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“Though never grass should cloath the naked ground, “ Nor ever healing plant or wholsome herb be found. “ None, none were found when I bewail'd their want; “ Nor wholsome herb was found, nor healing plant, “ To ease Amyntas of his cruel pains, * In vain I search'd the valleys, hills and plains ; “ But wither'd leaves alone appear’d to view, “ Or poisonous weeds distilling deadly dew. “ And if some naked stalk, not quite decay'd, “ To yield a fresh and friendly bud essay'd, “ Soon as I reach'd to crop the tender shoot, “ A shrieking mandrake kill'd it at the root. « Witness to this, ye fawns of every wood, “ Who at the prodigy astonish'd stood. “ Well I remember what fad signs ye made, “ What showers of unavailing tears ye shed; « How each ran fearful to his mossy cave, • When the last gasp the dear Amyntas gave. “ For then the air was fill'd with dreadful cries, “ And sudden night o'erspread the darken’d skies ; “ Phantoms, and fiends, and wandering fires appear’d, “ And screams of ill-presaging birds were heard. “ The forest shook, and finty rocks were cleft, “ And frighted streams their wonted channels left ; 6. With frantic grief o'erflowing fruitful ground, “ Where many a herd and harmless fivain was drown'd; 6. While I forlorn and defolate was left, “ Of every help, of every hope bereft ; • To every element expos'd ! lay, " And to my griefs a more defenceless prey.

« These


“For thee, Amyntas, all these pains were borne, “ For thee these hands were wrung, these hairs were torn; “ For thee my soul to figh shall never leave,

eyes weep, this throbbing heart to heave. “ To mourn thy fall, I'll fy the hated light, “ And hide my head in shades of endless night : “ For thou wert light, and life, and health to me; 6. The fun but thankless shines that thews not thee. “ Wert thou not lovely, graceful, good, and young a “ The joy of fight, the talk of every tongue? “ Did ever branch so sweet a blossom bear “ Or ever early fruit appear so fair? “ Did ever youth fo far his years transcend ? “ Did ever life so immaturely end ? “ For thce the tuneful fwains provided lays, “ And every Muse prepar'd thy future praise. " For thee the busy nymph stripp'd every grove, “ And myrtle wreaths and flowery chaplets wove. “ But now, ah dismal change ! the tuneful throng “ To loud lamentings turn the chearful song, “ Their pleasing task the weeping virgins leave, “ And with unfinith'd garlands strew thy grave. “ There let me fall, there, there lamenting lie, “ There grieving grow to earth, despair, and die.”

This faid, her loud complaint of force the ceas'd,
Excess of grief her faultering speech fupprefs'd.
Along the ground her colder limbs she laid,
Where late the grave was for Amyntas made;
Then from her swimming eyes began to pour
of softly-falling rain a filver shower ;




Her loosely-flowing hair, all radiant bright,
O’er-spread the dewy grass like streams of light :
As if the sun had of his beams been shorn,
And cast to earth the glories he had worn.
A fight so lovely fad, such deep distress,
No tongue can tell, no pencil can express.

And now the winds, which had so long been still,
Began the swelling air with sighs to fill :
The water-nymphs, who motionless remain'd,
Like images of ice, while she complain'd,
Now loos'd their streams; as when descending rains
Roll the steep torrents headlong o'er the plains.
The prone creation, who so long had gaz'd,
Charm'd with her cries, and at her griefs amaz’d,
Began to roar and howl with horrid yell,
Dismal to hear, and terrible to tell ;
Nothing but

groans and fighs were heard around, And Echo multiplied each mournful sound.

When all at once an universal pause
Of grief was made, as from some secret cause.
The balmy air with fragrant scents was fillid,
As if each weeping tree had gums distillid.
Such, if not sweeter, was the rich perfume
Which swift afcended from Amyntas' tomb :
As if th’ Arabian bird her nest had fir'd,
And on the spicy pile were now expir’d.

And now the turf, which late was naked seen,
Was sudden spread with lively-springing green ;
And Amarillis faw, with wondering eyes,
A flowery bed, where she had wept, arise ;

Thick as the pearly drops the fair had shed,
The blowing buds advanc'd their purple head;
From every tear that fell, a violet grew,
And thence their sweetness came, and thence their

mournful hue.
Remember this, ye nymphs and gentle maids,
When folitude

ye seek in gloomy shades ;
Or walk on banks where silent waters flow,
For there this lonely flower will love to grow.
Think on Amyntas, oft as ye shall stoop
To crop the stalks and take them softly up.
When in your snowy necks their sweets you wear,
Give a soft sigh, and drop a tender tear :
To lov'd Amyntas pay the tribute due,
And bless his peaceful grave, where first they grew.

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WHY are those hours, which Heaven in pity lent

To longing love, in fruitless forrow spent ?
Why fighs my fair? why does that bosom move
With any passion stirr’d, but rising love ?
Can Discontent find place within that breast,
On whose soft pillows ev’n Despair might rest ?



Divide thy woes, and give me my sad

I am no stranger to an aching heart;
Too well I know the force of inward grief,
And well can bear it to give you

relief: All Love's feverest


I can endure :
I can bear pain, though hopeless of a cure.
I know what ’ris to weep, and sigh, and pray,
To wake all night, yet dread the bieaking day;
I know what 'tis to wish, and hope, and all in vain,
And meet, for humble Love, unkind Disdain;
Anger and Hate I have been forc'd to bear,
Nay, Jealousy---and I have felt Despair.
These pains


I have been forc'd to prove,
For cruel you, when I began to love.
Till warm Compassion took at length my part,
And melted to my with your yielding heart.
O the dear hour, in which you did resign!
When round my neck your willing arms did twine,
And, in a kiss, you said your heart was mine.
Through each returning year may that hour be
Distinguish'd in the rounds of all eternity;
Gay be the sun that hour in all his light,
Let him collect the day to be more bright,
Shine all that hour, and let the rest be night.
And shall I all this heaven of bliss receive
From you, yet not lament to see you grieve !
Shall I, who nourish'd in my breaft defire,

cold scorn and frowns forbid the fire ; Now when a mutual flame you have reveal'd, And the dear union of our fouls is fealid,




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