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'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
Enjoy the glory to be great no more,
And, carrying with you all the world can boast,
To all the world illustriously are loft!

O let my Muse her flender reed inspire,
Till in your native shades you tune the lyre:
So when the Nightingale to reft removes,
The Thrush may chant to the forfaken groves,
But charm'd to filence, listens while fhe fings,
And all th' aërial audience clap their wings.

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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,
Fresh as the morn, and as the feason fair :
The dawn now blufhing on the mountain's fide,
Thus Daphnis fpoke, and Strephon thus reply'd.


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,
While yon' flow oxen turn the furrow'd plain.
Here the bright crocus and blue violet glow;
Here western winds on breathing rofes blow.
I'll stake yon' lamb, that near the fountain plays,
And from the brink his dancing fhade furveys,


And I this bowl, where wanton ivy twines,
And swelling clusters bend the curling vines :
Four figures rifing from the work appear,
The various feafons of the rolling year;

And what is that, which binds the radiant sky,
Where twelve fair figns in beauteous order lie?


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,
With Waller's strains, or Granville's moving lays!
A milk-white bull shall at your

altars ftand,

That threats a fight, and spurns the rising fand.


O Love! for Sylvia let me gain the prize,
And make my tongue victorious as her eyes;
No lambs or sheep for victims I'll impart,
Thy victim, Love, fhall be the fhepherd's heart.


Me gentle Delia beckons from the plain,


Then, hid in fhades, eludes her eager
But feigns a laugh, to fee me fearch around,

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,
Of Parian itone thy ftatue will I raise ;
But if I conquer and augment my fold,
Thy Parian itatue fhall be chang'd to gold.







O'er golden fands let rich Pactolus flow,
And trees weep amber on the banks of Po;
Bleft Thames's fhores the brightest beauties yield,
Feed here my lambs, I'll feek no distant field.


Celestial Venus haunts Idalia's groves;
Diana Cynthus, Ceres Hybla loves :

If Windfor fhades delight the matchless maid,
Cynthus and Hybla yield to Windsor-shade.



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,
Bleft Thames's fhores, &c.

Ver. 61. Originally thus in the MS.

Go, flowery wreath, and let my Sylvia know,
Compar'd to thine how bright her beauties fhow:
Then die; and dying, teach the lovely maid
How foon the brightest beauties are decay'd.


Go, tuneful bird, that pleas'd the woods fo long,
Of Amaryllis learn a fweeter fong:

To Heav'n arifing then her notes convey,
For Heav'n alone is worthy fuch a lay.


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,
A wondrous Tree that facred Monarchs bears:
Tell me but this, and I'll disclaim the prize,
And give the conqueft to thy Sylvia's eyes.


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 :
All nature mourns, the birds their fongs deny,
Ner wafted brooks the thirty flowers fupply;
If Delia fimile, the flowers begin to fpring,
The brooks to murmur, and the birds to fing.






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