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Not show'rs to larks, nor sun-shine to the bee, 45 Are half so charming as thy sight to me.

50

Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs away! Come, Delia, come; ah, why this long delay ? Thro' rocks and caves the name of Delia sounds, Delia, each cave and echoing rock rebounds. Ye pow'rs, what pleasing phrenzy sooths my mind! Do lovers dream, or is my Delia kind? She comes, my Delia comes !-Now cease my lay, And cease, ye gales, to bear my sighs away!

Next Ægon sung, while Windsor groves admir'd; Rehearse, ye Muses, what yourselves inspir'd.

Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful strain! Of perjur❜d Doris, dying I complain :

Here, where the mountains, less'ning as they rise,
Lose the low vales, and steal into the skies : 60
While lab'ring oxen, spent with toil and heat,
In their loose traces from the field retreat :
While curling smoaks from village-tops are seen,
And the fleet shades glide o'er the dusky green.
Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful lay! 65
Beneath yon' poplar oft' we past the day:

VARIATIONS.

Ver. 48. Originally thus in the MS.

With him through Lybia's burning plains I'll go,
On Alpine mountains tread th' eternal snow :
Yet feel no heat but what our loves impart,
And dread no coldness but in Thyrsis' heart.

Warburton.

IMITATIONS.

Ver. 52. "An qui amant, ipsi sibi somnia fingunt?"

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Oft' on the rind I carv'd her am'rous vows,
While she with garlands hung the bending boughs:
The garlands fade, the vows are worn away;
So dies her love, and so my hopes decay.

70

Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful strain! Now bright Arcturus glads the teeming grain, Now golden fruits on loaded branches shine, And grateful clusters swell with floods of wine; Now blushing berries paint the yellow grove; 75 Just Gods! shall all things yield returns but love?

Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful lay! The shepherds cry, "Thy flocks are left a prey”— Ah! what avails it me, the flocks to keep,

Who lost
my heart while I preserv'd my sheep. 80
Pan came, and ask'd, what magic caus'd my smart,
Or what ill eyes malignant glances dart?

What eyes but hers, alas, have pow'r to move!
And is there magic but what dwells in love!

Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful strains! I'll fly from shepherds, flocks, and flow'ry plains, From shepherds, flocks, and plains, I may remove, Forsake mankind, and all the world-but love!

NOTES.

Ver. 68. While she with garlands hung the bending bows:] This line forcibly recalls the beautiful description of the "Poor Ophelia."

There with fantastic garlands did she come,
Of crow-flow'rs, nettles, daisies, and long-purples;
There on the pendant weeds, her coronet weeds,
Clamb'ring to hang, an envious sliver broke.

Ver. 82. Or what ill eyes]

IMITATIONS.

"Nescio quis teneros oculus mihi fascinat agnos."

Stevens.

P.

I know thee, Love! on foreign mountains bred,
Wolves gave thee suck, and savage tigers fed. 90
Thou wert from Etna's burning entrails torn,
Got by fierce whirlwinds, and in thunder born!

Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful lay!
Farewel, ye woods, adieu the light of day!
One leap from yonder cliff shall end my pains, 95
No more, ye hills, no more resound my strains!

Thus sung the shepherds till th' approach of night, The skies yet blushing with departing light, When falling dews with spangles deck'd the glade, And the low sun had lengthen'd ev'ry shade. 100

NOTES.

Ver. 97. Thus sung.] Among the multitude of English Poets who wrote Pastorals, Fairfax, to whom our Versification is thought to be so much indebted, ought to be mentioned. He wrote ten or twelve Eclogues after the accession of James I. They were like those of the Mantuan and Spenser, allegorical, and alluded to the manners and characters of the times, and contained many satyrical strokes against the King and his Court. They were lost in the fire that consumed the Banquetting House at Whitehall: but it is said that Mr. W. Fairfax, his son, recovered them from his father's papers; the fourth of them was published by Mrs. Cooper in the Muses Library, 1737. Warton.

I wonder Dr. Warton should have omitted Browne's Britannia's Pastorals, an almost forgotten work, but containing some images. of rural beauty which Milton did not disdain sometimes to copy. See T. Warton's edition of Milton's smaller poems, page 53.

Bowles.

Ver. 98. 100.] There is a little inaccuracy here; the first line makes the time after sun-set; the second, before. Warburton.

IMITATIONS.

Ver. 89. "Nunc scio quid sit Amor: duris in cotibus illum," &c.

P.

This from Virgil is much inferior to the passage in Theocritus, from whence it is taken.

Warton.

WINTER:

THE FOURTH PASTORAL,

OR

DAPHNE.

TO THE MEMORY OF MRS. TEMPEST.

LYCIDAS.

THYRSIS, the music of that murm'ring spring
Is not so mournful as the strains you sing;
Nor rivers winding through the vales below,
So sweetly warble, or so smoothly flow.

NOTES.

Mrs. Tempest.] This Lady was of an ancient family in Yorkshire, and particularly admired by the Author's friend Mr. Walsh, who having celebrated her in a Pastoral Elegy, desired his friend to do the same, as appears from one of his Letters, dated Sept. 9, 1706. "Your last Eclogue being on the same subject with mine, on Mrs. Tempest's death, I should take it very kindly in you to give it a little turn, as if it were to the memory of the same lady." Her death having happened on the night of the great storm in 1703, gave a propriety to this Eclogue, which in its general turn alludes to it. The scene of the Pastoral lies in a grove, the time at midnight.

P.

I do not find any lines that allude to the great storm of which the Poet speaks. Warton. See however lines 30 to 35, and 60 to 70, which appear to convey the allusion pointed at by the poet.

IMITATIONS.

Ver. 1. Thyrsis, the music, &c.] 'Adú T, &c. Theocr. Id. i.

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Now sleeping flocks on their soft fleeces lie,
The moon, serene in glory, mounts the sky,
While silent birds forget their tuneful lays,

Oh sing of Daphne's fate, and Daphne's praise!

THYRSIS.

5

Behold the groves that shine with silver frost, Their beauty wither'd, and their verdure lost! 10 Here shall I try the sweet Alexis' strain, That call'd the list'ning Dryads to the plain? Thames heard the numbers as he flow'd along, And bade his willows learn the moving song.

LYCIDAS.

So may kind rains their vital moisture yield, 15 And swell the future harvest of the field.

Begin; this charge the dying Daphne gave,
And said, "Ye shepherds sing around my grave!"
Sing, while beside the shaded tomb I mourn,
And with fresh bays her rural shrine adorn. 20

THYRSIS.

Ye gentle Muses, leave your crystal spring, Let Nymphs and Sylvans cypress garlands bring,

NOTES.

Ver. 22. Let Nymphs and Sylvans, &c.] This line recalls a pathetic little ballad, in Beaumont and Fletcher's Maid's Tragedy: Lay a garland on my hearse

Of the dismal yew,

Maidens, willow branches bear,

Say I died true.

My love was false, but I was true,

From my hour of birth:

Upon my buried body lie

Softly, gentle earth!

IMITATIONS.

Ver. 13. Thames heard, &c.]

Bowles.

"Audiit Eurotas, jussitque ediscere lauros." Virg. P.

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