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Nor ever more shall swain make song of mirth,
To bless the joyous day that gave her birth ;
Loft is that day, which had from her its light;
For ever lost with her, in endless night;
In endless night and arms of death she lies,
Death in eternal shades has fhut Pastora's eyes.

Lament, ye nymphs; and mourn, ye wretched swains;
Stray, all ye flocks; and desert bc, ye plains ;
Sigh, all ye winds; and weep, ye crystal floods;
Fade, all

ye
flowers ;

and wither, all ye woods.
I mourn Pastora dead; let Albion mourn,

And sable clouds her chalky cliffs adorn.
Within a dismal grot, which damps surround,
All cold she lies upon th’ unwholsome ground;
The marble weeps, and with a silent pace
Its trickling tears distil upon her face.
Falsely ye weep, ye rocks, and falsely mourn !
For never will

you let the nymph return ! With a feign d grief thc faithlefs tomb relents, And like the crocodile its preylaments.

O she was heavenly fair, in face and mind !
Never in nature were such beauties join’d:
Without, all shining, and within, all white;
Pure to the sense, and pleasing to the sight;
Like some rare flower, whose leaves all colours yield,

And opening is with sweetest odours fillid.
As lofty pines o’ertop the lowly reed,
So did her graceful height all nymphs exceed;
To which excelling height, she bore a mind
Humble, as ofiers bending to the wind.

Thus

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Thus excellent she was
Ah wretched fate! fhe was, but is no more.
Help me, ye hills and valleys, to deplore.

I mourn Pastora dead ; let Albion mourn,

And fable clouds her chalky cliffs adorn.
From that bleit earth, on which her body lies,
May blooming flowers with fragrant fiveets arise :
Let Myrrha weeping aromatic gum,
And ever-living laure), shade her tomb.
Thither let all th' industrious bees repair,
Unlade their thighs, and leave their honey there;
Thither let Fairies with their train resort,
Neglect their revels and their midnight sport.
There in unusual wailings waste the night,
And watch her, by the fiery glow-worm's light.

There may no disinal cugh nor cypress grow,
Nor holly-bush, nor bitter elder's bough;
Let each unlucky bird far build his nest,
And distant dens receive each howling bcast;
Let wolves be gone, be ravens put to flight,
With hooting owls, and bats that hate the light. ,

But let the sighing doves their forrows bring,
And nightingales in fivect complainings sing;
Let fwans from their forsaken rivers fly,
And, sickening at her tomb, make haste to die,
That they may help to sing her elegy.
Let Echo too, in mimic moan, deplore,
And
cry
with
me,

66 Pastora is no more! I mourn Paftora dead;

let Albion mourn, And fable clouds her chalky cliffs adorn.

And

}

And see the heavens to weep in dew prepare,
And heavy mists obscure the burden'd air:
A sudden damp o'er all the plain is spread,
Each lily folds its leaves, and hangs its head.
On every tree the blossoms turn to tears,
And every bough a weeping moisture bcars.
Their wings the feather'd airy people droor,
And flocks beneath their dewy fleeces stoop.

The rocks are cleft, and now-descending rills
Furrow the brows of all th' impending hills.
The water-gods to floods their rivulets turn,
And each, with streaming eyes, supplies his wanting urn...

The Fawns forsake the woods, the Nymphs the grove, And round the plain in sad diftrations rove; In prickly brakes their tender limbs they tear, And leave on thorns their locks of golden hair.

With their sharp nails, themselves the Satyrs wound, And tug their fnassy boards, and bite with grief the

ground.
Lo Pan himself beneath a blasted oak
Dejected lies, his pipe in pieces broke.
See Pales weeping too, in wild despair,
And to the piercing winds her bosom bare.

And see yon fading myrtle, where appears
The queen of love, all bath'd in flowing tears ;
See how she wrings her lands, and beats her breas,
And tears her useless girdle from her waist:
Hear the sad murmers of her sighing doves,
For grici they figh, forgctful of their loves.

And cry

with me,

Lo, Love himself, with heavy woes opprest!
See how his sorrows swell his tender breast;
His bow he breaks, and wide his arrows flings,
And folds his little arms, and hangs his drooping wings;
Then, lays his limbs upon the dying grass,
And all with tears bedews his beauteous face,
With tears, which from his folded lids arise,
And even Love himself has weeping eyes.
All nature mourns; the floods and rocks deplore,

“ Pastora is no more !"
I mourn Pastora dead; let Albion mourn,

And sable clouds her chalky cliffs adorn.
The rocks can melt, and air in mists can mourn,
And floods can weep, and winds to fighs can turn;
The birds, in fongs, their forrows can disclose,
And nymphs and fivains, in words, can tell their woes.
But, oh! behold that deep and wild despair,
Which neither winds can shew, nor floods, nor air.

See the great shepherd, chief of all the swains, Lord of these woods and wide-extended plains, Stretch'd on the ground, and close to earth his face, Scalding with tears th' already-faded grass ; To the cold clay he joins his throbbing breast, No more within Pastora's arms to rest! No more! For those once soft and circling arms Theniselves are clay, and cold are all her charms Cold are those lips, which he no more must kiss, And cold that bofom, once all downy bliss ; On whose foft pillows, lull'd in sweet delights, He us'd, in balmy sleep, to lose the nights.

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Ah! where is all that love and fondness fled ?
Ah! where is all that tender sweetness laid ?
To dust must all that heaven of beauty come!
And must Pastora moulder in the tomb !
Ah, death! more fierce and unrelenting far,
Than wildest wolves or savage tigers are;
With lambs and sheep their hungers are appeas'd,
But ravenous death the shepherdefs has feiz’d.

I mourn Paftora dead; let Albion inourn,

And sable clouds her chalky cliffs adorn. « But see, Menalcas, where a sudden light, “ With wonder stops my fong, and strikes my sight! “ And where Paftora lies, it spreads around, “ Shewing all radiant bright the sacred ground. " While from her tomb, behold, a flame afcends Of whitest fire, whose flight to heaven extends ! “ On flaking wings it mounts, and quick as sight “ Cuts through the yielding air with rays of light; “ Till the blue firmament at last it gains, “ And, fixing there, a glorious star remains :"

Fairest it shines of all that light the skies, As once on earth were seen Paftora's eyes.

TO

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