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Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs along!

The birds fhall ceafe to tune their ev'ning fong, 40
The winds to breathe, the waving woods to move,
And streams to murmur, e'er I cease to love.
Not bubling fountains to the thirsty swain,
Not balmy fleep to lab'rers faint with pain,
Not show'rs to larks, or fun-fhine 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 pleasing frenzy fooths my mind! Do lovers dream, or is my Delia kind? She comes, my Delia comes!-Now cease my lay, And ceafe, ye gales, to bear my fighs away!


Next Egon fung, while Windfor groves admir'd; Rehearse, ye Muses, what yourselves infpir'd. Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful ftrain! Of perjur❜d Doris, dying I complain :


VER. 48. Originally thus in the MS.
With him thro' Libya's burning plains I'll go,
On Alpine mountains tread th' eternal fnow;
Yet feel no heat but what our loves impart,
And dread no coldness but in Thyrfis' heart.



Mala ferant quercus; narciffo floreat alnus, Pinguia corticibus fudent electra myrica.Virg. Ecl. viii. P. VER. 43, etc.]

Quale fopor feffis in gramine, quale per æftum

Dulcis aqua faliente fitim reftinguere rivo. Ecl. v. P. VER. 52. An qui amant, ipfi fibi somnia fingunt? Id. viii. P.


Here where the mountains lefs'ning as they rife
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! 65
Beneath yon' poplar oft we past the day :
Oft' on the rind I carv'd her am'rous vows,
While fhe 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 strain!
Now bright Arcturus glads the teeming grain,
Now golden fruits on loaded branches shine,
And grateful clusters fwell with floods of wine;
Now blufhing berries paint the yellow grove;
Juft Gods! fhall all things yield returns but love?
Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful lay!




The fhepherds cry, "Thy flocks are left a
Ah! what avails it me, the flocks to keep,
Who loft my heart while I preferv'd my sheep. 80
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!
And is there magic but what dwells in love?



VER. 74. And grateful clusters, etc.] The fcene is in Windfor-foreft. So this image not so exact.


VER. 82. Or what ill eyes]

Nefcio quis teneros oculus mihi fofcinat agnos.



Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful ftrains! I'll fly from fhepherds, flocks, and flow'ry plains. From thepherds, flocks, and plains, I may remove, Forfake mankind, and all the world-but love! I know thee, Love! on foreign Mountains bred, Wolves gave thee fuck, and favage Tigers fed. 90 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, 95 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 ev'ry fhade.


VER 98, 100.] There is a little inaccuracy here; the first line makes the time after fun-fet; the fecond, before.


VER. 89. Nunc fcio quid fit Amor: duris in cotibus illum, etc. P.


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To the Memory of Mrs. TEMPEST,



HYRSIS, the mufic of that murm'ring fpring Is not fo mournful as the ftrains you fing. Nor rivers winding thro' the vales below, So fweetly warble, or fo fmoothly flow.


WINTER] This was the Poet's favourite Paftorál. Mrs. Tempeft.] This Lady was of an ancient family in Yorkshire, and particularly admired by the Author's friend Mr. Walsh, who, having celebrated her in a Paitoral Elegy, defired his friend to do the fame, as appears from one of his Letters, dated Sept. 9, 1706. "Your laft Eclogue

VER. 1. Thyrfis, the mufic, etc.]
Adú Ti, etc. Theocr. Id. i.


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 praise!



Behold the groves that shine with filver froft,
Their beauty wither'd, and their verdure loft,
Here fhall I try the sweet Alexis ftrain,
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.


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So may kind rains their vital moisture yield, 15 And fwell the future harvest of the field.

Begin; this charge the dying Daphne gave,
And faid, "Ye fhepherds, fing 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 cyprefs garlands bring;

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"being on the fame fubject with mine on Mrs. Tempeft's death, I fhould take it very kindly in you to give "it a little turn as if it were to the memory of the fame "lady." Her death having happened on the night of the great ftorm in 1703, gave a propriety to this eclogue, which in its general turn alludes to it. The scene of the Paftoral lies in a grove, the time at midnight. P.


VER. 13. Thames heard, etc.]...

Audiit Eurotas, juffitque edifcere lauros. Virg. P.

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