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Let his crook be with hyacinthis bound,
So Phyllis the trophy despise ; Let his forehead with laurels be crown'd,
So they shine not in Phyllis's eyes. The language that flows from the heart,
Is a stranger to Paridel's tongue ; --Yet may she beware of his art,
Or sure I must envy the song.
Ye shepherds, give ear to my lay,
And take no more heed of my sheep: They have nothing to do but to stray;
I have nothing to do but to weep. Yet do not my folly reprove;
She was fair-and my passion begun; She smiled-and I could not but love;
She is faithless--and I am undone.
Perhaps I was void of all thought;
Perhaps it was plain to foresee, That a nymph so complete would be sought
By a swain more engaging than me.
It banishes wisdom the while;
Seems for ever adorn'd with a smile.
She is faithless, and I am undone :
Ye that witness the woes I endure, Let reason instruct you to shun
What it cannot instruct you to cure. Beware how you loiter in vain
Amid nymphs of a higher degree: It is not for me to explain
How fair and how fickle they bę.
· Alas! from the day that we met,
What hope of an end to my woes? When I cannot endure to forget
The glance that undid my repose. Yet time may diminish the pain :
The flower, and the shrub, and the tree, Which I rear'd for her pleasure in vain,
In time may have comfort for me.
The sweets of a dew-sprinkled rose,
The sound of a murmuring stream, The peace which from solitude flows,
Henceforth shall be Corydon's theme. High transports are shown to the sight,
But we are not to find them our own; Fate never bestow'd şuch delight
As I with my Phyllis had known.
O ye woods, spread your branches apace !
To your deepest recesses I fly!
I would vanish from every eye.
With the same sad complaint it begun :
THE BEGGAR'S PETITION.
Pity the sorrows of a poor old man !
Whose trembling limbs have borne bim to your door, Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span ;
Oh! give relief and Heaven will bless your store.
These tatter'd clothes my poverty bespeak,
These hoary locks proclaim my lengthen'd years ; And many a furrow in my grief-worn cheek,
Has been the channel to a stream of tears.
Yon house, erected on the rising ground,
With tempting aspect drew me from my road; For Plenty there a residence has foand,
And Grandeur a magnificent abode :
(Hard is the fate of the infirm and poor!)
Here as I craved a morsel of their bread, A pamper'd menial drove me from the door,
To seek a shelter in a humbler shed.
Oh! take me to your hospitable dome;
Keen blows the wind and pie cing is the cold ! Short is my passage to the friendly tomb,
For I am poor and miserably old.
Should I reveal the sources of my grief,
If soft humanity e'er touch'd your breast, Your hands would not withhold the kind relief,
And tears of pity would not be repressid.
Heaven sends misfortunes-why should we repine?
'Tis Heaven has brought me to the state you see: And your condition may be soon like mine,
-The child of sorrow and of misery.
A little farm was my paternal lot,
Then like the lark I sprightly hạil'd the morn; But ah! oppression forced me from my cot;
My cattle died, and blighted was my corn.
My daughter-once the comfort of my age!
Lured by a villain from her native home, Is cast abandou'd on the world's wide stage,
And doom'd in scanty poverty to roam.
My tender wife-sweet soother of my care!
Struck with sad anguish at the stern decree, Fell-ling'ring fell, a victim to despair,
And left the world to wretchedness and me.
Pity the sorrows of a poor old man !
Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door, Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span;
Oh! give relief-and Heaven will bless your store.
HYMN TO BENEVOLENCE,
HAIL, source of transport ever new!
I taste a joy sincere;
Their wishes and their care.
Daughter of God! delight of man!
Which still thy hand sustains;
And Discord gnash'd in chains.