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To the MEMORY of Mrs. TEMPEST.
Hyrfis, the musick of that murm'ring fpring,
Is not fo mournful as the strains you fing.
Nor rivers winding thro' the vales below,
So fweetly warble, or fo fmoothly flow.
Now fleeping flocks on their foft fleeces lie,
The moon, ferene in glory, mounts the sky,
While filent birds forget their tuneful lays,
Oh fing of Daphne's fate, and Daphne's praife!
Behold the groves that fhine with filver froft, Their beauty wither'd, and their verdure loft. Here shall I try the sweet Alexis' strain,
That call'd the lift'ning Dryads to the plain?
Thames heard the numbers as he flow'd along,
And bade his willows learn the moving fong.
So may kind rains their vital moisture yield, And fwell the future harvest of thy field. Begin this charge the dying Daphne gave, And faid; "Ye fhepherds, fing around my grave! Sing, while befide the fhaded Tomb I mourn, And with fresh bays her rural fhrine adorn.
Ye gentle Mufes leave your cryftal fpring, Let Nymphs and Sylvans cypress garlands bring; Ye weeping Loves, the ftream with myrtles hide, And break your bows, as when Adonis dy'd ; And with your golden darts, now useless grown, Inscribe a verse on this relenting ftone:
"Let nature change, let heav'n and earth deplore,
"Fair Daphne's dead, and love is now no more!
'Tis done, and nature's various charms decay;
See gloomy clouds obfcure the chearful day!
Now hung with pearls the dropping trees appear,
Their faded honours fcatter'd on her bier.
See, where on earth the flow'ry glories lie,
With her they flourish'd, and with her they die.
Ah what avail the beauties nature wore?
Fair Daphne's dead, and beauty is no more!
For her, the flocks refuse their verdant food,
Nor thirsty heifers feek the gliding flood.
The filver fwans her haplefs fate bemoan,
In fadder notes than when they fing their own.
Echo no more the rural fong rebounds,
Her name alone the mournful Echo founds,
Her name with pleasure once the taught the fhore,
Now Daphne's dead, and pleasure is no more!
No grateful dews defcend from ev'ning skies,
Nor morning odours from the flow'rs arise.
No rich perfumes refresh the fruitful field,
Nor fragrant herbs their native incenfe yield.
The balmy Zephyrs, filent fince her death,
Lament the ceafing of a fweeter breath.
Th' induftrious bees neglect their golden ftore;
Fair Daphne's dead, and sweetness is no more!
No more the mounting Larks, while Daphne fings,
Shall list'ning in mid air suspend their wings;
No more the Nightingales repeat her lays,
Or hush'd with wonder, hearken from the sprays:
No more the streams their murmurs fhall forbear,
A fweeter music than their own to hear;
But tell the reeds, and tell the vocal fhore,
Fair Daphne's dead, and music is no more!
Her fate is whisper'd by the gentle breeze, And told in fighs to all the trembling trees ; The trembling trees, in ev'ry plain and wood, Her fate remurmur to the filver flood; The filver flood, so lately calm, appears Swell❜d with new paffion, and o'erflows with tears; The winds and trees and floods her death deplore, Daphne, our grief! our glory now no more!
But fee! where Daphne wondring mounts on high, Above the clouds, above the starry sky!
Eternal beauties grace the fhining fcene,
Fields ever fresh, and groves for ever green!
There while you reft in Amaranthine bow'rs,
Or from thofe meads felect unfading flow'rs,
Behold us kindly who your name implore,
Daphne, our Goddess, and our grief no more!
How all things liften, while thy Muse complains! Such filence waits on Philomela's ftrains,
In some still ev'ning, when the whisp'ring breeze
Pants on the leaves, and dies upon the trees,
To thee, bright Goddess, oft' a lamb fhall bleed,
If teeming ewes encrease my fleecy breed.
While plants their shade, or flow'rs their odours give,
Thy name, thy honour, and thy praise fhall live!
See pale Orion fheds unwholfome dews, Arife, the pines a noxious fhade diffufe; Sharp Boreas blows, and nature feels decay, Time conquers all, and we must Time obey.