Ah lead forth my flock in the morn, And the damps of each ev'ning repell; -I have bade my dear Phyllis farewell. Since Phyllis vouchfaf'd me a look, I priz'd every hour that went by, And I grieve that I priz'd them no more. IV. But why do I languish in vain? Why wander thus penfively here? They tell me, my favourite maid, The pride of that valley, is flown; Alas! where with her I have ftray'd, I could wander with pleasure, alone. V. When forc'd the fair nymph to forego, What anguish I felt at my heart! Yet I thought -but it might not be fo My path I could hardly discern; I thought that the bade me return. The pilgrim that journeys all day If he bear but a relique away, Is happy, nor heard to repine. And folace wherever I go. M II. HOPE. I. Y banks they are furnish'd with bees, Whofe murmur invites one to fleep; My grottos are shaded with trees, And my hills are white-over with sheep. I feldom have met with a lofs, Such health do my fountains bestow; My fountains all border'd with moss, Where the hare-bells and violets grow. II. Not II. Not a pine in my grove is there feen, But a fweet-briar twines it around. One would think the might like to retire But I hafted and planted it there. ! the wild branches away. IV. From the plains, from the woodlands and groves, What strains of wild melody flow? How the nightingales warble their loves And when her bright form fhall appear, In a concert fo foft and fo clear, I have found out a gift for my fair; I have found where the wood-pigeons breed: But let me that plunder forbear, She will fay 'twas a barbarous deed. For he ne'er could be true, fhe aver'd, Who could rob a poor bird of its young: I have heard her with fweetnefs unfold How that pity was due to a dove: And the call'd it the fifter of love. Methinks I fhould love her the more. VII. Can VII. Can a bofom fo gentle remain Unmov'd, when her Corydon fighs? Soft scenes of contentment and ease! But where does my Phyllida ftray? And where are her grots and her bow'rs? The groves may perhaps be as fair, And the face of the valleys as fine; The swains may in manners compare, But their love is not equal to mine. III. SOLICITUDE. W I. HY will you my paffion reprove? Ere I fhew you the charms of my love, She is fairer than you can believe. |