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And yet methinks 'tis happier fo,
Than whom it is I love to know:
Now my unbounded notions rove,
And frame ideas to my love.
I fancy I should something find,
Diviner both in face and mind,
Than ever nature did beftow
On any creature here below.

I fancy thus Corinna walks,

That thus fhe fings, the looks, the talks.
Sometimes I figh, and fancy then,
That, did Corinna know my pain,
Could the my trickling tears but fee,
She would be kind and pity me.
Thus thinking I've no caufe to grieve,
I pleasingly my felf deceive;
And fure am happier far than he
Who knows the very truth can be.
Then, gentle Cupid, let me ne'er
See my imaginary fair :

Left she should be more heavenly bright
Than can be reach'd by Fancy's height:
Left (when I on her beauty gaze,
Confounded, loft in an amaze;
My trembling lips and eyes should tell,
'Tis her I dare to love fo well);
She, with an angry, scornful eye,
Or fome unkind, fevere reply,
My hopes of blifs fhould overcaft,
And my prefuming paffion blast.

If

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ICILIAN Mufe, my humble voice inspire
To fing of Daphne's charms and Damon's fire.
Long had the faithful fwain fuppreft his grief,
And, fince he durft not hope, ne'er afk'd relief.
But at th' arrival of the fatal day

That took the nymph and all his joys away;
With dying looks he gaz'd upon the fair,
And what his tongue
could not, his eyes declare :
Till with deep fighs, as if his heart-strings broke,
Preffing her hand, these tender things he spoke :

DAMON.

Ah, lovely nymph! behold your lover burn,
And view that paffion which you'll not return.
As no nymph's charms did ever equal thine,
So no fwain's love did ever equal mine:
How happy, fair, how happy fhould I be,
Might I but facrifice my felf for thee!
Z 4

Could

Could I but please thee with my dying verfe,
And make thee shed one tear upon my hearse !

DAPHNE.

Too free an offer of that love you make,
Which now, alas, I have not power to take :
Your wounds I cannot, though I would, relieve;
Phaon has all the love that I can give.
Had you among the reft at firft affail'd

My heart, when free, you had, perhaps, prevail'd.
Now if you blame, oh, blame not me, but Fate,
That never brought you 'till 'twas grown too late,

DAMON.

Had the Fates brought me then, too charming fair, I could not hope, and now I must despair.

Rul'd by your friends, you quit the lovers flame,

For flocks, for paftures, for an empty name.
Yet though the bleft poffeffion fate denies,
Oh let me gaze for ever on thofe eyes :
So juft, so true, so innocent 's my flame,
That Phaon, did he fee it, could not blame.

DAPHNE.

Such generous ends I know you still pursue, What I can do, be fure I will for you.

If on efteem or pity you can live,

Or hopes of more, if I had more to give,

Those you may have, but cannot have my heart:
And fince we now perhaps for ever part,

Such noble thoughts through all your life exprefs,
May make the value more, the pity less.

DAMON,

DAMON.

Can you then go ? Can you for ever part,

(Ye Gods! what shivering pains furround my heart!)
And have one thought to make your pity lefs?
Ah Daphne, could I half my pangs exprefs,
You could not think, though hard as rocks you were,
Your pity ever could too great appear.

I ne'er fhall be one moment free from pain,
Till I behold thofe charming eyes again.
When gay diverfions do your thoughts employ,
I would not come to interrupt the joy;

But when from them you fome fpare moment find,
Think then, oh think on whom you leave behind!
Think with what heart I fhall behold the green,
Where I fo oft thofe charming eyes have feen!
Think with what grief I walk the groves alone,
When you, the glory of them all, are gone!
Yet, oh that little time you have to stay,
Let me still speak, and gaze my foul away!
But fee my paffion that small aid denies;
Grief ftops my tongue, and tears o'erflow my eyes.

E CLOGUE

GALA TE A.

II.

HYRSIS, the gayest one of all the swains,

ΤΗ

Who fed their flocks upon th' Arcadian plains; While love's mad paffion quite devour'd his heart, And the coy nymph that caus'd, neglects his finart;

Strives

Strives in low numbers, such as shepherds use,
If not to move her breaft, his own amufe.
You, Chloris, who with fcorn refuse to see
The mighty wounds that you have made on me ;
Yet cannot fure with equal pride disdain,

To hear an humble hind of his complain.

Now while the flocks and herds to fhades retire, While the fierce fun fets all the world on fire; Through burning fields, through rugged brakes I rove, And to the hills and woods declare my love. How fmall's the heat! how easy is the pain I feel without, to that I feel within!

Yet fcornful Galatea will not hear,

But from my fongs and pipe still turns her ear:
Not fo the fage Corifca, nor the fair

Climena, nor rich Ægon's only care ;

From them my songs a juft compaffion drew;
And they shall have them, fince contemn'd by you.
Why name I them, when ev'n chafte Cynthia stays,
And Pan himself, to listen to my lays?

Pan, whofe sweet pipe has been admir'd fo long,
Has not difdain'd fometimes to hear my song :
Yet Galatea fcorns whate'er I fay,
And Galatea's wifer fure than they.

Relentless nymph! can nothing move your mind?
Muft you be deaf, because you are unkind?
Though you dislike the fubject of my lays,
Yet fure the fweetness of my voice might please.
It is not thus that you dull Mopfus use;
His fongs divert you, though you mine refuse:

Yet

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