Nor ever more shall swain make fong of mirth,
To blefs the joyous day that gave her birth ;
Loft is that day, which had from her its light;
For ever loft with her, in endless night;
In endless night and arms of death the lies,
Death in eternal fhades has fhut Paftora's eyes.
Lament, ye nymphs; and mourn, ye wretched fwains;
Stray, all
ye flocks; and defert bc, ye plains;

Sigh, all ye winds; and weep, ye crystal floods;
Fade, all ye flowers; and wither, all ye woods.

I mourn Paftora dead; let Albion mourn,
And fable clouds her chalky cliffs adorn.
Within a dismal grot, which damps furround,
All cold the lies upon th' unwholfome ground;
The marble weeps, and with a filent pace
Its trickling tears diftil upon her face.
Falfely ye weep, ye rocks, and falsely mourn!
For never will you let the nymph return !
With a feign'd grief the faithlefs tomb relents,
And like the crocodile its prey laments.

O fhe was heavenly fair, in face and mind!
Never in nature were fuch beauties join'd:
Without, all fhining, and within, all white;
Pure to the fenfe, and pleafing to the fight;
Like fome rare flower, whofe leaves all colours yield,
And opening is with fweeteft odours fill'd.
As lofty pines o'ertop the lowly reed,
So did her graceful height all nymphs exceed;
To which excelling height, the bore a mind
Humble, as ofiers bending to the wind.

Thus

Thus excellent fhe was

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

I mourn Paftora dead; let Albion mourn,
And fable clouds her chalky cliffs adorn.
From that bleft earth, on which her body lies,
May blooming flowers with fragrant fweets arife:
Let Myrrha weeping aromatic gum,

And ever-living laurel, fhade 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 fport.
There in unusual wailings wafte the night,
And watch her, by the fiery glow-worm's light.
There may no difinal cugh nor cypress grow,
Nor holly-bufh, nor bitter elder's bough;
Let each unlucky bird far build his neft,
And diftant dens receive each howling beaft;
Let wolves be gone, be ravens put to flight,
With hooting owls, and bats that hate the light.
But let the fighing doves their forrows bring,
And nightingales in fweet complainings fing;
Let fwans from their forfaken rivers fly,
And, fickening at her tomb, make hafte to die,
That they may help to fing her elegy.

Let Echo too, in mimic moan, deplore,
"Paftora is no more!"

And

cry

with me,

I mourn Paftora dead; let Albion mourn,
And fable clouds her chalky cliffs adorn.

}

And

And fee the heavens to weep in dew prepare, And heavy mifts obfcure the burden'd air: A fudden 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 bears. Their wings the feather'd airy people droop, And flocks beneath their dewy fleeces ftoop. The rocks are cleft, and new-defcending rills Furrow the brows of all th' impending hills. The water-gods to floods their rivulets turn, And each, with ftreaming eyes, fupplics his wanting urn... The Fawns forfake the woods, the Nymphs the And round the plain in fad diftractions rove; In prickly brakes their tender limbs they tear, And leave on thorns their locks of golden hair.

grove,

With their fharp nails, themfelves the Satyrs wound, And tug their fhaggy beards, 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 defpair,
And to the piercing winds her bofom bare.
And fee yon fading myrtle, where appears
The queen of love, all bath'd in flowing tears;
See how the wrings her hands, and beats her breaft,
And tears her ufelefs girdle from her waift:

Hear the fad murmers of her fighing doves,

For grief they figh, forgetful of their loves.

Lo,

Lo, Love himself, with heavy woes oppreft!
See how his forrows fwell his tender breaft;
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 grafs,

And all with tears bedews his beauteous face,
With tears, which from his folded lids arife,
And even Love himself has weeping eyes.
All nature mourns; the floods and rocks deplore,
"Paftora is no more!"
with me,
cry
I mourn Paftora dead; let Albion mourn,

And

And fable clouds her chalky cliffs adorn.

The rocks can melt, and air in mifts can mourn, And floods can weep, and winds to fighs can turn; The birds, in fongs, their forrows can disclose, And nymphs and swains, in words, can tell their woes. But, oh! behold that deep and wild despair, Which neither winds can fhew, nor floods, nor air. See the great fhepherd, chief of all the swains, Lord of thefe woods and wide-extended plains, Stretch'd on the ground, and close to earth his face, Scalding with tears th' already-faded grafs ; To the cold clay he joins his throbbing breast,

No more within Paftora's arms to reft!

No more! For thofe once foft and circling arms
Themselves are clay, and cold are all her charms
Cold are thofe lips, which he no more must kiss,
And cold that bofom, once all downy blifs;
On whofe foft pillows, lull'd in fweet delights,
He us'd, in balmy fleep, to lofe the nights.

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

I mourn Paftora dead; let Albion mourn, And fable clouds her chalky cliffs adorn. "But fee, Menalcas, where a fudden light, "With wonder ftops my fong, and ftrikes my fight! "And where Paftora lies, it spreads around, "Shewing all radiant bright the facred ground. "While from her tomb, behold, a flame afcends "Of whiteft fire, whofe flight to heaven extends! "On flaking wings it mounts, and quick as fight "Cuts through the yielding air with rays of light; "Till the blue firmament at laft it gains,

"And, fixing there, a glorious ftar remains :"
Faireft it fhines of all that light the skies,
As once on earth were feen Paftora's eyes.

ΤΟ