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"How fhall the bear a conqueror, who, before, "No equal through the grove in music bore? "She droops, the hangs her flagging wings, the moans, "And fetcheth from her breast melodious groans. "Opprefs'd with grief at last too great to quell, "Down, breathlefs, on the guilty harp she fell. 110 "Then Colin loud lamented o'er the dead, "And unavailing tears profufely fhed,

And broke his wicked ftrings, and curs'd his skill;

"And beft to make atonement for the ill,
"If, for fuch ill, atonement might be made,
"He builds her tomb beneath a laurel fhade,

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"Then adds a verfe, and fets with flowers the ground, "And makes a fence of winding ofiers round. "A verfe and tomb is all I now can give;

"And here thy name at leaft, he said, shall live.” Thus ended Cuddy with the fetting fun,

And, by his tale, unenvy'd praises won.

732

THE SIXTH PASTORAL.

GERON, HOBBINOL, LANQUET.

How

GERON.

OW ftill the fea behold! how calm the sky!
And how, in fportive chace, the swallows fly!

My goats, fecure from harm, fmall tendance need,
While high, on yonder hanging rock, they feed:
And, here below, the banky fhore along,
Your heifers graze. Now, then, to strive in fong

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Prepare.

Prepare. As eldeft, Hobbinol begin ;
And Lanquet's rival-verfe, by turns, come in.
HOBBINO L.

Let others stake what chofen pledge they will,
Or kid, or lamb, or mazer wrought with skill:
For praise we fing, nor wager ought befide;
And, whose the praise, let Geron's lips decide.

LANQUET.

To Geron I my voice, and skill, commend, A candid umpire, and to both a friend.

GERON.

Begin then, boys; and vary well your fong:
Begin; nor fear, from Geron's fentence, wrong.
A boxen hautboy, loud, and fweet of found,
All varnish'd, and with brazen ringlets bound,
I to the victor give: no mean reward,
If to the ruder village-pipes compar'd.
HOBBINO L.

The fnows are melted; and the kindly rain
Defcends on every herb, and every grain :
Soft balmy breezes breathe along the sky;
The bloomy season of the year is nigh.

LONQUET.

The cuckoo calls aloud his wandering love;
The turtle's moan is heard in every grove;
The paftures change; the warbling linnets fing:
Prepare to welcome-in the gaudy fpring.

HOBBINO L.

When locufts, in the ferny bushes, cry, When ravens pant, and fnakes in caverns lie,

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Graze then in woods, and quit the shadeless plain,
Elfe shall ye prefs the spungy teat in vain.

LANQUE T.

When greens to yellow vary, and ye fee
The ground beftrew'd with fruits of every tree,
And stormy winds are heard, think winter near,
Nor trust too far to the declining year.

HOBBIN O L.

Woe then, alack befall the spendthrift swain, When froft, and fnow, and hail, and fleet, and rain, By turns chaftife him, while, through little care, His sheep, unfhelter'd, pine in nipping air.

LANQUE T.

The lad of forecaft then untroubled fees
The white-bleak plains, and filvery frosted trees:
He fends his flock, and, clad in homely frize,
In his warm cott the wintery blast defies.

HOBBINO L.

Full fain, O blefs'd Eliza! would I praise Thy maiden-rule, and Albion's golden days: Then gentle Sidney liv'd, the fhepherd's friend: Eternal bleffings on his shade attend!

LANQUE T.

Thrice happy fhepherds now! for Dorset loves The country-mufe, and our refounding groves, While Anna reigns: O, ever may she reign! And bring, on earth, the golden age again.

HOBBINOL.

I love, in fecret all, a beauteous maid,

And have my love, in fecret all, repaid;

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Mild as the lamb, unharmful as the dove,

This coming night fhe plights her troth to me:
Divine her name, and thou the victor be.

LANQUE T.,

56

True as the turtle, is the maid I love:
How we in fecret love, I fhall not fay:
Divine her name, and I give up the day.

HOBBINO L.

Soft on a cowflip-bank my love and I Together lay; a brook ran murmuring by: A thousand tender things to me the faid; And I a thoufand tender things repaid. LANQUET.

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In fummer-fhade, behind the cocking hay, What kind endearing words did the not fay! Her lap, with apron deck'd, fhe fondly spread, And strok'd my cheek, and lull'd my leaning head. 68 НОВ В ІN OL.

Breathe foft, ye winds; ye waters, gently flow 3 Shield her, ye trees; ye flowers, around her grow: Ye fwains, I beg you, pafs in filence by ;

My love, in yonder vale, afleep does lie.

LANQUE T.

Once Delia flept on eafy mofs reclin'd,

Her lovely limbs half bare, and rude the wind:
I fmooth'd her coats, and ftole a filent kifs:

Condemn me, fhepherds, if I did amifs.

HOBBINO L.

As Marian bath'd, by chance I paffed by; She blush'd, and at me glanc'd a fidelong eye::

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Then, cowering in the treacherous stream, she try'd Her tempting form, yet still in vain, to hide. LANQUE T.

As I, to cool me, bath'd one fultry day,

Fond Lydia, lurking, in the fedges lay:

The wanton laugh'd, and seem'd in haste to fly,
Yet oft fhe ftopt, and oft she turn'd her eye.

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HOBBINO L.

When firft I faw (would I had never seen !) Young Lyfet lead the dance on yonder green, Intent upon her beauties, as she mov`d,

Poor heedlefs wretch! at unawares I lov'd.

LANQUET.

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When Lucy decks with flowers her fwelling breast, And on her elbow leans, diffembling reft,

Unable to refrain my madding mind,

Nor herds, nor pasture, worth my care I find.

HOBBINOL.

Come, Rofalind, O come! for, wanting thee,
Our peopled vale a defert is to me.

Come, Rofalind, O, come! My brinded kine,
My fnowy fheep, my farm, and all, are thine.

LANQUE T.

Come, Rofalind, O come! Here shady bowers, Here are cool fountains, and here springing flowers: Come, Rofalind! Here ever let us stay,

And fweetly wafte the live-long time away.

HOBBINO L.

In vain the feafons of the moon I know,

The force of healing herbs, and where they grow:

No herb there is, no feafon, to remove

From my fond heart the racking pains of love.

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LAN