ENEATH the fhade a spreading beach displays,
Hylas and Aegon fung their rural lays;
This mourn'd a faithless, that an absent love,
And Delia's name and Doris' fill'd the grove.
Ye Mantuan nymphs, your facred fuccour bring;
Hylas and Aegon's rural lays I fing.
Thou, whom the Nine with Plautus' wit inspire, The art of Terence, and Meander's fire;
Whose sense instructs us, and whofe humour charms, Whofe judgment fways us, and whose spirit warms! Oh, skill'd in nature! fee the hearts of swains, Their artless paffions, and their tender pains.
Now fetting Phoebus fhone ferenely bright, And fleecy clouds were streak'd with purple light; When tuneful Hylas with melodious moan,
Taught rocks to weep and made the mountains groan.
Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs away! To Delia's ear the tender notes convey.
As fome fad turtle his loft love deplores,
And with deep murmurs fills the founding fhores;
Thus, far from Delia, to the winds I mourn,
Alike unheard, unpity'd, and forlorn.
Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs along!
For her, the feather'd quires neglect their fong:
For her, the limes their pleasing shades deny;
For her, the lillies hang their heads, and die.
Ye flowers that droop, forfaken by the spring,
Ye birds that, left by fummer, cease to sing,
Ye trees that fade when autumn-heats remove,
Say, is not abfence death to those who love?
Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs away!
Curs'd be the fields that cause my Delia's ftay;
Fade every bloffom, wither every tree,
Die every flower, and perifh all, but she.
What have I faid? where'er my Delia flies,
Let fpring attend, and fudden flowers arise;
Let opening roses knotted oaks adorn,
And liquid amber drop from every thorn.
Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs along! The birds fhall ceafe to tune their evening fong, The winds to breathe, the waving woods to move, And streams to murmur, e'er I ceafe to love. Not bubbling fountains to the thirsty fwain, Not balmy fleep to labourers faint with pain, Not fhowers 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 powers, what pleasing phrenzy 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 sighs away!
Next Ægon fung, while Windfor groves admir'd; Rehearfe, ye Mufes, what yourselves infpir'd.
Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful strain ! Of perjur'd Doris, dying I complain :
Here where the mountains, lefs'ning as they rise,
Lofe the low vales, and steal into the skies;
While labouring oxen, fpent with toil and heat,
In their loofe traces from the field retreat:
While curling fmoaks from village-tops are seen,
And the fleet fhades glide o'er the dufky green.
Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful lay!
Beneath yon' poplar oft we past the day:
Oft on the rind I carv'd her amorous 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 ftrain!
Now bright Arcturus glads the teeming grain,
Now golden fruits on loaded branches fhine,
And grateful clufters fwell with floods of wine;
Now blushing berries paint the yellow grove;
Juit Gods! thall all things yield returns but love?
Refound, ye hills, The thepherds cry,
Thy flocks are left a prey".
Ah! what avails it me, the flocks to keep,
Who lost 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!
Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful strains!
I'll fly from shepherds, flocks, and flowery plains.
From shepherds, flocks, and plains, I may remove,
Forfake mankind, and all the world--but love!
I know thee, love! on foreign mountains bred,
Wolves gave the fuck, and favage tigers fed.
Thou wert from Ætna'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 thall end my pains,
No more, ye hills, no more refound my strains!
Thus fung the hepherds till th' approach of night, The skies yet blushing with departing light,
When falling dews with spangles deck the glade,
And the low fun had lengthen'd every thade.
To the Memory of Mrs. TEMPEST.
THYRSIS, the mufic of that murmuring fpring
Is not fo mournful as the ftrains 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,
Whilft filent birds forget their tuneful lays,
Oh fing of Daphne's fate, and Daphne's praife!
THYRSIS.
Behold the groves that shine with filver froft,
Their beauty wither'd, and their verdure lost.
Here fhall I try the fweet Alexis' ftrain,
'That call'd the liftening 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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