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By turns, astony'd, every twig survey,
beware; Knowing, I wist, how each the same may
share; Till fear has taught them a performance
meet, And to the well-known chest the dame
repair ; Whence oft with sugar'd cates she doth
them greet, And ginger-bread y-rare ; now certes, doubly
See to their seats they hye with merry glee,
and chair; (This hand in mouth y-fixed, that rends his
hair ;) And eke with snubs profound, and heaving
breast, Convulsions intermitting! does declare His grievous wrong; his dame's unjust
behest; And scorns her offer'd love and shuns to be
Yet nursed with skill, what dazzling fruits
appear! E'en now sagacious Foresight points to
show A little bench of heedless bishops here, And there a chancellor in embryo, Or bard sublime, if bard may e'er be so, As Milton, Shakspeare, names that ne'er
shall die ! Though now he crawl along the ground so
low, Nor, weeting how the Muse should soar on
high, Wisheth, poor starveling elf ! his paper kite
may fly. And this perhaps, who, censuring the
design, Low lays the house which that of cards
doth build, Shall Dennis be! if rigid Fate incline, And many an epic to his rage shall yield; And many a poet quit th' Aonian field; And, sour'd by age, profound he shall
appear, , As he who now with 'sdainful fury thrill'd Surveys mine work; and levels many a
sneer, And furls his wrinkly front, and cries, “ What
stuff is here?"
His face besprent with liquid crystal
shines, His blooming face that seems a purple
flower, Which low to earth its drooping head de
clines, All smear'd and sullied by a vernal shower. O the hard bosoms of despotic power! All, all, but she, the author of his shame, All, all, but she, regret this mournful hour : Yet hence the youth, and hence the flower
shall claim, If so I deem aright, transcending worth and
But now Dan Phæbus gains the middlo
skie, And Liberty unbars her prison-door ; And like a rushing torrent out they fly, And now the grassy cirque han cover'd o'er
With boisterous revel-rout and wild uproar;
implore ! For well may Freedom erst so dearly won, Appear to British elf more gladsome than the
spring Beneath the pompous dome of kesar or of
king. See in each sprite some various bent
play ; Thilk to the huxter's savory cottage tend, In pastry kings and queens th' allotted mite
to spend. Here, as each season yields a different
O may no wight e'er pennyless come there, Lest smit with ardent love he pine with hope.
less care! See! cherries here, ere cherries yet abound, With thread so white in tempting posies
tied, Scattering like blooming maid their glances
own, Rendering through Britain's isle Salopia's
Ye shepherds so cheerful and gay,
Whose flocks never carelessly roam ; Should Corydon's happen to stray,
Oh! call the poor wanderers homo. Allow me to muse and to sigh,
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 vouchsafed me a look,
I never once dreamt of my vine :
If I knew of a kid that was mine!
Beyond all that had pleased me before ; But now they are past, and I sigh ;
And I grieve that I prized them no more. But why do I languish in vain ;
Why wander thus pensively here? Oh! why did I come from the plain,
Where I fed on the smiles of my dear? They tell me, my favourite maid,
The pride of that valley, is flown ; Alas! where with her I have stray'd,
I could wander with pleasure, alone.
What anguish I felt at my heart !
'Twas with pain that she saw me depart. She gazed, as I slowly withdrew ;
My path I could hardly discern; So sweetly she bade me adieu,
I thought that she bade me return.
The pilgrim that journeys all day
To visit some far distant shrine, If he bear but a relique away,
Is happy, nor heard to repine. Thus widely removed from the fair,
Where my vows, my devotion, I owe, Soft Hope is the relique I bear,
And my solace wherever I go.
Can a bosom so gentle remain
Unmoved 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 ? Are the groves and the valleys as gay,
And the shepherds as gentle as ours ? The groves may perhaps be as fair,
And the face of the valleys as fine ; The swains may in manners compare,
But their love is not equal to mine.
Whose murmur invites one to sleep ;
And my hills are white over with sheep. I seldom have met with a loss,
Such health do my fountains bestow : My fountains all border'd with moss,
Where the harebells 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
To the bower I have labour'd to rear ; Not a shrub that I heard her admire,
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.
Why will you my passion reprove ?
Why term it a folly to grieve ? Ere I show you the charms of my love,
She's fairer than you can believe. With her mien she enamours the brave ;
With her wit she engages the free ; With her modesty pleases the grave;
She is everyway pleasing to me.
O you that have been of her train, /
Come and join in my amorous lays ;
That will sing but a song in her praise. When he sings, may the nymphs of the
town Come trooping, and listen the while; Nay on him let not Phyllida frown;
-But I cannot allow her to smile.
From the plains, from the woodlands and
groves, What strains of wild melody flow! How the nightingales warble their loves
From thickets of roses that blow ! And when her bright form shall appear,
Each bird shall harmoniously join In a concert so soft and so clear,
As—she may not be fond to resign.
For when Paridel tries in the dance
Any favour with Phyllis to find, O how, with one trivial glance,
Might she ruin the peace of my mind ! In ringlets he dresses his hair,
And his crook is bestudded around; And his pipe-oh my Phyllis, beware
Of a magic there is in the sound.
I have found out a gift for my fair ;
She will say 'twas a barbarous deed. For he ne'er could be true, she averr’d,
Who would rob a poor bird of its young : And I loved her the more when I heard
Such tenderness fall from her tongue.
'Tis his with mock passion to glow,
'Tis his in smooth tales to unfold, How her face is as bright as the snow,
And her bosom, be sure, is as cold. How the nightingales labour the strain,
With the notes of his charmer to vie; How they vary their accents in vain,
Repine at her triumphs, and die.
And pillages every sweet ;
He throws it at Phyllis's feet.
More sweet than the jessamine's flower ! What are pinks in a morn to compare ?
What is eglantine after a shower ?
I have heard her with sweetness unfold
How that pity was due to-a dove : That it ever attended the bold;
And she call'd it the sister of love. But her words such a pleasure convey,
So much I her accents adore, Let her speak, and whatever she say,
Methinks I should love her the more.
Ye shepherds, give ear to my lay,
And take no more heed of my sheep; They have nothing to do but to stray;
I have nothing to do but to weep. Yet do not my folly reprove ;
She was fair-and my passion begun ; She smiled-and I could not but love;
She is faithless—and I am undone.
Perhaps I was void of all thought :
Perhaps it was plain to foresee, That a nymph so complete would be sought,
By a swain more engaging than me.
It banishes wisdom the while ;
Seems for ever adorn'd with a smile.
She is faithless, and I am undone ;
Ye that witness the woes I endure, Let reason instruct you to shun
What it cannot instruct you to cure. Beware how you loiter in vain
Amid nymphs of a higher degree: It is not for me to explain
How fair, and how fickle they be.
And bring that garland to my sight,
With which my favour'd crook she bound; And bring that wreath of roses bright
Which then my festive temples crown'd;
Where Isis rolls her silver tide ;
That shines on Cherwell's verdant side;
But sure, to soothe our youthful dreams, Those banks and streams appear'd more
When, all beneath the poplar bough,
I breathed in verse one cordial vow : That nothing should my soul inspire, But friendship warm, and love entire. Dull to the sense of new delight,
On thee the drooping Muse attends;
On thy expressive power depends;
Which at ambition's shrine I made;
Those anxious moments, ill repaid : Oh! from my breast that season raze, And bring my childhood in its place.