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I seldom have met with a loss,
Such health do my fountains bestow : My fountains all border'd with moss, Where the hare-bells and violets grow.
Not a pine in my grove is there seen,
But with tendrils of woodbine is bound: Not a beech's more beautiful green,
But a sweet-brier entwines it around, Not my fields, in the prime of the year,
More charms than my cattle unfold; Not a brook that is limpid and clear,
But it glitters with fishes of gold.
One would think she might like to retire
But I hasted and planted it there. O how sudden the jessamine strove With the lilac to render it gay! Already it calls for my love,
To prune the wild branches away.
From the plains, from the woodlands and groves, What strains of wild melody flow!
How the nightingales warble their loves
In a concert so soft and so clear,
As she may not be fond to resign.
I have found out a gift for my fair;
I have found where the wood-pigeons breed:
But let me that plunder forbear,
She will say 't was a barbarous deed.
For he ne'er could be true, she averr'd,
Who would rob a poor bird of its young: And I lov'd her the more when I heard Such tenderness fall from her tongue.
I have heard her with sweetness unfold
And she call'd it the sister of love.
Can a bosom so gentle remain
Unmov'd when her Corydon sighs? Will a nymph that is fond of the plain,
These plains and this valley despise ? Dear regions of silence and shade!
Soft scenes of contentment and ease! Where I could have pleasingly stray'd,
If aught, in her absence, could please.
But where does my Phyllida Stray?
And where are her grots and her bowers?
The groves may perhaps be as fair,
WHY will you my passion reprove?
O you that have been of her train,
Come and join in my amorous lays;
That will sing but a song in her praise.
But I cannot allow her to smile.
For when Paridel tries in the dance
Might she ruin the peace of my mind!
And his crook is bestudded around; And his pipe- oh my Phyllis, beware Of a magic there is in the sound.
"T is his with mock passion to glow,
To the grove or the garden he strays,
More sweet than the jessamine's flower! What are pinks in a morn to compare? What is eglantine after a shower?
"Then the lily no longer is white;
The rose is depriv'd of its bloom; Then the violets die with despite,
And the woodbines give up their perfume." Thus glide the soft numbers along,
And he fancies no shepherd his peer;
Let his crook be with hyacinths bound,
The language that flows from the heart,
YE shepherds, give ear to my lay,
They have nothing to do but to stray;
Perhaps I was void of all thought:
She is faithless, and I am undone ;
What it cannot instruct you to cure.
Amid nymphs of a higher degree: It is not for me to explain
How fair, and how fickle they be.