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VI.

The pilgrim that journeys all day
To vifit fome far-diftant fhrine,
If he bear but a relique away,

Is happy, nor heard to repine.
Thus widely remov'd from the fair,
Where my vows, my devotion, I owe,
Soft hope is the relique I bear,

And my folace wherever I go.

M

II. HOPE.

I.

Y banks they are furnish'd with bees,
Whose 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 mofs,
Where the hare-bells and violets grow.

II.

Not a pine in my grove is there seen,
But with tendrils of woodbine is bound:
Not a beech's more beautiful green,

But a fweet-briar twines it around.

Not my fields, in the prime of the year,
More charms than my cattle unfold:
Not a brook that is limpid and clear,
But it glitters with fifhes of gold.

III. One

III.

One would think the might like to retire
To the bow'r I have labour'd to rear ;
Not a fhrub that I heard her admire,
But I hafted and planted it there.
O how fudden the jeffamin ftrove
With the lilac to render it gay!
Already it calls for my love,

Το prune the wild branches away.

IV.

From the plains, from the woodlands and groves,
What ftrains of wild melody flow?

How the nightingales warble their loves
From thickets of rofes that blow !
And when her bright form fhall appear,
Each bird shall harmoniously join

In a concert fo soft and so clear,

As

he may not be fond to refign.

V.

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:
And I lov'd her the more, when I heard
Such tenderness fall from her tongue.

VI. I have

VI.

I have heard her with fweetness unfold

How that pity was due to

That it ever attended the bold,

-a dove:

And the call'd it the fifter of love.
But her words fuch a pleasure convey,
So much I her accents adore,

Let her fpeak, and whatever fhe fay,
Methinks I fhould love her the more.
VII.

Can a bofom fo gentle remain
Unmov'd, when her Corydon fighs!
Will a nymph that is fond of the plain,
Thefe plains, and this valley despise?
Dear regions of filence and fhade!

Soft scenes of contentment and ease!
Where I could have pleasingly ftray'd,
If aught, in her abfence, could please.
VIII.

But where does my Phyllida ftray?

And where are her grots and her bow'rs?
Are the groves and the valleys as gay,
And the fhepherds as gentle as ours?

The groves may perhaps be as fair,
And the face of the valleys as fine;
The fwains may in manners compare,
But their love is not equal to mine.

III. SOLD

III. SOLICITUDE.

I.

HY will you my paffion reprove?

W Why term it a folly to grieve?

Ere I fhew you the charms of my love,
She is fairer than you can believe.
With her mien fhe enamours the brave;
With her wit she engages the free;
With her modefty pleases the grave;
She is ev'ry way pleafing to me.
II.

O you that have been of her train,
Come and join in my amorous lays;
I could lay down my life for the swain,
That will fing but a fong in her praise.
When he fings, may the nymphs of the town
Come trooping, and liften the while;
Nay on Him let not Phyllida frown;

-But I cannot allow her to fmile.

III.

For when Paridel tries in the dance
Any favour with Phyllis to find,
O how, with one trivial glance,
Might she ruin the peace of my mind!

In ringlets He dreffes his hair,

And his crook is be-ftudded around;

And his pipe-oh may Phyllis beware
Of a magic there is in the found.

VOL. IV.

IV. 'Tis

IV.

'Tis His with mock paffion to glow;
"Tis His in fmooth tales to unfold,
"How her face is as bright as the fnow,
"And her bofom, be fure, is as cold?
"How the nightingales labour the ftrain,
"With the notes of his charmer to vie;
"How they vary their accents in vain,
Repine at her triumphs, and die."

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V.

To the grove or the garden he ftrays,
And pillages every sweet;
Then, fuiting the wreath to his lays
He throws it at Phyllis's feet.

"O Phyllis, he whispers, more fair,

"More fweet than the jeffamin's flow'r!

"What are pinks, in a morn, to compare ?
"What is eglantine after a fhow'r ?
VI.

"Then the lily no longer is white;

"Then the rose is depriv'd of its bloom;

"Then the violets die with defpight,

"And the wood-bines give up their perfume."

Thus glide the foft numbers along,

And he fancies no fhepherd his peer;

-Yet I never fhould envy the fong,

Were not Phyllis to lend it an ear.

VII. Let

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