Or did you only nurfe my growing love,
That with more pain I might your hatred prove
Sure guilty treachery no place could find
In fuch a gentle, fuch a gen'rous mind :
A maid brought up the woods and wilds among,
Could ne'er have learnt the art of courts fo young
No; let me rather think her anger feign'd,
Still let me hope my Delia may be gain'd;
'Twas only modefty that feem'd disdain,
And her heart fuffer'd when she gave me pain.
Pleas'd with this flattering thought, the love-fick boy
Felt the faint dawnings of a doubtful joy;
Back to his flock more chearful he return'd,
When now the fetting fun lefs fiercely burn'd;
Blue vapours rofe along the mazy rills,
And light's last blushes ting'd the distant hills.
Afterwards Lord MELCOMBE.
HEAR, DODDINGTON, the notes that thepherds fing,
Notes foft as thofe of nightingales in fpring:
Nor Pan, nor Phoebus tune the fhepherd's reed;
From Love alone our tender lays proceed :
Love warms our fancy with enliv'ning fires,
Refines our genius, and our verfe infpires:
From him Theocritus, on Enna's plains,
Learnt the wild fweetness of his Doric ftrains :
Virgil by him was taught the moving art,
That charm'd each ear, and foften'd every heart:
O would'st thou quit the pride of courts, and deign
To dwell with us upon the vocal plain,
Thee too his pow'r fhould reach, and every fhade
Refound the praises of thy fav'rite maid;
Thy pipe our rural concert would improve,
And we should learn of thee to please and love.
Damon no longer fought the filent fhade,
No more in unfrequented paths he stray'd,
But call'd the nymphs to hear his jocund fong,
And told his joy to all the ruftic throng.
Bleft be the hour, he faid, that happy hour,
When first I own'd my Delia's gentle pow'r
Then gloomy difcontent and pining care
Forfook my breast, and left foft wishes there:
Soft wishes there they left, and gay defires,
Delightful languors, and transporting fires.
Where yonder limes combine to form a fhade,
These eyes first gaz'd upon the charming maid; in I
There he appear'd, on that aufpicious day, writ
When fwains their sportive rites to Bacchus pay:
She led the dance heavens! with what grace she mov'd!
Who could have seen her then, and not have lov'd ?
I ftrove not to refist so sweet a flame,
But glory'd in a happy captive's name;
Nor would I now, could Love permit, be free,
But leave to brutes their favage liberty.
And art thou then, fond fwain, fecure of joy?
Can no reverse thy flatt'ring blifs destroy?
Has treach'rous Love no torment yet in ftore?
Or haft thou never prov'd his fatal pow'r?
Whence flow'd thofe tears that late bedew'd thy cheek
Why figh'd thy heart as if it ftrove to break?
Why were the defart rocks invok'd to hear
The plaintive accents of thy fad despair?
From Delia's rigour all those pains arofe,
Delia, who now compaffionates my woes,
Who bids me hope; and in that charming word
Has peace and tranfport to my foul reftor'd.
Begin, my pipe, begin the glad fome lay;
A kifs from Delia fhall thy mufic pay;
A kifs obtain'd 'twixt ftruggling and confent,
Giv'n with forc'd anger, and difguis'd content:
No laureat wreaths I ask to bind my brows,
Such as the Mufe on lofty bards bestows;
Let other fwains to praise or fame aspire:
I from her lips my recompence require.
Hark how the bees with murmurs fill the plain,
While every flow'r of every sweet they drain;
See, how beneath yon hillock's fhady fteep,
The fhelter'd herds on flow'ry couches fleep:
Nor bees, nor herds, are half fo bleft as I,
If with my fond defires my Love comply:
From Delia's lips a fweeter honey flows,
And on her bofom dwells more foft repose.
Ah how, my dear, fhall I deferve thy charms?
What gift can bribe thee to my longing arms ?
A bird for thee in filken bands I hold,
Whofe yellow plumage fhines like polish'd gold;
From diftant ifles the lovely ftranger came,
And bears the Fortunate Canaries name;
In all our woods none boafts fo fweet a note,
Not ev❜n the nightingale's melodious throat.
Accept of this; and could I add beside
What wealth the rich Peruvian mountains hide;
If all the gems in Eastern rocks were mine,
On thee alone their glitt'ring pride should shine.
But if thy mind no gifts have pow'r to move,
Phoebus himself fhall leave th' Aonian grove;
The tuneful Nine, who never sue in vain,
Shall come fweet fuppliants for their fav'rite swain.
For him each blue-ey'd Naiad of the flood,
For him each green-hair'd fifter of the wood,
Whom oft beneath fair Cynthia's gentle ray
His mufic calls to dance the night away.
And you, fair nymphs, companions of my Love,
With whom the joys the cowflip meads to rove,
I beg you recommend my faithful flame,
And let her often hear her shepherd's name ;
Shade all my faults from her enquiring fight,
And fhew my merits in the fairest light;
My pipe your kind affiftance fhall repay,
And ev'ry friend fhall claim a diff'rent lay.
But fee! in yonder glade the heav'nly fair
Enjoys the fragrance of the breezy air-
Ah, thither let me fly with eager feet;
Adieu, my pipe, I go my Love to meet-
may I find her as we parted last,
And may each future hour be like the past!
So fhall the whiteft lamb thefe paftures feed,
Propitious Venus, on thy altars bleed.
|