 | The Poems of Robert Fergusson |  |
17
The COMPLAINT.
A Pastoral.
Near the heart of a fair spreading grove,
Whose foliage shaded the green,
A shepherd, repining at love,
In anguish was heard to complain.
Whose foliage shaded the green,
A shepherd, repining at love,
In anguish was heard to complain.
O Cupid! thou wanton young boy!
Since, with thy invisible dart,
Thou hast robb'd a fond youth of his joy,
In return grant the wish of his heart.
Since, with thy invisible dart,
Thou hast robb'd a fond youth of his joy,
In return grant the wish of his heart.
Send a shaft so severe from thy bow
(His pining, his sighs to remove),
That Stella, once wounded, may know
How keen are the arrows of love.
(His pining, his sighs to remove),
That Stella, once wounded, may know
How keen are the arrows of love.
No swain once so happy as I,
Nor tun'd with more pleasure the reed;
My breast never vented a sigh,
Till Stella approach'd the gay mead.
Nor tun'd with more pleasure the reed;
My breast never vented a sigh,
Till Stella approach'd the gay mead.
With mirth, with contentment endow'd,
My hours they flew wantonly by;
I sought no repose in the wood,
Nor from my few sheep would I fly.
My hours they flew wantonly by;
I sought no repose in the wood,
Nor from my few sheep would I fly.
Now my reed I have carelessly broke,
Its melody pleases no more;
I pay no regard to a flock
That seldom hath wander'd before.
Its melody pleases no more;
I pay no regard to a flock
That seldom hath wander'd before.
18
O Stella! whose beauty so fair
Excells the bright splendor of day,
Ah! have you no pity to share
With Damon thus fall'n to decay?
Excells the bright splendor of day,
Ah! have you no pity to share
With Damon thus fall'n to decay?
For you have I quitted the plain,
Forsaken my sheep and my fold;
For you in dull languor and pain,
My tedious moments are told.
Forsaken my sheep and my fold;
For you in dull languor and pain,
My tedious moments are told.
For you have my roses grown pale,
They have faded untimely away;
And will not such beauty bewail
A shepherd thus fall'n to decay.
They have faded untimely away;
And will not such beauty bewail
A shepherd thus fall'n to decay.
Since your eyes still requite me with scorn,
And kill with their merciless ray,
Like a star at the dawning of morn,
I fall to their lustre a prey.
And kill with their merciless ray,
Like a star at the dawning of morn,
I fall to their lustre a prey.
Some swain who shall mournfully go
To whisper love's sighs to the shade,
Will happ'ly some charity show,
And under the turf see me laid.
To whisper love's sighs to the shade,
Will happ'ly some charity show,
And under the turf see me laid.
Would my love but in pity appear
On the spot where he moulds my cold grave,
And bedew the green sod with a tear,
'Tis all the remembrance I crave.
On the spot where he moulds my cold grave,
And bedew the green sod with a tear,
'Tis all the remembrance I crave.
To the swaird then his visage he turn'd;
'Twas wan as the lilies in May;
Fair Stella may see him inurn'd,
He hath sigh'd all his sorrows away.
'Twas wan as the lilies in May;
Fair Stella may see him inurn'd,
He hath sigh'd all his sorrows away.
| The Poems of Robert Fergusson | |