 | The works, in verse and prose, of the late Robert Treat Paine, Jun. Esq |  |
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A PASTORAL
The shades of night with sleep had fled away;
Heaven's rising scale now flamed with new-born day;
Now fragrant roses plumed the crest of dawn,
And tears of joy arrayed the smiling lawn;
The early villagers had left their beds,
And with their flocks had whitened all the meads.
Heaven's rising scale now flamed with new-born day;
Now fragrant roses plumed the crest of dawn,
And tears of joy arrayed the smiling lawn;
The early villagers had left their beds,
And with their flocks had whitened all the meads.
Beneath the embowering covert of a grove,
Whose blooming bosom courts the smiles of love,
Melodious songsters tuned their warbling strains,
And charmed the satyrs and admiring swains.
So soft their notes, that Echo silent hung,
And Zephyr ceased to breathe, to hear the song;
Shepherds, to join the tuneful war, forsook
Their native shade and left their peaceful crook;
The choral song awaked each rising day,
And larks forgot to sing their matin lay.
Whose blooming bosom courts the smiles of love,
Melodious songsters tuned their warbling strains,
And charmed the satyrs and admiring swains.
So soft their notes, that Echo silent hung,
And Zephyr ceased to breathe, to hear the song;
Shepherds, to join the tuneful war, forsook
Their native shade and left their peaceful crook;
The choral song awaked each rising day,
And larks forgot to sing their matin lay.
Long had young Corydon, outvied by none,
The ivy wreath from all his rivals won;
Till, from a mountain's side, whose lofty brow
Whitens with pride, and spurns the plains below,
Young Damon, versed in polished numbers, came,
And claimed the laurel of Aonian fame.
No sooner morn had cheered the skies with light,
And modest fields blushed from the embrace of night,
Than Corydon and Damon sung their loves,
And the sweet notes breathed softly through the groves.
DAMON.The ivy wreath from all his rivals won;
Till, from a mountain's side, whose lofty brow
Whitens with pride, and spurns the plains below,
Young Damon, versed in polished numbers, came,
And claimed the laurel of Aonian fame.
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And modest fields blushed from the embrace of night,
Than Corydon and Damon sung their loves,
And the sweet notes breathed softly through the groves.
Hark! how the birds from every blossom sing,
And early linnets hail the purple spring!
Melodious notes ascend from every spray,
And vocal forests wake the dawning day;
Spring trips the meads, and opes the sky serene,
And gentle breezes cool the pleasing scene.
When one soft chorus purls from crystal streams,
Tunes Nature's harp and murmurs joyful hymns;
Why sit we idle, when all nature's gay,
And lively Fancy gilds the morning ray?
CORYDON.
Our flocks together graze the flowery plain;
Sing then, while I attentive hear the strain:
But let no mournful song your voice employ;
Spring's florid pencil paints no scenes but joy.
No stake I offer, for a bribe can fire
No minds, but such as vulgar thoughts inspire.
Begin the song, for now the crocus glows,
And toiling bees explore the flagrant rose.
DAMON.
Ye Mantuan daughters, leave your cooling shades,
Where lavish Science all her flowerets spreads;
Come with your needed aid, inspire my lays,
And fill the grove with fair Myrtilla's praise.
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Come then, great Worth, and teach me how to glow,
And with thy sweetness teach my verse to flow.
Come, my Constantia, and inspire my lays,
For thou alone sing'st equal to thy praise.
DAMON.
Ye vernal gales, who fanned the ambrosial grove,
Where first Myrtilla crowned my sighs with love,
On your soft wings let Damon's numbers float;
Ye feathered songsters, swell the echoing note;
Trees, whisper praises, and ye meads, look gay,
For fair Myrtilla warms the amorous lay.
When flaming Sirius robed Apollos' brow,
With fiercer heat and scorched the world below,
I saw the fair one, rambling o'er the meads;
The drooping willows reared their mournful heads,
The fainting birds again began to sing,
And smiling Nature fondly thought 'twas spring.
Not chaste Dictinna with her silver train
Appeared so graceful, or could cause such pain.
With eyes and feet averse she fled the green,
And turned to see if she had fled unseen.
CORYDON.
Here Spring's gay lap, once poured forth all its stores,
And Joy's soft breezes winged the rolling hours,
The brightening landscapes swelled with teeming grain,
And smiling Ceres plumed the floating plain.
But now no more these rural scenes delight,
Nor flowery prospects glad our raptured sight.
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But to confess, how she, without her, fades.
The noisy town attracts the fair one's eye,
To seek the pleasures of a milder sky.
Then droop, ye flowerets, for Constantia's gone,
And joy no more shall glitter on the thorn.
The bees may well forget their waxen store,
And beauteous nature smile in spring no more.
No more Arabian gales their odours shed,
Beauty and sweetness with Constantia's fled.
Elegiack ditties chant o'er Spring's sad urn,
And Philomel shall teach the woods to mourn.
The eve comes on, in solemn brown arrayed,
And weeps in dews that fair Constantia's fled.
Nectarean streams the oak forgets to yield,
And lurking tares o'errun the uncultured field.
The gales are taught to sigh; the waving reed
Trembles the ditty to the mournful mead.
DAMON.
The Muses haunt Parnassus' cooling groves,
And blooming Paphos courts the smiles and loves;
But if Myrtilla shall prefer the plain,
Here Venus smiles, and here the Muses reign.
CORYDON.
In spring the open lawn delights the eye,
And cooling groves, when Sirius fires the sky;
When Autumn purples o'er the fruitful field,
To pluck the fruits which trees luxuriant yield;
But in my heart one constant passion glows;
My love-sick breast none but Constantia knows
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For thee the myrtle weaves its friendly shade.
Here crystal streams meander through the grove,
And every zephyr wafts the strains of love.
Come, lovely maid, more beauteous, than the morn,
And with your smiles these sylvan scenes adorn.
Though spring's return hath damasked o'er the field,
And in the rose her gayest plumes revealed,
Nature, to gain her own, must speak your praise,
She in your blush a fairer rose displays.
Come, my Constantia, leave the busy town,
And teach another Eden here to bloom.
To thee the feathered choir devote their lays,
And warble lavish musick in your praise.
When with your lyre you swell melodious songs,
E'en Orpheus owns to thee the wreath belongs.
The wolf shall fawn at thy soft tale of love,
And amorous trees shall crowd into a grove.
At thy return, the rose shall bloom again,
And breathe new fragrance o'er the joyful plain.
Autumn's rich cup shall pour its blissful stream,
And joy's bright nectar overlook the brim.
But, hark! yon hills resound a pleasing theme,
And frisking lambkins gambol to the hymn.
In vain, ye gales, that cool meridian heats,
Ye strive to hide from whence you stole your sweets.
Constantia comes; at that revered name,
Tygers forget to rage, and wolves grow tame.
DAMON.
To you the palm I yield; yours be the praise,
For 'tis Constantia, shines throughout your lays.
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Shall court thy smile, and in your praise combine.
But, hark! the plains the pleasing name resound;
Constantia's come, tunes all the vocal ground,
While her bright charms such joyful smiles diffuse,
To speak her worth, let silence hush the muse.
To give the fair her meritorious praise,
Numbers would fail, and sound itself must cease
| The works, in verse and prose, of the late Robert Treat Paine, Jun. Esq | |