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Refound, ye hills, refound 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!
Refound, 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 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 power to move?
And is there magic but what dwells in love!

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Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful strains! 85 I'll fly from shepherds, flocks, and flowery plains. From fhepherds, flocks, and plains, I may remove, Forfake mankind, and all the world-but lovel I know thee, Love! on foreign mountains bred, Wolves gave thee fuck, and favage tigers fed. Thou wert from Etna's burning entrails torn, Got by fierce whirlwinds, and in thunder born! Refound, ye hills, refound 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 refound my ftrains!

Thus fung the shepherds till th' approach of night, The skies yet blushing with departing light, When falling dews with spangles deck'd the glade, And the low fun had lengthen'd every shade.

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To the Memory of MRS. TEMPEST.


HYRSIS, the mufic of that murmuring fpring
Is not fo mournful as the ftrains you fing.
Nor rivers winding through the vales below,
So sweetly warble, or so smoothly flow.
Now fleeping flocks on their foft fleeces lie,
The moon, ferene in glory, mounts the sky,
While filent birds forget their tuneful lays,
O fing of Daphne's fate, and Daphne's praise!


Behold the groves that shine with filver frost,
Their beauty wither'd, and their verdure loft.
Here fhall I try the sweet Alexis' strain,
That call'd the listening 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 harveft of the field.'

Begin; this charge the dying Daphne gave,
And faid, "Ye fhepherds, ting around my grave!"
Sing, while befide the shaded tomb I mourn,
And with fresh bays her rural fhrine adorn.


Ye gentle Mufes, leave your crystal spring,
Let Nymphs and Sylvans cypress garlands bring;
Ye weeping Loves, the stream 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 stone:
"Let nature change, let heaven and earth deplore,
"Fair Daphne's dead, and Love is now no more!"

'Tis done, and nature's various charms decay:
See gloomy clouds obscure the chearful day!
Now hung with pearls the dropping trees appear,
Their faded honours fcatter'd on her bier..
See where, on earth, the flowery 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,





The thirsty heifers shun the gliding flood,

The filver fwans her hapless fate bemoan,

In notes more fad than when they fing their own;


In hollow caves fweet Echo filent lies,

Silent, or only to her name replies;


Ver. 29. Originally thus in the MS.

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'Tis done, and nature's chang'd fince you are gone; Behold the clouds have " put their mourning on,"

Her name with pleasure once the taught the shore,
Now Daphne's dead, and Pleasure is no more!

No grateful dews descend from evening skies,
Nor morning odours from the flowers arise;
No rich perfumes refresh the fruitful field,
Nor fragrant herbs their native incense yield.
The balmy Zephyrs, filent fince her death,
Lament the ceafing of a sweeter breath;



Th' industrious bees neglect their golden store!
Fair Daphne's dead, and Sweetness is no more!

No more the mounting larks, while Daphne fings,
Shall, liftening in mid air, fufpend their wings;
No more the birds fhall imitate her lays,

Or, hush'd with wonder, hearken from the sprays :
No more the ftreams their murmurs fhall forbear,
A fweeter mufic 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 every plain and wood,
Her fate remurmur to the filver flood:

The filver flood, fo 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 wondering mounts on high Above the clouds, above the starry sky! Eternal beauties grace the fhining scene,

Fields ever fresh, and groves for ever green!



There while you reft in Amaranthine bowers,
Or from thofe meads felect unfading flowers,
Behold us kindly, who your name implore,
Daphne, our Goddess, and our grief no more!




How all things liften, while thy Mufe complains! Such filence waits on Philomela's strains, In some still evening, when the whispering breeze Pants on the leaves, and dies upon the trees. To thee, bright goddess, oft a lamb shall bleed, If teeming ewes increase my fleecy breed. While plants their shade, or flowers their odours give, Thy name, thy honour, and thy praise, shall live!


But fee, Orion fheds unwholesome dews; Arise, the pines a noxious shade diffuse; Sharp Boreas blows, and Nature feels decay, Time conquers all, and we must Time obey. Adieu, ye vales, ye mountains, ftreams, and groves, Adieu, ye fhepherds' rural lays and loves; Adieu, my flocks; farewell, ye fylvan crew; Daphne, farewell; and all the world adieu!


Ver. 83. Originally thus in the MS.


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While vapours rise, and driving snows defcend,
Thy honour, name, and praife, fhall never end.


Ver. 89, &c.] These four laft lines allude to the feveral fubjects of the four Paftorals, and to the feveral fcenes of them particularized before in each.

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