University of Virginia Library

THE PENSIVE SHEPHERD.

When hot noon lay on the hill,
And the feathered quire was still,
I did light me on a nook,
By a willow-shaded brook.
Down I cast me on the bank
Midst the rushes bristling rank.
Round I heard gay voices ring,
Rustic folk a-summering:
But the merry sound they had
Only made my heart more sad:
For I thought on youth's decay,
And that joy must fall away;
And I saw how promise lies
When it comes to touch, and flies:
How the buds we hold to hand
Wither ere their sweets expand,
And what we did wish before,
We may wish for evermore;
For our cheating fancies win
Only shrouds to wrap us in.
Thus I did forswear me then,
Thinking on the ways of men,
Sad with pity, strained with ruth,
All the forecast of my youth;
And this saw I did approve
Fitly made for my behove:
Fairest hopes that Time doth bring
Flit upon the fleetest wing.