 | A Collection of Poems |  |
18
THE COMPLAINT.
Pastoral IV.
To Mr. T. Strickland.
As down-cast Thyrsis, hapless in his Love,
Lean'd o'er a Stream which scarce appear'd to move;
And view'd the fading Beauties of his Face,
Within the Mirrour of the liquid Glass.
In the deep Anguish of his Heart he mourn'd,
And Rocks, and Woods, and Hills, his Voice return'd.
While Autumn-Zephyrs, bade the Flow'rs to fade,
Breath'd deadness o'er the Grass and brown'd the Shade,
The wither'd Verdures scatter'd from the Wood,
And floated slowly down the silent Flood.
Lean'd o'er a Stream which scarce appear'd to move;
And view'd the fading Beauties of his Face,
Within the Mirrour of the liquid Glass.
In the deep Anguish of his Heart he mourn'd,
And Rocks, and Woods, and Hills, his Voice return'd.
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Breath'd deadness o'er the Grass and brown'd the Shade,
The wither'd Verdures scatter'd from the Wood,
And floated slowly down the silent Flood.
Thou, whom the Muses with their Art inspire,
Soft melting Numbers, and a flowing Fire;
Whose Wit not strikes us with a short-liv'd Flame,
But always Charms, and always is the same.
Hark, while the Muse rehearses Thyrsis' Song,
Which thus in wailing Accents left his Tongue.
Soft melting Numbers, and a flowing Fire;
Whose Wit not strikes us with a short-liv'd Flame,
But always Charms, and always is the same.
Hark, while the Muse rehearses Thyrsis' Song,
Which thus in wailing Accents left his Tongue.
Alas, sad Youth! how art thou chang'd of late,
Too near Resemblance of thy wretched Fate!
Oft o'er this Brook have I those Features seen,
Bloom in full Youth, and pleasant Smile the Mein;
A chearful Gladness dawn'd within these Eyes,
And that same Brow serene as cloudless Skies;
Ah me! my Blowsabella then was kind,
Nor fear'd my Heart, nor jealous was my Mind.
Too near Resemblance of thy wretched Fate!
Oft o'er this Brook have I those Features seen,
Bloom in full Youth, and pleasant Smile the Mein;
A chearful Gladness dawn'd within these Eyes,
And that same Brow serene as cloudless Skies;
Ah me! my Blowsabella then was kind,
Nor fear'd my Heart, nor jealous was my Mind.
But since the Nymph, unjust, and faithless grown,
Gave Strephon, what is due to me alone;
Forlorn, forsaken, by the perjur'd Maid,
My bloom decays, and Youth begins to fade:
Dull Melancholy sits upon my Face,
Lowrs in my Brow, and blots out ev'ry Grace;
My charming Blowsabella turns unkind,
Grief wrings my Heart, and bitter sinks my Mind.
Gave Strephon, what is due to me alone;
Forlorn, forsaken, by the perjur'd Maid,
My bloom decays, and Youth begins to fade:
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Lowrs in my Brow, and blots out ev'ry Grace;
My charming Blowsabella turns unkind,
Grief wrings my Heart, and bitter sinks my Mind.
Once I with Blowsabella spent my Days,
Or told her Tales, or charm'd her with my Lays;
With Rapture on her Shepherd's Arm she hung,
And Swains all list'ning crouded to my Song;
Rapt to the Heart, their nimble Feet were seen,
To shift in sprightly Dance, and trip the Green;
Pleas'd with my Numbers, ev'n the ancient gaz'd,
And heard with Wonder, and with Rapture prais'd.
Or told her Tales, or charm'd her with my Lays;
With Rapture on her Shepherd's Arm she hung,
And Swains all list'ning crouded to my Song;
Rapt to the Heart, their nimble Feet were seen,
To shift in sprightly Dance, and trip the Green;
Pleas'd with my Numbers, ev'n the ancient gaz'd,
And heard with Wonder, and with Rapture prais'd.
Then each new Day was pleasant to my View,
My Heart all blest, nor what was tedious knew:
The golden Minutes smoothly danc'd away,
Nor thought I they were long, nor wish'd their Stay;
For each new Moment, brought as new delight,
Thus Morning slid to Noon, and Noon to Night;
By Night I sought not kind repose in Vain,
'Till Morn all pleasant brought the Day again.
But now forlorn I solitary rove,
And lonely seek some unfrequented Grove;
Where 'midst a Wood obscure, or thicken'd Shade,
From Sight of Swains and perjur'd Nymphs convey'd,
I teach the Flute, or rural Reed to mourn,
And give the Notes a strange unusual turn;
The cruel Ragings of my Mind to ease,
But all in vain, not Musick's self can please.
My Heart all blest, nor what was tedious knew:
The golden Minutes smoothly danc'd away,
Nor thought I they were long, nor wish'd their Stay;
For each new Moment, brought as new delight,
Thus Morning slid to Noon, and Noon to Night;
By Night I sought not kind repose in Vain,
'Till Morn all pleasant brought the Day again.
But now forlorn I solitary rove,
And lonely seek some unfrequented Grove;
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From Sight of Swains and perjur'd Nymphs convey'd,
I teach the Flute, or rural Reed to mourn,
And give the Notes a strange unusual turn;
The cruel Ragings of my Mind to ease,
But all in vain, not Musick's self can please.
Dull Time appears with lagging Wings to speed,
And the slow Sun moves idly o'er my Head;
Nor Morn, nor Noon, nor soft approach of Night,
Assuage my Grief, or pleasing Rest invite.
A Moment seems an Hour, an Hour a Day;
Each Day a tedious tiresome Week to stay;
Each Week the length of any Month appears;
And Months trail on in long continued Years.
And the slow Sun moves idly o'er my Head;
Nor Morn, nor Noon, nor soft approach of Night,
Assuage my Grief, or pleasing Rest invite.
A Moment seems an Hour, an Hour a Day;
Each Day a tedious tiresome Week to stay;
Each Week the length of any Month appears;
And Months trail on in long continued Years.
His Flocks, while Thyrsis tended blithe and gay,
Frisk'd o'er the Fields, and wanton'd in their Play;
A lovelier Charge, not drove another Swain,
Pride of the Hills, and fairest on the Plain;
But now neglected, they unheeded bleat,
O'er barren Lawns, nor find fresh Greens to eat;
By Briers and Brambles all their Fleeces torn,
Hang on the Hedge, and blend amongst the Thorn.
Frisk'd o'er the Fields, and wanton'd in their Play;
A lovelier Charge, not drove another Swain,
Pride of the Hills, and fairest on the Plain;
But now neglected, they unheeded bleat,
O'er barren Lawns, nor find fresh Greens to eat;
By Briers and Brambles all their Fleeces torn,
Hang on the Hedge, and blend amongst the Thorn.
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See Nature's self appears to joyn my Woe;
So fade her Joys, her Beauties vanish so;
Left by the Sun, his Absence she deplores,
Nor keeps her Greens alive, nor chears her Flow'rs;
Yet Phœbus will return again, and bring,
A blissful Season, and renew the Spring:
But Blowsabella will no more return,
And Thyrsis must an endless Winter mourn.
So fade her Joys, her Beauties vanish so;
Left by the Sun, his Absence she deplores,
Nor keeps her Greens alive, nor chears her Flow'rs;
Yet Phœbus will return again, and bring,
A blissful Season, and renew the Spring:
But Blowsabella will no more return,
And Thyrsis must an endless Winter mourn.
Alas! to Hills and Mountains I complain;
Yet not to Hills and Mountains, all in vain;
Tho' these are Senseless, they shall hear my Song,
And Woods and Rocks stand Judges of my Wrong;
The Woods were call'd to witness to our Love;
And solemn Vows were made in ev'ry Grove;
Nor Woods and Groves record our Loves alone,
Our Vows and Promises to Heav'n are known;
And tho' false Blowsabella's Mem'ry fail,
So does not Heav'n, but Heav'n remembers all.
Yet not to Hills and Mountains, all in vain;
Tho' these are Senseless, they shall hear my Song,
And Woods and Rocks stand Judges of my Wrong;
The Woods were call'd to witness to our Love;
And solemn Vows were made in ev'ry Grove;
Nor Woods and Groves record our Loves alone,
Our Vows and Promises to Heav'n are known;
And tho' false Blowsabella's Mem'ry fail,
So does not Heav'n, but Heav'n remembers all.
Nor think, O Strephon, that thy wealthy Store,
Which brib'd a Nymph to break those Oaths she swore,
Which made thee happy at another's Cost,
And only bought that Blessing which I lost
Can bribe the Pow'r which weighs our Deeds above,
To be unjust, or pardon perjur'd Love:
If Peace thou seek'st, be just to Mortals here,
And dread just Heav'n, and future Anguish fear.
Which brib'd a Nymph to break those Oaths she swore,
Which made thee happy at another's Cost,
And only bought that Blessing which I lost
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To be unjust, or pardon perjur'd Love:
If Peace thou seek'st, be just to Mortals here,
And dread just Heav'n, and future Anguish fear.
Thus Thyrsis plain'd, but now began to lowr,
The thicken'd Air, and labour'd with a Show'r,
To shun th' impending Cloud, he sped away,
And ceas'd, the mournful Echoes of his Lay.
The thicken'd Air, and labour'd with a Show'r,
To shun th' impending Cloud, he sped away,
And ceas'd, the mournful Echoes of his Lay.
| A Collection of Poems | |