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“ Ye nymphs," he cried, “ye Dryads, who so long Have favor'd Damon, and inspir'd his song ;

For whom, retir’d, I shun the gay resorts

Of sportful cities, and of pompous courts;
In vain I bid the restless world adieu,

TO MR. DODDINGTON, AFTERWARDS LORD To seek tranquillity and peace with you.

Though wild Ambition and destructive Rage
No factions here can form, no wars can wage:

HEAR, Dodding the notes that shepherds sing, Though Envy frowns not on your humble shades, Like those that warbling hail the genial Spring. Nor Calumny your innocence invades :

Nor Pan, nor Phæbus, tunes our artless reeds: Yet cruel Love, that troubler of the breast, From Love alone their melody proceeds. Too often violates your boasted rest;

From Love, Theocritus, on Enna's plains, With inbred storms disturbs your calm retreat, Learnt the wild sweetness of his Doric strains. And taints with bitterness each rural sweet. Young Maro, touch'd by his inspiring dart,

“Ah, luckless day! when first with fond surprise Could charm each ear, and soften every heart : On Delia's face I fix'd my eager eyes!

Me too his power has reach'd, and bids with thine Then in wild tumults all my soul was tost,

My rustic pipe in pleasing concert join. Then reason, liberty, at once were lost :

Damon no longer sought the silent shade, And every wish, and thought, and care, was gone, No more in unfrequented paths he stray'd, But what my heart employ'd on her alone.

But call'd the swains to hear his jocund song, Then too she smild: can smiles our peace destroy, And told his joy to all the rural throng. Those lovely children of Content and Joy?

"Blest be the hour,” he said, “ that happy hour, How can soft pleasure and tormenting woe

When first I own'd my Delia's gentle power; From the same spring at the same moment flow? Then gloomy discontent and pining care Unhappy boy! these vain inquiries cease,

Forsook my breast, and left soft wishes there ; Thought could not guard, nor will restore, thy peace: Soft wishes there they left, and gay desires, Indulge the frenzy that thou must endure, Delightful languors, and transporting fires. And soothe the pain thou know'st not how to cure. Where yonder limes combine to form a shade, Come, flattering Memory! and tell my heart These eyes first gaz'd upon the charming maid: How kind she was, and with what pleasing art There she appear'd, on that auspicious day, She strove its fondest wishes to obtain,

When swains their sportive rites to Bacchus pay: Confirm her power, and faster bind my chain. She led the dance-Heavens! with what grace she If on the green we danc'd, a mirthful band;

moy'd! To me alone she gave her willing hand :

Who could have seen her then, and not have lov'd ? Her partial taste, if e'er I touch'd the lyre,

I strove not to resist so sweet a flame, Still in my song found something to admire.

But gloried in a happy captive's name ; By none but her my crook with flowers was crown'a, Nor would I now, could Love permit, be free, By none but her my brows with ivy bound:

But leave to brutes their savage liberty. The world, that Damon was her choice, believ'd,

"And art thou then, fond youth, secure of joy? The world, alas ! like Damon, was deceiv'd. Can no reverse thy flattering bliss destroy? When last I saw her, and declar'd my fire Has treacherous Love no torment yet in store ? In words as soft as passion could inspire,

Or hast thou never prov'd his fatal power ? Coldly she heard, and full of scorn withdrew, Whence flow'd those tears that late bedew'd thy Without one pitying glance, one sweet adieu.

cheek? The frighted hind, who sees his ripen'd corn

Why sigh'd thy heart as if it strove to break? Up from the roots by sudden tempests torn,

Why were the desert rocks invok'd to hear Whose fairest hopes destroy'd and blasted lie, The plaintive accent of thy sad despair? Feels not so keen a pang of grief as I.

From Delia's rigor all those pains arose, Ah, how have I deserv'd, inhuman maid,

Delia, who now compassionates my woes, To have my faithful service thụs repaid ? Who bids me hope ; and in that charming word Were all the marks of kindness I receiv'd, Has peace and transport to my soul restor’d. But dreams of joy, that charm’d me and deceiv'd ? Begin, my pipe, begin the gladsome lay; Or did you only nurse my growing love,

A kiss from Delia shall thy music pay; That with more pain I might your hatred prove?

A kiss obtain'd 'twixt struggling and consent, Sure guilty treachery no place could find Given with forc'd anger, and disguis’d content In such a gentle, such a generous mind :

No laureate wreaths I ask, to bind my brows, A maid, brought up the woods and wilds among

Such as the Muse on lofty bards bestows: Could ne'er have learnt the art of courts so young : Let other swains to praise or fame aspire ; No; let me rather think her anger feign'd, I from her lips my recompense require. Still let me hope my Delia may be gain'd;

“Why stays my Delia in her secret bower ? 'Twas only modesty that seem'd disdain,

Light gales have chas'd the late impending shower And her heart suffer'd when she gave me pain." Th' emerging Sun more bright his beams extends ; Pleas'd with this flattering thought, the love-sick Oppos’d, its beauteous arch the rainbow bends! boy

Glad youths and maidens turn the new-made hay: Felt the faint dawning of a doubtful joy;

The birds renew their songs on every spray! Back to his flock more cheerful he return'd, Come forth, my love, thy shepherd's joys to crown When now the setting Sun more fiercely burn'd, All nature smiles.—Will only Delia frown? Blue vapors rose along the mazy rills,

* Hark how the bees with murmurs fill the plain And light's last blushes ting'd the distant hills. While every flower of every sweet they drain :


See, how beneath yon hillock's shady steep, Here, half-conceal'd in trees, a cottage stands,
The shelter'd herds on flowery couches sleep: A castle there the opening plain commands;
Nor bees, nor herds, are half so blest as I, Beyond, a town with glittering spires is crown'd,
If with my fond desires my love comply ; And distant hills the wide horizon bound:
From Delia's lips a sweeter honey flows,

So charming was the scene, awhile the swain And on her bosom dwells more soft repose. Beheld delighted, and forgot his pain:

“Ah! how, my dear, shall I deserve thy charms ? But soon the stings infix'd within his heart What gift can bribe thee to my longing arms ? With cruel force renew'd their raging smart: A bird for thee in silken bands I hold,

His flowery wreath, which long with pride he wore, Whose yellow plumage shines like polish'd gold; The gift of Delia, from his brows he tore, From distant isles the lovely stranger came, Then cried, “ May all thy charms, ungrateful maid, And bears the fortunate Canaries' name;

Like these neglected roses, droop and fade! In all our woods none boasts so sweet a note, May angry Heaven deform each guilty grace, Not ev'n the nightingale's melodious throat. That triumphs now in that deluding face! Accept of this; and could I add beside

Those alter'd looks may every shepherd fly, What wealth the rich Peruvian mountains hide: And ev'n thy Daphnis hate thee worse than I! If all the gems in eastern rocks were mine,

“Say, thou inconstant, what has Damon done, On thee alone their glittering pride should shine. To lose the heart his tedious pains had won? But, if thy mind no gifts have power to move, Tell me what charms you in my rival find, Phoebus himself shall leave th’ Aonian grove: Against whose power no ties have strength to bind! The tuneful Nine, who never sue in vain, Has he, like me, with long obedience strore Shall come sweet suppliants for their favorite To conquer your disdain, and merit lore? swain.

Has he with transport every smile ador'd, For him each blue-ey'd Naiad of the flood, And died with grief at each ungenile word? For him each green-hair'd sister of the wood, Ah, no! the conquest was obtain'd with ease ; Whom oft beneath fair Cynthia's gentle ray He pleas'd you, by not studying to please : His music calls to dance the night away. His careless indolence your pride alarm'd; And you, fair nymphs, companions of my love, And, had he lov'd you more, he less had charm'd. With whom she joys the cowslip meads to rove, “O pain to think! another shall possess I beg you recommend my faithful flame,

Those balmy lips which I was wont to press : And let her often hear her shepherd's name: Another on her panting breast shall lie, Shade all my faults from her inquiring sight, And catch sweet madness from her swimming eye! And show my merits in the fairest light: I saw their friendly flocks together feed, My pipe your kind assistance shall repay,

I saw them hand in hand walk o'er the mead: And every friend shall claim a different lay. Would my clos'd eye had sunk in endless night,

“ But see! in yonder glade the heavenly fair Ere I was doom'd to bear that hateful sight! Enjoys the fragrance of the breezy air

Where'er they pass’d, be blasted every flower, Ah, thither let me fly with eager seet;

And hungry wolves their helpless flocks devour Adieu, my pipe; I go my love to meet- Ah, wretched swain, could no examples move 0, may I find her as we parted last,

Thy heedless heart to shun the rage of love? And may each future hour be like the past ! Hast thou not heard how poor Menalcas died So shall the whitest lamb these pastures feed, A victim to Parthenia's fatal pride? Propitious Venus, on thy altars bleed.

Dear was the youth to all the tuneful plain,
Lov'd by the nymphs, by Phoebus lov'd in vain :
Around his tomb their tears the Muses paid;

And all things mourn'd, but the relentless maid.

Would I could die like him, and be at peace! ECLOGUE III.

These torments in the quiet grave would cease ;

There my vex'd thoughts a calm repose would find, TO MR. EDWARD WALPOLE.

And rest, as if my Delia still were kind. The gods, O Walpole, give no bliss sincere ; No, let me live, her falsehood to upbraid: Wealth is disturbid by care, and power by fear: Some god perhaps my jest revenge will aid.—. Of all the passions that employ the mind, Alas! what aid, fond swain, wouldst thou receive! In gentle love the sweetest joys we find :

Could thy heart bear to see its Delia grieve! Yet ev'n those joys dire Jealousy molests,

Protect her, Heaven! and let her never know
And blackens each fair image in our breasts. The slightest part of hapless Damon's woe.
O may the warmth of thy too tender heart

I ask no vengeance from the powers above;
Ne'er feel the sharpness of his venom'd dart! All I implore is never more to love.-
For thy own quiet, think thy mistress just, Let me this fondness from my bosom lear,
And wisely take thy happiness on trust.

Let me forget that e'er I thought her fair.
Begin, my Muse, and Damon's woes rehearse, Come, cool Indifference, and heal my breast;
In wildest numbers and disorderd verse.

Wearied, at length, I seek thy downy rest : On a romantic mountain's airy head

No turbulence of passion shall destroy (While browsing goats at ease around him fed) My future ease with flattering hopes of joy. Anxious he lay, with jealous cares opprest ; Hear, mighty Pan, and, all ye sylvans, hear Distrust and anger laboring in his breast- What by your guardian deities I swear; The vale beneath a pleasing prospect yields No more my eyes shall view her fatal charms, Of verdant meads and cultivated fields;

No more I'll court the traitress to my arms: Through these a river rolls its winding food, Not all her arts my steady soul shall move, Adorn'd with various tufts of rising wood; And she shall find that reason conquers lorem.

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Scarce had he spoke, when through the lawn below On all her days let health and peace attend;
Alone he saw the beauteous Delia go;

May she ne'er want, nor ever lose, a friend !
At once transported, he forgot his vow,

May some new pleasure every hour employ: (Such perjuries the laughing gods allow !)

But let her Damon be her highest joy! Down the steep hills with ardent haste he flew; “ With thee, my love, for ever will I stay, He found her kind, and soon believ'd her true. All night caress thee, and admire all day;

In the same field our mingled flocks we'll feed,

To the same spring our thirsty heifers lead,

Together will we share the harvest toils,

Together press the vine's autumnal spoils.

Delightful state, where Peace and Love combine,

To bid our tranquil days unclouded shine!
COBHAM, to thee this rural lay I bring,

Here limpid fountains roll through flowery meads;
Whose guiding judgment gives me skill to sing :

Here rising forests lift their verdant heads;
Though far unequal to those polish'd strains,

Here let me wear my careless life away,
With which thy Congreve charm'd the listening And in thy arms insensibly decay.
plains :

“When late old age our heads shall silver o'er Yet shall its music please thy partial ear,

And our slow pulses dance with joy no more ; And soothe thy breast with thoughts that once were When Time no longer will thy beauties spare, dear;

And only Damon's eye shall think thee fair; Recall those years which Time has thrown behind, Then may the gentle hand of welcome Death, When smiling Love with Honor shar'd thy mind :

At one soft stroke, deprive us both of breath!
When all thy glorious days of prosperous fight May we beneath one common stone be laid,
Delighted less than one successful night.

And the same cypress both our ashes shade!
The sweet remembrance shall thy youth restore, Perhaps some friendly Muse, in tender verse
Fancy again shall run past pleasures o'er; Shall deign our faithful passion to rehearse
And, while in Stowe's enchanting walks you stray, And future ages, with just envy mov'd,
This theme may help to cheat the summer's day. Be told how Damon and his Delia lov'd."

Beneath the covert of a myrtle wood,
To Venus rais'd, a rustic altar stood.
To Venus and to Hymen, there combin'd,
In friendly league to favor human-kind.
With wanton Cupids, in that happy shade,
The gentle Virtues and mild Wisdom play'd.

Nor there in sprightly Pleasure's genial train,

Lurk'd sick Disgust, or late-repenting Pain,
Nor Force, nor Interest, join'd unwilling hands, Say, dearest friend, how roll thy hours away?
But Love consenting tied the blissful bands. What pleasing study cheats the tedious day?
Thither, with glad devotion, Damon came, Dost thou the sacred volumes oft explore
To thank the powers who bless'd his faithful flame: Of wise Antiquity's immortal lore,
Two milk-white doves he on their altar laid, Where virtue, by the charms of wit refin'd,
And thus to both his grateful homage paid : At once exalts and polishes the mind ?
“Hail, bounteous god! before whose hallow'd shrine How different from our modern guilty art,
My Delia vow'd to be for ever mine,

Which pleases only to corrupt the heart;
While, glowing in her cheeks, with tender love, Whose curst refinements odious vice adorn,
Sweet virgin-modesty reluctant strove!

And teach to honor what we ought to scorn!
And hail to thee, fair queen of young desires! Dost thou in sage historians joy to see
Long shall my heart preserve thy pleasing fires, How Roman greatness rose with liberty :
Since Delia now can all its warmth return, How the same hands that tyrants durst control
As fondly languish, and as fiercely burn.

Their empire stretch'd from Atlas to the Pole;
“O the dear bloom of last propitious night! Till wealth and conquest into slaves refind
O shade more charming than the fairest light! The proud luxurious masters of mankind ?
Then in my arms I clasp'd the melting maid, Dost thou in letter'd Greece each charm admire,
Then all my pains one moment overpaid ;

Each grace, each virtue, Freedom could inspire;
Then first the sweet excess of bliss I prov'd,

Yet in her troubled state see all the woes,
Which none can taste but who like me have lov'd. And all the crimes, that giddy faction knows;
Thou too, bright goddess, once, in Ida's grove, Till, rent by parties, by corruption sold,
Didst not disdain to meet a shepherd's love; Or weakly careless, or too rashly bold,
With him, while frisking lambs around you play'd, She sunk beneath a mitigated doom,
Conceal'd you sported in the secret shade: The slave and tutoress of protecting Rome?
Scarce could Anchises' raptures equal mine, Does calm Philosophy her aid impart,
And Delia's beauties only yield to thine.

To guide the passions, and to mend the heart ? “What are ye now, my once most valued joys ? Taught by her precepis

, hast thou learnt the end Insipid trifles ali, and childish toys

To which alone the wise their studies bend;
Friendship itself ne'er knew a charm like this, For which alone by Nature were design'd
Nor Colin's talk could please like Delia's kiss. The powers of thought to benefit mankind ?

** Ye Muses, skill'd in every winning art, Not, like a cloister'd drone, to read and doze,
Teach me more deeply to engage her heart; In undeserving, undeserv'd, repose;
Ye nymphs, to her your freshest roses bring, But reason's influence to diffuse; to clear
And crown her with the pride of all the Spring : Th' enlighten'd world of every gloomy fear;


mists of error, and unbind

Where ev'n mute walls are taught to Aatter state, pedant chains that clog the free-born mind. And painted triumphs style Ambition GREAT.* -py who thus his leisure can employ!

With more delight those pleasing shades 1 view we knows the purest hours of tranquil joy; Where Condé from an envious court withdrew it Nor vext with pangs that busier bosoms tear, Where, sick of glory, faction, power, and pride, Nor lost to social virtue's pleasing care ;

(Sure judge how empty all, who all had tried !) Safe in the port, yet laboring to sustain

Beneath his palms the weary chief repos'd,
Those who still float on the tempestuous main. And life's great scene in quiet virtue clos'd.
So Locke the days of studious quiet spent ;

With shame that other fam'd retreat I see,
So Boyle in wisdom found divine content; Adorn'd by art, disgrac'd by luxury:1
So Cambray, worthy of a happier doom,

Where Orleans wasted every vacant hour,
The virtuous slave of Louis and of Rome. In the wild riot of unbounded power;

Good Wor'ster* thus supports his drooping age, Where feverish debauch and impious love Far from court-flattery, far from party-rage;

Stain'd the mad table and the guilty grove. He, who in youth a tyrant's frown defied,

With these amusements is thy friend detain'd, Firm and intrepid on his country's side,

Pleas'd and instructed in a foreign land; Her boldest champion then, and now her mildest Yet oft a tender wish recalls my mind guide!

From present joys to dearer left behind. O generous warmth! O sanctity divine !

O native isle, fair Freedom's happiest seat! To emulate his worth, my friend, be thine : At thought of thee, my bounding pulses beat; Learn from his life the duties of the gown; At thought of thee, my heart impatient burns, Learn, not to flatter, nor insult the crown;

And all my country on my soul returns. Nor, basely servile, court the guilty great, When shall I see thy fields, whose plenteous grain Nor raise the church a rival to the state :

No power can ravish from th' industrious swain? To error mild, to vice alone severe,

When kiss, with pious love, the sacred earth Seek not to spread the law of love by fear. That gave a Burleigh or a Russell birth? The priest who plagues the world can never mend: When, in the shade of laws, that long have stood, No foe to man was e'er to God a friend,

Propt by their care, or strengthen'd by their blood
Let reason and let virtue faith maintain ; Of fearless independence wisely vain,
All force but theirs is impious, weak, and vain. The proudest slave of Bourbon's race disdain?

Me other cares in other climes engage, Yet, oh! what doubt, what sad presaging voice,
Cares that become my birth, and suit my age; Whispers within, and bids me not rejoice;
In various knowledge to improve my youth, Bids me contemplate every state around,
And conquer prejudice, worst foe to truth; From sultry Spain to Norway's icy bound;
By foreign arts domestic faults to mend,

Bids their lost rights, their ruin'd glory see:
Enlarge my notions, and my views extend; And tells me, “These, like England, once were free!
The useful science of the world to know,
Which books can never teach, or pedants show.

A nation here I pity and admire,
Whom noblest sentiments of glory fire,

Yet taught, by custom's force and bigot fear,
To serve with pride, and boast the yoke they bear:

When Delia on the plain appears,
Whose nobles, born to cringe and to command,

Aw'd by a thousand tender fears, (In courts a mean, in camps a generous band,)

I would approach, but dare not move:
From each low tool of power, content receive

Tell me, my heart, if this be love?
Those laws, their dreaded arms to Europe give.
Whose people (vain in want, in bondage blest;

Whene'er she speaks, my ravish'd ear
Though plunder'd, gay; industrious, though opprest) No other voice but hers can hear,
With happy follies rise above their fate,

No other wit but hers approve:
The jest and envy of each wiser state.

Tell me, my heart, if this be love?
Yet here the Muses deign'd awhile to sport
In the short sun-shine of a favoring court;

Ji she some other youth commend,
Here Boileau, strong in sense and sharp in wit,

Though I was once his fondest friend, Who, from the ancients, like the ancients writ,

His instant enemy I prove:
Permission gain'd inferior vice to blame,

Tell me, my heart, if this be love?
By flattering incense to his master's fame.
Here Moliere, first of comic wits, excell'd

When she is absent, I do more
Whate'er Athenian theatres beheld ;

Delight in all that pleas'd before, By keen, yet decent, satire skill’d to please,

The clearest spring, or shadiest grove :
With morals mirth uniting, strength with ease.

Tell me, my heart, if this be love?
Now, charm'd, I hear the bold Corneille inspire
Heroic thoughts, with Shakspeare's force and fire!

When, fond of power, of beauty vain,
Now sweet Racine, with milder influence, move

Her nets she spread for every swain, The soften'd heart to pity and to love.

I strove to hate, but vainly strove:
With mingled pain and pleasure, I survey

Tell me, my heart, if this be love?
The pompous works of arbitrary sway;
Proud palaces, that drain'd the subjects' store,
Rais'd on the ruins of th'opprest and poor;

* The victories of Louis the Fourteenth, painted in the

galleries of Versailles, * Bishop Hough.

| Chantilly

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I St. Cloud.

I now may give my burden'd heart relief,

And pour forth all my stores of grief;

Of grief surpassing every other woe,
The heavy hours are almost past

Far as the purest bliss, the happiest love
That part my love and me :

Can on th' ennobled mind bestow,
My longing eyes may hope at last

Exceeds the vulgar joys that move
Their only wish to see.

Our gross desires, inelegant and low.

But how, my Delia, will you meet

The man you've lost so long? Will love in all your pulses beat,

And tremble on your tongue ?

Will you in every look declare

Your heart is still the same; And heal each idly-anxious care

Our fears in absence frame?

Ye tufted groves, ye gently-falling rills,

Ye high o'ershadowing hills,
Ye lawns gay-smiling with eternal green,

Oft have you my Lucy seen!
But never shall you now behold her more:

Nor will she now with fond delight
And taste refind your rural charms explore.
Clos'd are those beauteous eyes in endless night,
Those beauteous eyes where beaming us'd to shine
Reason's pure light and Virtue's spark divine.

Thus, Delia, thus I paint the scene,

When shortly we shall meet;
And try what yet remains between

Of loitering time to cheat.

But, if the dream that soothes my mind

Shall false and groundless prove; If I am doom'd at length to find

You have forgot to love :

Oft would the Dryads of these woods rejoice

To hear her heavenly voice;
For her despising, when she deign'd to sing,

The sweetest songsters of the spring :
The woodlark and the linnet pleas'd no more ;

The nightingale was mute,

And every shepherd's flute
Was cast in silent scorn away,
While all attended to her sweeter lay.
Ye larks and linnets, now resume your song,

And thou, melodious Philomel,

Again thy plaintive story tell ;
For Death has stopt that tuneful tongue,
Whose music could alone your warbling notes excel

All I of Venus ask, is this;

No more to let us join:
But grant me here the flattering bliss,

To die, and think you mine.

In vain I look around

O'er all the well-known ground,

My Lucy's wonted footsteps to descry;
SAY, Myra, why is gentle love

Where oft we us'd to walk,
A stranger to that mind,

Where oft in tender talk
Which pity and esteem can move,

We saw the summer Sun go down the sky;
Which can be just and kind ?

Nor by yon fountain's side,

Nor where its waters glide
Is it, because you fear to share

Along the valley, can she now be found :
The ills that love molest;

In all the wide-stretch'd prospect's ample bound
The jealous doubt, the tender care,

No more my mournful eye
That rack the amorous breast?

Can aught of her espy,

But the sad sacred earth where her dear relics lie.
Alas! by some degree of woe
We every bliss must gain :

O shades of Hagley, where is now your boast?
The heart can ne'er a transport know, Your bright inhabitant is lost.
That never feels a pain.

You she preferr'd to all the gay resorts
Where female vanity might wish to shine,

The pomp of cities, and the pride of courts.
Her modest beauties shunnid the public eye :

To your sequester’d dales

And flower-embroider'd vales

From an admiring world she chose to fly :

With Nature there retir'd, and Nature's God,

The silent paths of wisdom trod,

And banish'd every passion from her breast, Ipse carà solans ogrum testudine amorem,

But those, the genilest and the best, Te dulcis conjux, te solo in littore secum,

Whose holy flames with energy divine Te veniente die, te decedente canebat.

The virtuous heart enliven and improve, At length escap'd from every human eye, The conjugal and the maternal love.

From every duty, every care, That in my mournful thoughts might claim a share, Sweet babes, who, like the little playful fawns, Or force my tears their flowing stream to dry; Were wont to trip along these verdant lawns Beneath the gloom of this embowering shade,

By your delighted mother's side, This lone retreat, for tender sorrow made,

Who now your infant steps shall guide ?

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