—. Of all the passions that employ the mind, Alas! what aid, fond swain, wouldst thou receive! In gentle love the sweetest joys we find :
Could thy heart bear to see its Delia grieve! Yet ev'n those joys dire Jealousy molests,
Protect her, Heaven! and let her never know
I ask no vengeance from the powers above;
Let me forget that e'er I thought her fair.
Wearied, at length, I seek thy downy rest : On a romantic mountain's airy head
No turbulence of passion shall destroy (While browsing goats at ease around him fed) My future ease with flattering hopes of joy. Anxious he lay, with jealous cares opprest ; Hear, mighty Pan, and, all ye sylvans, hear Distrust and anger laboring in his breast What by your guardian deities I swear; The vale beneath a pleasing prospect yields No more my eyes shall view her fatal charms, Of verdant meads and cultivated fields;
No more I'll court the traitress to my arms: Through these a river rolls its winding food, Not all her arts my steady soul shall move, Adorn'd with various tufts of rising wood; And she shall find that reason conquers lorem.
Scarce had he spoke, when through the lawn below On all her days let health and peace attend;
May she ne'er want, nor ever lose, a friend !
May some new pleasure every hour employ: (Such perjuries the laughing gods allow !)
But let her Damon be her highest joy! Down the steep hills with ardent haste he flew; “ With thee, my love, for ever will I stay, He found her kind, and soon believ'd her true. All night caress thee, and admire all day;
In the same field our mingled flocks we'll feed,
To the same spring our thirsty heifers lead,
Together will we share the harvest toils,
Together press the vine's autumnal spoils.
Delightful state, where Peace and Love combine,
To bid our tranquil days unclouded shine!
Here limpid fountains roll through flowery meads;
Here rising forests lift their verdant heads;
Here let me wear my careless life away,
“When late old age our heads shall silver o'er Yet shall its music please thy partial ear,
And our slow pulses dance with joy no more ; And soothe thy breast with thoughts that once were When Time no longer will thy beauties spare, dear;
And only Damon's eye shall think thee fair; Recall those years which Time has thrown behind, Then may the gentle hand of welcome Death, When smiling Love with Honor shar'd thy mind :
At one soft stroke, deprive us both of breath!
And the same cypress both our ashes shade!
Beneath the covert of a myrtle wood,
TO THE REVEREND DR. AYSCOUGH,
Which pleases only to corrupt the heart;
And teach to honor what we ought to scorn!
Their empire stretch'd from Atlas to the Pole;
Each grace, each virtue, Freedom could inspire;
Yet in her troubled state see all the woes,
To guide the passions, and to mend the heart ? “What are ye now, my once most valued joys ? Taught by her precepis
, hast thou learnt the end Insipid trifles ali, and childish toys
To which alone the wise their studies bend;
** Ye Muses, skill'd in every winning art, Not, like a cloister'd drone, to read and doze,
mists of error, and unbind
Where ev'n mute walls are taught to Aatter state, pedant chains that clog the free-born mind. And painted triumphs style Ambition GREAT.* -py who thus his leisure can employ!
With more delight those pleasing shades 1 view we knows the purest hours of tranquil joy; Where Condé from an envious court withdrew it Nor vext with pangs that busier bosoms tear, Where, sick of glory, faction, power, and pride, Nor lost to social virtue's pleasing care ;
(Sure judge how empty all, who all had tried !) Safe in the port, yet laboring to sustain
Beneath his palms the weary chief repos'd, Those who still float on the tempestuous main. And life's great scene in quiet virtue clos'd. So Locke the days of studious quiet spent ;
With shame that other fam'd retreat I see, So Boyle in wisdom found divine content; Adorn'd by art, disgrac'd by luxury:1 So Cambray, worthy of a happier doom,
Where Orleans wasted every vacant hour, The virtuous slave of Louis and of Rome. In the wild riot of unbounded power;
Good Wor'ster* thus supports his drooping age, Where feverish debauch and impious love Far from court-flattery, far from party-rage;
Stain'd the mad table and the guilty grove. He, who in youth a tyrant's frown defied,
With these amusements is thy friend detain'd, Firm and intrepid on his country's side,
Pleas'd and instructed in a foreign land; Her boldest champion then, and now her mildest Yet oft a tender wish recalls my mind guide!
From present joys to dearer left behind. O generous warmth! O sanctity divine !
O native isle, fair Freedom's happiest seat! To emulate his worth, my friend, be thine : At thought of thee, my bounding pulses beat; Learn from his life the duties of the gown; At thought of thee, my heart impatient burns, Learn, not to flatter, nor insult the crown;
And all my country on my soul returns. Nor, basely servile, court the guilty great, When shall I see thy fields, whose plenteous grain Nor raise the church a rival to the state :
No power can ravish from th' industrious swain? To error mild, to vice alone severe,
When kiss, with pious love, the sacred earth Seek not to spread the law of love by fear. That gave a Burleigh or a Russell birth? The priest who plagues the world can never mend: When, in the shade of laws, that long have stood, No foe to man was e'er to God a friend,
Propt by their care, or strengthen'd by their blood Let reason and let virtue faith maintain ; Of fearless independence wisely vain, All force but theirs is impious, weak, and vain. The proudest slave of Bourbon's race disdain?
Me other cares in other climes engage, Yet, oh! what doubt, what sad presaging voice, Cares that become my birth, and suit my age; Whispers within, and bids me not rejoice; In various knowledge to improve my youth, Bids me contemplate every state around, And conquer prejudice, worst foe to truth; From sultry Spain to Norway's icy bound; By foreign arts domestic faults to mend,
Bids their lost rights, their ruin'd glory see: Enlarge my notions, and my views extend; And tells me, “These, like England, once were free! The useful science of the world to know, Which books can never teach, or pedants show.
A nation here I pity and admire,
When Delia on the plain appears,
Aw'd by a thousand tender fears, (In courts a mean, in camps a generous band,)
I would approach, but dare not move: From each low tool of power, content receive
Tell me, my heart, if this be love?
Whene'er she speaks, my ravish'd ear Though plunder'd, gay; industrious, though opprest) No other voice but hers can hear, With happy follies rise above their fate,
No other wit but hers approve:
Tell me, my heart, if this be love?
Ji she some other youth commend,
Though I was once his fondest friend, Who, from the ancients, like the ancients writ,
His instant enemy I prove:
Tell me, my heart, if this be love?
When she is absent, I do more
Delight in all that pleas'd before, By keen, yet decent, satire skill’d to please,
The clearest spring, or shadiest grove : With morals mirth uniting, strength with ease.
Tell me, my heart, if this be love?
When, fond of power, of beauty vain,
Her nets she spread for every swain, The soften'd heart to pity and to love.
I strove to hate, but vainly strove:
Tell me, my heart, if this be love?
* The victories of Louis the Fourteenth, painted in the
galleries of Versailles, * Bishop Hough.
I St. Cloud.
I now may give my burden'd heart relief,
And pour forth all my stores of grief;
Of grief surpassing every other woe,
Far as the purest bliss, the happiest love
Can on th' ennobled mind bestow,
Exceeds the vulgar joys that move
Our gross desires, inelegant and low.
But how, my Delia, will you meet
The man you've lost so long? Will love in all your pulses beat,
And tremble on your tongue ?
Will you in every look declare
Your heart is still the same; And heal each idly-anxious care
Our fears in absence frame?
Ye tufted groves, ye gently-falling rills,
Ye high o'ershadowing hills,
Oft have you my Lucy seen!
Nor will she now with fond delight
Thus, Delia, thus I paint the scene,
When shortly we shall meet;
Of loitering time to cheat.
But, if the dream that soothes my mind
Shall false and groundless prove; If I am doom'd at length to find
You have forgot to love :
Oft would the Dryads of these woods rejoice
To hear her heavenly voice;
The sweetest songsters of the spring :
The nightingale was mute,
And every shepherd's flute
And thou, melodious Philomel,
Again thy plaintive story tell ;
All I of Venus ask, is this;
No more to let us join:
To die, and think you mine.
In vain I look around
O'er all the well-known ground,
My Lucy's wonted footsteps to descry;
Where oft we us'd to walk,
Where oft in tender talk
We saw the summer Sun go down the sky;
Nor by yon fountain's side,
Nor where its waters glide
Along the valley, can she now be found :
In all the wide-stretch'd prospect's ample bound
No more my mournful eye
Can aught of her espy,
But the sad sacred earth where her dear relics lie.
O shades of Hagley, where is now your boast?
You she preferr'd to all the gay resorts
The pomp of cities, and the pride of courts.
To your sequester’d dales
And flower-embroider'd vales
From an admiring world she chose to fly :
With Nature there retir'd, and Nature's God,
The silent paths of wisdom trod,
And banish'd every passion from her breast, Ipse carà solans ogrum testudine amorem,
But those, the genilest and the best, Te dulcis conjux, te solo in littore secum,
Whose holy flames with energy divine Te veniente die, te decedente canebat.
The virtuous heart enliven and improve, At length escap'd from every human eye, The conjugal and the maternal love.
From every duty, every care, That in my mournful thoughts might claim a share, Sweet babes, who, like the little playful fawns, Or force my tears their flowing stream to dry; Were wont to trip along these verdant lawns Beneath the gloom of this embowering shade,
By your delighted mother's side, This lone retreat, for tender sorrow made,
Who now your infant steps shall guide ?