Juvenilia or, A collection of poems. Written between the ages of twelve and seventeen, by J. H. L. Hunt ... Fourth Edition |
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| III. |
PASTORAL III.
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 | Juvenilia |  |
PASTORAL III.
[Amor, che per gli affani cresce. ]
Season, Autumn.—Time, Evening.ADDRESSED TO THE HONOURABLE T. ERSKINE.
Amor, che per gli affani cresce.
Petr. p. 33.
Petr. p. 33.
Fair was the eve; and o'er the western sky
Departing Phœbus cast his gentler eye;
Autumnal glories mark'd the yellow plain,
And golden Ceres spread her waving reign,
When wand'ring Strephon, mourning o'er the mead,
With gentle breath inspir'd the plaintive reed;
While pitying Zephyrs wafted thro' the grove,
The mingled notes of Sorrow and of Love.
Departing Phœbus cast his gentler eye;
Autumnal glories mark'd the yellow plain,
And golden Ceres spread her waving reign,
When wand'ring Strephon, mourning o'er the mead,
With gentle breath inspir'd the plaintive reed;
While pitying Zephyrs wafted thro' the grove,
The mingled notes of Sorrow and of Love.
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Thou, whom a nation's love, a nation's praise
Crowns yet unwearied with immortal bays;
Whom gracious Heav'n, in pity to mankind,
Gave to scourge Vice, and curb the erring mind;
O let my Muse, by thy great name inspir'd,
With Erskine's native eloquence be fir'd!
From thy warm eye expressive Pity sent,
Shall mountains melt, and bid the rocks relent;
The woods shall mourn, and heap'd upon the shore,
Old Thamus weep, and Isis smile no more!
Crowns yet unwearied with immortal bays;
Whom gracious Heav'n, in pity to mankind,
Gave to scourge Vice, and curb the erring mind;
O let my Muse, by thy great name inspir'd,
With Erskine's native eloquence be fir'd!
From thy warm eye expressive Pity sent,
Shall mountains melt, and bid the rocks relent;
The woods shall mourn, and heap'd upon the shore,
Old Thamus weep, and Isis smile no more!
From Strephon's bosom burst the tender sigh,
And grief's big drop stood trembling in his eye!
Streaming it fell: Love caught the pearly tear,
And whisper'd comfort in the shepherd's ear.
And grief's big drop stood trembling in his eye!
Streaming it fell: Love caught the pearly tear,
And whisper'd comfort in the shepherd's ear.
Ah, cruel god, reply'd the care-worn swain,
Thy smiles are sorrow, and thy pleasure pain!
Still, as I bow beneath thy burning shrine,
Contempt, Refusal, and Despair, are mine!
No promis'd joys by love-sick Fancy drest,
No promis'd raptures throb within my breast!
Fair Peace, adieu! and ah! no more be mute;
But mourn with me, my sweetly-warbling flute!
Thy smiles are sorrow, and thy pleasure pain!
Still, as I bow beneath thy burning shrine,
Contempt, Refusal, and Despair, are mine!
No promis'd joys by love-sick Fancy drest,
No promis'd raptures throb within my breast!
Fair Peace, adieu! and ah! no more be mute;
But mourn with me, my sweetly-warbling flute!
80
And does Menalcas, rev'lling in her charms,
On Sylvia's breast repose his iron arms?
Perverted Nature, mourn thy banish'd reign,
And weep with me o'er ev'ry murm'ring plain;
The savage eagle, screaming, courts the dove,
To snowy hinds the lion roars his love;
Wild in the flock the rav'ning wolf's preferr'd,
And foaming tygers sport among the herd!
Fair peace, adieu! And ah, no more be mute;
But mourn with me, my sweetly-warbling flute!
On Sylvia's breast repose his iron arms?
Perverted Nature, mourn thy banish'd reign,
And weep with me o'er ev'ry murm'ring plain;
The savage eagle, screaming, courts the dove,
To snowy hinds the lion roars his love;
Wild in the flock the rav'ning wolf's preferr'd,
And foaming tygers sport among the herd!
Fair peace, adieu! And ah, no more be mute;
But mourn with me, my sweetly-warbling flute!
In this lorn breast, where Sylvia's image lies,
Love asks in vain, while vanish'd Hope denies!
Once could I wish, when artless was my age,
And smiling Time unroll'd his brightest page;
Once could I wish, when first my Sylvia rose,
Like op'ning flow'rs their budding charms disclose;
When first she rose, the splendour of the plain,
And stole the heart of ev'ry simple swain;
Till Disappointment drove me from my land,
And dash'd the cup of Rapture from my hand.
Weep, hapless youth! and ah! no more be mute;
But mourn with me, my sweetly-warbling flute!
Love asks in vain, while vanish'd Hope denies!
Once could I wish, when artless was my age,
And smiling Time unroll'd his brightest page;
Once could I wish, when first my Sylvia rose,
Like op'ning flow'rs their budding charms disclose;
When first she rose, the splendour of the plain,
And stole the heart of ev'ry simple swain;
Till Disappointment drove me from my land,
And dash'd the cup of Rapture from my hand.
Weep, hapless youth! and ah! no more be mute;
But mourn with me, my sweetly-warbling flute!
81
Ye groves, forsaken by your wretched swain;
Ye mazy woodlands, nodding o'er the plain;
Ye bleating folds, once Strephon's fleecy wealth,
My slender crook, fond pleasure, and fair health,
All, all, adieu! To me, the shady grove
Has lost its charms, since Sylvia has her love!
For some new swain my wand'ring flock must look,
And all the garlands wither on my crook!
Weep, hapless youth! and ah! no more be mute;
But mourn with me, my sweetly-warbling flute!
Ye mazy woodlands, nodding o'er the plain;
Ye bleating folds, once Strephon's fleecy wealth,
My slender crook, fond pleasure, and fair health,
All, all, adieu! To me, the shady grove
Has lost its charms, since Sylvia has her love!
For some new swain my wand'ring flock must look,
And all the garlands wither on my crook!
Weep, hapless youth! and ah! no more be mute;
But mourn with me, my sweetly-warbling flute!
Soft sung the shepherd; and on distant plains
Delighted Echo spread the plaintive strains.
Thame rais'd his head, and bending o'er the meads,
Told the mild numbers to his waving reeds;
While Windsor fields, forgetful to rejoice,
Caught the sad influence of his magic voice.
Delighted Echo spread the plaintive strains.
Thame rais'd his head, and bending o'er the meads,
Told the mild numbers to his waving reeds;
While Windsor fields, forgetful to rejoice,
Caught the sad influence of his magic voice.
Hark! What sweet murmurs break from yonder grove!
What chanting Nymph laments her bleeding love;
Still on mine ear the silver numbers steal,
And rising throbs within my breast I feel!
The shepherd paus'd: while, floating gently near,
These mournful numbers trembled in his ear:—
What chanting Nymph laments her bleeding love;
Still on mine ear the silver numbers steal,
And rising throbs within my breast I feel!
The shepherd paus'd: while, floating gently near,
These mournful numbers trembled in his ear:—
Sweet is the light that glitters thro' the sky,
And sweet soft Ev'ning with her virgin eye;
Dear is the hope that flatters me to rest,
And lov'd the purple stream that warms my breast!
But ah! How sweet, how dear, how lov'd, the youth,
That to this wretched bosom vow'd his truth!
Who from these lips love's warm avowal heard,
That love to Pleasure and to Peace preferr'd!
Sigh on, ye Zephyrs, that around me breathe;
And mourn, ye bubbling streams, that purl beneath!
And sweet soft Ev'ning with her virgin eye;
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And lov'd the purple stream that warms my breast!
But ah! How sweet, how dear, how lov'd, the youth,
That to this wretched bosom vow'd his truth!
Who from these lips love's warm avowal heard,
That love to Pleasure and to Peace preferr'd!
Sigh on, ye Zephyrs, that around me breathe;
And mourn, ye bubbling streams, that purl beneath!
Once soft Content reveal'd her placid charms,
And Joy, with smiles, would woo me to her arms!
Once from his shrine Love bow'd his yielding head;
But Love, and Joy, and soft Content, are fled!
Care on my lips compels his bitter bowl,
And Woe's rude tempest shakes my tortur'd soul!
Sigh on, ye Zephyrs, that around me breathe;
And mourn, ye bubbling streams, that purl beneath!
And Joy, with smiles, would woo me to her arms!
Once from his shrine Love bow'd his yielding head;
But Love, and Joy, and soft Content, are fled!
Care on my lips compels his bitter bowl,
And Woe's rude tempest shakes my tortur'd soul!
Sigh on, ye Zephyrs, that around me breathe;
And mourn, ye bubbling streams, that purl beneath!
Ye playful Nymphs, that haunt the woodland scene,
The flow'ry valley, or the upland green;
Or ye, in Thame's smooth flowing stream, that lave,
And cleave with polish'd arm the chrystal wave;
In what cool bow'r, what wat'ry grotto's shade,
To sad complaint impervious, were you laid;
When Force unmanly dragg'd me from my fields,
And all the joys my peaceful cottage yields?
Sigh on, ye Zephyrs, that around me breathe;
And mourn, ye bubbling streams, that purl beneath!
The flow'ry valley, or the upland green;
Or ye, in Thame's smooth flowing stream, that lave,
And cleave with polish'd arm the chrystal wave;
In what cool bow'r, what wat'ry grotto's shade,
To sad complaint impervious, were you laid;
When Force unmanly dragg'd me from my fields,
And all the joys my peaceful cottage yields?
Sigh on, ye Zephyrs, that around me breathe;
And mourn, ye bubbling streams, that purl beneath!
83
If Health's warm smile these drooping charms restore,
And hope's unalter'd eye be dim no more;
If Love has pow'r to bind the hearts of swains,
(And that he has, O tell my native plains!)
This weary hand that props my tearful cheek,
With painful toil and trembling mis'ry weak,
This weary hand shall be the youth's alone,
Who call'd so oft that weary hand his own!
Witness, ye groves, with gilding Autumn gay,
Ye waving fields, that glitter on the day,
Ye whisp'ring leaves, with yellow border bright,
And ye, ye floating splendors of the light!
Despis'd Menalcas mourns my flight in vain,
And Sylvia's Strephon shall be hers again!
Sport now, ye Zephyrs, that around me breathe;
And smile, ye bubbling streams, that purl beneath.
And hope's unalter'd eye be dim no more;
If Love has pow'r to bind the hearts of swains,
(And that he has, O tell my native plains!)
This weary hand that props my tearful cheek,
With painful toil and trembling mis'ry weak,
This weary hand shall be the youth's alone,
Who call'd so oft that weary hand his own!
Witness, ye groves, with gilding Autumn gay,
Ye waving fields, that glitter on the day,
Ye whisp'ring leaves, with yellow border bright,
And ye, ye floating splendors of the light!
Despis'd Menalcas mourns my flight in vain,
And Sylvia's Strephon shall be hers again!
Sport now, ye Zephyrs, that around me breathe;
And smile, ye bubbling streams, that purl beneath.
Soft ceas'd the Fair; then beam'd from out the grove
In all the luring languishings of love;
Caught by the breezes shook her clust'ring curls,
Shook, as when Eve her trembling veil unfurls;
An airy robe her floating form betray'd,
And o'er her breast in ruffling eddies play'd;
From her bright eyes a thousand glances speak,
And blushing beauty purples on her cheek.
Enraptur'd Strephon gaz'd upon her charms,
And wildly rush'd, and clasp'd her in his arms:
“These fond caresses,” sigh'd the blooming swain,
“These dear embraces bind us once again!
“O may no more the wiles of fortune part
“This panting bosom from thy Shepherd's heart!
“If Love, too cruel, smile but to deceive,
“And Woe once more the loom of mis'ry weave;
“That ruffian hand, that tears me from thy side,
“Shall point the grave, where hapless Strephon died!”
In all the luring languishings of love;
Caught by the breezes shook her clust'ring curls,
Shook, as when Eve her trembling veil unfurls;
An airy robe her floating form betray'd,
And o'er her breast in ruffling eddies play'd;
From her bright eyes a thousand glances speak,
And blushing beauty purples on her cheek.
Enraptur'd Strephon gaz'd upon her charms,
And wildly rush'd, and clasp'd her in his arms:
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“These dear embraces bind us once again!
“O may no more the wiles of fortune part
“This panting bosom from thy Shepherd's heart!
“If Love, too cruel, smile but to deceive,
“And Woe once more the loom of mis'ry weave;
“That ruffian hand, that tears me from thy side,
“Shall point the grave, where hapless Strephon died!”
| Juvenilia | |