Слике страница
PDF
ePub

Drench'd with the rain,

I'll lay me by my тOм once more,
Tho' louder ftill the tempefis roar,
And all the biting blast fuftain.
—Ah me! my shiv'ring, fainting heart!
My TOм! my TOM! we fhall not part.
Far from our home, from friends afar,
My TOм, my little BABE, and I,

Shall reft in one cold bed-Ah! ruthless war!
My heart!-O heav'n!-I faint,—I die.

TO-MORROW

TO-MORROW.

you will live, you always cry; In what far country does to-morrow lie: That 'tis fo mighty long e'er it arrive? Beyond the Indies, does this morrow live? 'Tis fo far fetch'd, this morrow, that I fear, "Twill be both very old, and very dear. To-morrow I will live, the fool does fay, To-day's too late; the wife liv'd yesterday.

ABSENCE.

YE fhepherds fo cheerful and gay,
Whofe flocks never carelessly roam
Should CORYDON's happen to stray,
Oh! call the poor wanderers home.
Allow me to muse and to figh,

Nor talk of the change that ye find;
None once was fo 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 defire; 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 ev'ning repel;
Alas! I am faint and forlorn :-

I have bade my dear PHYLLIS farewell.
Since PHYLLIS vouchfaf'd me a look,
I never once dreamt of my vine :
May I lose both my pipe and my crook,
If I knew of a kid that was mine.
I priz'd ev'ry hour that went by,
Beyond all that had pleas'd me before,
But now they are paft, and I figh;

And I grieve that I priz'd them no more. But why do I languifh in vain ?

Why wander thus penfively here? Oh! why did I come from the plain, Where I fed on the fmiles of my dear? They tell me, my favourite maid, The pride of that valley, is flown. Alas! where with her I have ftray'd, I could wander with pleasure, alone. When forc'd the fair nymph to forego, What anguish I felt at my heart: Yet I thought-but it might not be fo— 'Twas with pain that the faw me depart. She gaz'd, as I flowly withdrew;

My path I could hardly difcern,
So fweetly fhe bade me adieu,

I thought that the bade me return.
The pilgrim that journies all day
To vifit fome far-diftant fhrine,
If he bear but a relique away,
Is happy, nor heard to repine.
Thus widely remov'd from the fair,
Where my vows, my devotion, I owe,
Soft hope is the relique I bear,
And my folace, wherever I go,

HOPE.

MY banks they are furnish'd with bees,
Whofe murmur invites one to fleep;

My grottos are shaded with trees,

And my hills are white over with sheep. I feldom have met with a lofs,

Such health do my fountains beftow; My fountains all border'd with mofs, Where the hare-bells and violets grow. Not a pine in my grove is there feen,

But with tendrils of woodbine is bound: Not a beech's more beautiful green,

But a fweet-briar 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 fifhes of gold.

One would think she might like to retire
To the bow'r I have labour'd to rear;
Not a fhrub that I heard her admire,
But I hafted and planted it there.
O how fudden the jeffamine ftrove
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 ftrains of wild melody flow!
How the nightingales warble their loves
From the thickets of rofes that blow!
And when her bright form fhall appear,
Each bird fhall harmoniously join
In a concert fo foft and fo clear,
As-the may not be fond to refign.

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 fay 'twas a barbarous deed.
For he ne'er could be true, fhe aver'd,
Who could rob a poor bird of its young:
And I lov'd her the more when I heard
Such tendernefs fall from her tongue.
I have heard her with sweetness unfold
How that pity was due to-a dove :
That it ever attended the bold;

And the call'd it the fifter of love.
But her words fuch a pleafure convey,
So much I her accents adore,
Let her fpeak, and whatever she say,
Methinks I fhould love her the more.
Can a bofom fo gentle remain

Unmov'd when her CORYDON fighs?
Will a nymph, that is fond of the plain,
Thefe plains and this valley defpife?
Dear regions of filence and fhade!

Soft fcenes of contentment and eafe!
Where I could have pleafingly firay'd,
If aught in her abfence could pleafe.
But where does my PHYLLIDA firay?
And where are her grots and her bowers
Are the groves and the vallies as gay,
And the thepherds as gentle as ours?
The groves may perhaps be as fair,
And the face of the vallies as fine,
The twains may in manners compare,
Dut their love is not equal to mine,

SOLICITUDE.

WHY will you my paffion reprove?
Why term it a folly to grieve?

Ere I fhew you the charms of my love,
She is fairer than you can believe.
With her mien fhe enamours the brave;
With her wit fhe engages the free;
With her modefty pleases the grave;
She is ev'ry way pleafing to me.
O you that have been of her train,
Come and join in my amorous lays;
I could lay down my life for the fwain,
That will fing but a fong in her praife.
When he fings, may the nymphs of the town
Come trooping, and liften the while
Nay, on him let not PHYLLIDA frown;
-But I cannot allow her to smile.

For when PARIDEL tries in the dance
Any favour with PHYLLIS to find,
O how, with one trivial glance,

;

Might the ruin the peace of my mind! In ringlets he dreffes his hair,

And his crook is bestudded around; And his pipe--oh! my PHYLLIS, beware Of a magic there is in the found.

'Tis his with mock paffion to glow; 'Tis his in fmooth tales to unfold, "How her face is as bright as the fnow, "And her bofom, be fure, 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."

66

« ПретходнаНастави »