 | The Poems of Robert Fergusson |  |
PASTORAL I. MORNING.
DAMON. ALEXIS.DAMON.
Aurora now her welcome visit pays,
Stern darkness flies before her cheerful rays;
Cool circling breezes whirl along the air,
And early shepherds to the fields repair,
Lead we our flocks then to the mountain's brow,
Where junipers and thorny brambles grow;
Where fonts of water 'midst the daisies spring
And soaring Larks, and tuneful Linnets sing;
Your pleasing song shall teach our flocks to stray,
While sounding echoes smooth the silvan lay.
5
'Tis thine to sing the graces of the morn,
The zephyr trembling o'er the ripening corn:
'Tis thine with ease to chant the rural lay,
While bubbling fountains to your numbers play.
No piping swain that treads the verdant field,
But to your music, and your verse must yield;
Sing then; for here we may with safety keep,
Our sportive lambkins on this mossy steep.
DAMON.
With ruddy glow the Sun adorns the land,
The pearly dew-drops on the bushes stand;
The lowing oxen from the folds we hear,
And snowy flocks upon the hills appear.
ALEXIS.
How sweet the murmurs of the neighbouring rill!
Sweet are the slumbers which its floods distill:
Thro' peebly channels winding as they run,
And brilliant sparkling to the rising sun.
DAMON.
Behold Edina's lofty turrets rise,
Her structures fair adorn the eastern skies;
As Pentland cliffs o'ertop yon distant plain,
So she the cities on our north domain.
6
Boast not of cities, or their lofty towers,
Where discord all her baneful influence pours;
The homely cottage, and the wither'd tree,
With sweet content shall be preferr'd by me.
DAMON.
The Hemlock dire shall please the heifers taste;
Our lands like wild Arabia be waste;
The bee forget to range for winter's food,
'Ere I forsake the forest and the flood.
ALEXIS.
Ye balmy breezes, wave the verdant field,
Clouds all your bounties, all your moisture yield;
That fruits and herbage may our farms adorn,
And furrowed ridges teem with loaded corn.
DAMON.
The year already hath propitious smil'd,
Gentle in spring-time, and in summer mild;
No cutting blasts have hurt my tender dams,
Nor hoary frosts destroy'd my infant lambs.
7
If Ceres crown with joy the bounteous year,
A sacred altar to her shrine I'll rear;
A vig'rous ram shall bleed, whose curling horns,
His wooly neck and hardy front adorns.
DAMON.
Teach me, O Pan, to tune the slender reed,
No fav'rite ram shall at thine altars bleed;
Each breathing morn thy woodland verse I'll sing,
And hollow dens shall with the numbers ring.
ALEXIS.
Apollo, lend me thy celestial lyre,
The woods in concert join at thy desire:
At morn, at noon, at night, I'll tune the lay,
And bid fleet echo bear the sound away.
DAMON.
Sweet are the breezes when cool eve returns,
To lowing herds when raging Syrius burns:
Not half so sweetly winds the breeze along,
As does the murmur of your pleasing song.
8
To hear your strains the cattle spurn their food,
The feather'd songsters leave their tender brood;
Around your seat the silent lambs advance,
While scrambling he-goats on the mountains dance.
DAMON.
But haste, Alexis, reach yon leafy shade,
Which mantling ivy round the oaks hath made;
There we'll retire, and list the warbling note
That flows melodious from the blackbird's throat;
Your easy numbers shall his songs inspire,
And every warbler join the general choir.
| The Poems of Robert Fergusson | |