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Let op'ning roses knotted oaks adorn,
And liquid amber drop from ev'ry thorn.

Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs along!
The birds fhall ceafe to tune their ev'ning fong, 40
The winds to breathe, the waving woods to move,
And streams to murmur, ere I cease to love.
Not bubbling fountains to the thirsty swain,
Not balmy fleep to lab'rers faint with pain,

REMARKS.

VER. 43. Not bubbling] The turn of these four lines is evidently borrowed from Drummond of Hawthwarden, a charming but neglected Poet. He was born 1585, and died 1649. His verfes are as fmooth as Waller's, whom he preceded many years, having written a poem to King James, 1617; whereas Waller's first compofition was to Charles I, 1625. His Sonnets are exquifitely beautiful and correct. He was one of our first, and beft imitators of the Italian Poets, and Milton had certainly read and admired him, as appears by many paffages that might be quoted for that purpose. The four lines mentioned above follow;

To virgins flow'rs, to fun-burnt earth the rain,
To mariners fair winds amid the main,

Cool fhades to pilgrims, whom hot glances burn,
Are not fo pleafing as thy bleft return.

And afterwards again our author borrows in Abelard;

The grief was common, common were the cries.

I will juft add, that Drayton's Paftorals, and his Nymphidia, do not feem to be attended to fo much as they deserve.

IMITATIONS.

VER. 37.

"Aurea durae
Mala ferant quercus; narciffo floreat alnus,
Pinguia corticibus fudent electra myricae."
Virg. Ecl. viii.

VER. 43, &c.]
"Quale fopor feffis in gramine, quale per aeftum
Dulcis aquae faliente, fitim reftinguere rivo."

Ecl. v.

P.

P. Not

Not show'rs to larks, nor fhun-fhine to the bee, 45
Are half fo charming as thy fight to me.

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

Next Aegon fung, while Windfor groves admir'd; Rehearse, ye Mufes, what yourselves inspir'd.

56

60.

Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful strain! Of perjur❜d Doris, dying I complain : Here, where the mountains, lefs'ning as they rise, Lofe the low vales, and steal into the skies: While lab'ring oxen, fpent with toil and heat, In their loose traces from the field retreat: While curling fmoaks from village tops are feen, And the fleet shades glide o'er the dusky green.

Refound, ye hills, refound 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 fnow;
Yet feel no heat but what our loves impart,
And dread no coldness but in Thyrfis heart.

IMITATIONS.

VER. 52. "An qui amant, ipfi fibi fomnia fingunt ?"

Id. viii.

50

mind!

W.

P.
Oft'

Oft' on the rind I carv'd her am'rous vows,

While fhe with garlands hung the bending boughs:
The garlands fade, the vows are worn away;
So dies her love, and fo my hopes decay.

70

75

Refound, ye hills, refound 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; Juft Gods! fhall all things yield returns but love? Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful lay! The fhepherds cry, Thy flocks are left a prey". Ah! what avails it me, the flocks to keep, Who loft my heart while I preferv'd my sheep. Pan came, and ask'd, what magic caus'd my fmart 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!

80

84

Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful strains! I'll fly from fhepherds, flocks, and flow'ry plains, From fhepherds, flocks, and plains, I may remove, Forfake mankind, and all the world-but love! I know thee, Love! on foreign mountains bred, Wolves gave thee fuck, and favage tigers fed.

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IMITATIONS.

VER. 82. Or what ill eyes]

"Nefcio quis teneros oculus mihi fascinat agnos.'

VOL. I.

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REMARKS.

VER. 82. dart?] It fhould be darted; the prefent tenfe is ufed for the fake of the rhyme.

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90

P.

Thou

Thou wert from Aetna's burning entrails torn,
Got by fierce whirlwinds, and in thunder born!
Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful lay!
Farewel, ye woods, adieu the light of day!
One leap from yonder cliff fhall end my pains, 95
No more, ye hills, no more refound my strains!

Thus fung the shepherds till th' approach of night,
The skies yet blufhing with departing light,
When falling dews with spangles deck'd the glade,
And the low fun had lengthen'd ev'ry fhade.

100

REMARKS.

VER.97. Thus fung] Among the multitude of English Poets who wrote pastorals, Fairfax, to whom our Verfification is thought to be fo much indebted, ought to be mentioned. He wrote ten or twelve Eclogues after the acceffion of James I. They were like thofe of Mantuan and Spenfer, allegorical, and alluded to the manners and characters of the times, and contained many fatyrical strokes against the King and his Court. They were lost in the fire that confumed the Banquetting House at Whitehall; but it is faid that Mr. W. Fairfax, his fon, recovered them from his father's papers; the fourth of them was published by Mrs. Cooper in the Mufes Library, 1737.

W.

VER. 98. 100.] There is a little inaccuracy here; the first line makes the time after fun-fet; the fecond, before.

VER. 100. And the low fun] Mr. Gray's Evening, defcribed in the two first stanzas of his excellent Elegy, is far more picturefque and poetical. I would propose to read the two first lines of his elegy with a new punctuation, as follows:

The curfew tolls! the knell of parting day!

IMITATIONS.

VER. 89. "Nunc fcio quid fit Amor: duris in cotibus illum," &c. P.

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

WINTER:

THE FOURTH PASTORAL,

OR,

DAPHN E.

TO THE MEMORY OF MRS. TEMPEST.

LYCIDA S.

THYRSIS, the mufic of that murm'ring spring
Is not fo mournful as the strains you fing.
Nor rivers winding through the vales below,
So fweetly warble, or fo fmoothly flow.

REMARKS.

WINTER.] This was the Poet's favourite Paftorál.

Mrs. Tempeft. 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, defired his friend to do the fame, as appears from one of his Letters,

IMITATIONS.

VER. 1. Thirfis, the mufic, &c.] Adú Ti, &c. Theocr. Id. i.

* On lately reading Mr. Walsh's Preface to Dryden's tranflation of Virgil's Eclogues, I was convinced he had a greater share of learning than he is ufually allowed to poffefs. His ftrictures on the French language and manners, and on Fontenelle's affected and unnatural eclogues, as well as on his vain attempt to depreciate the Ancients, are very folid and judicious. To what he has faid of Virgil may be added, that one of the moft natural strokes in all his eclogues, is the fhepherd's reckoning his years.by the fucceffion of his loves;

Poftquam nos Amaryllis habet

This paftoral chronology is much in character.

G 2

Now

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