"Poor artless maid! to stain thy spotless name, "School'd in the science of love's mazy wiles, 66 Then, while the fancy'd rage alarm'd her care, "To thee, my Damon, dare I paint the rest? "Nine envious moons matur'd her growing shame; "Henry,' she said, 'by thy dear form subdu'd, See the sad reliques of a nymph undone ! I find, I find this rising sob renew'd: "Amid the dreary gloom of night, I cry, When will the morn's once pleasing scenes return? Yet what can morn's returning ray supply, But foes that triumph, or but friends that mourn! "Alas! no more that joyous morn appears "The vocal birds that raise their matin strain, "If through the garden's flowery tribes I stray, Where bloom the jasmines that could once allure, Hope not to find delight in us, they say, For we are spotless, Jessy; we are pure. "Ye flowers! that well reproach a nymph so frail ; "Now the grave old alarm the gentler young; That bids the morn propitious smile on me. "Thus for your sake I shun each human eye; . I bid the sweets of blooming youth adieu; To die I languish, but I dread to die, Lest my sad fate should nourish pangs for you. "Raise me from earth; the pains of want remove, And let me silent seek some friendly shore: There only, banish'd from the form I love, My weeping virtue shall relapse no more. "Be but my friend; I ask no dearer name; "Force not my tongue to ask its scanty bread "Haply, when Age has silver'd o'er my hair, "She spoke nor was I born of savage race; Nor could these hands a niggard boon assign; Grateful she clasp'd me in a last embrace, ; And vow'd to waste her life in prayers for mine. "I saw her foot the lofty bark ascend; I saw her breast with every passion heave; I left her torn from every earthly friend; Oh! my hard bosom, which could bear to leave! Brief let me be; the fatal storm arose; "And see my youth's impetuous fires decay; A PASTORAL BALLAD, IN FOUR PARTS. 1743. Arbusta humilesque myricæ. VIRG. I. ABSENCE. YE shepherds so cheerful and gay, Oh! call the poor wanderers home. Nor talk of the change that ye find; None once was so watchful as I; I have left my dear Phyllis behind. Now I know what it is, to have strove With the torture of doubt and desire; What it is to admire and to love, And to leave her we love and admire. Ah! lead forth my flock in the morn, And the damps of each evening repel; Alas! I am faint and forlorn : - I have bade my dear Phyllis farewell. Since Phyllis vouchsaf'd me a look, I priz'd ev'ry hour that went by, Beyond all that had pleas'd me before; But now they are past, and I sigh; And I grieve that I priz'd them no more. But why do I languish in vain; Why wander thus pensively here? Where I fed on the smiles of my dear? The pride of that valley, is flown; I could wander with pleasure, alone. When fore'd the fair nymph to forego, My path I could hardly discern ; I thought that she bade me return. The pilgrim that journeys all day Is happy, nor heard to repine. Soft Hope is the relique I bear, II. HOPE. My banks they are furnish'd with bees, My grottoes are shaded with trees, And my hills are white over with sheep. |