« ПретходнаНастави »
'IRST in these fields I try the fylvan strains,
Nor blush to sport on Windsor's blissful plains: Fair Thames, flow gently from thy facred spring, While on thy banks Sicilian Muses fing; Let vernal airs through trembling ofiers play, And Albion's cliffs refound the rural lay.
You that, too wise for pride, too good for
O let my Muse her flender reed inspire,
Soon as the flocks fhook off the nightly dews, Two Swains, whom Love kept wakeful, and the Muse,
Pour'd o'er the whitening vale their fleecy care,
Hear how the birds, on every bloomy spray, With joyous mufic wake the dawning day! Why fit we mute, when early linnets fing, When warbling Philomel falutes the spring? Why fit we fad, when Phosphor shines fo clear, And lavish Nature paints the purple year?
Sing then, and Damon shall attend the strain,
And I this bowl, where wanton ivy twines,
And what is that, which binds the radiant sky,
Ver. 34. The first reading was,
And his own image from the bank surveys.
Ver. 36. And clusters lurk beneath the curling vines.
Then fing by turns, by turns the Muses fing, Now hawthorns bloffom, now the daisies spring, Now leaves the trees, and flowers adorn the ground; Begin, the vales shall every note rebound.
Inspire me, Phoebus, in my Delia's praise,
That threats a fight, and spurns the rising fand.
O Love! for Sylvia let me gain the prize,
Me gentle Delia beckons from the plain,
Then, hid in fhades, eludes her eager
And by that laugh the willing fair is found.
The fprightly Sylvia trips along the green, She runs, but hopes fhe does not run unseen; While a kind glance at her purfuer flies, How much at variance are her feet and eyes!
Ver. 49. Originally thus in the MS.
Pan, let my numbers equal Strephon's lays,
O'er golden fands let rich Pactolus flow,
Celestial Venus haunts Idalia's groves;
If Windfor fhades delight the matchless maid,
All nature mourns, the fkies relent in showers, Hush'd are the birds, and clos'd the drooping flowers; If Delia fmile, the flowers begin to spring,
The skies to brighten, and the birds to fing.
Ver. 61. It ftood thus at first:
Let rich Iberia golden fleeces boast,
Her purple wool the proud Affyrian coast,
Ver. 61. Originally thus in the MS.
Go, flowery wreath, and let my Sylvia know,
Go, tuneful bird, that pleas'd the woods fo long,
To Heav'n arifing then her notes convey,
All nature laughs, the groves are fresh and fair, The fun's mild luftre warms the vital air;
If Sylvia fmiles, new glories gild the shore,
And vanquish'd nature seems to charm no more.
In fpring the fields, in autumn hills I love, At morn the plains, at noon the shady grove, But Delia always; absent from her fight,
Nor plains at morn, nor groves at noon delight.
Sylvia's like autumn ripe, yet mild as May, More bright than noon, yet fresh as early day; E'en fpring difpleafes, when the fhines not here; But, blefs'd with her, 'tis fpring throughout the year.
Say, Daphnis, fay, in what glad foil appears,
Nay, tell me first, in what more happy fields The Thistle fprings, to which the Lily yields :
Va. 69. &c. These verses were thus at first :