University of Virginia Library

Pope, to whose reed beneath the beechen shade,
The Nymphs of Thames a pleas'd attention paid;
While yet thy Muse, content with humbler praise,
Warbled in Windsor's grove her sylvan lays,
Though now sublimely borne on Homer's wing,
Of glorious wars, and godlike chiefs she sing:
Wilt thou with me re-visit once again
The crystal fountain, and the flow'ry plain?
Wilt thou, indulgent, hear my verse relate
The various changes of a lover's state;
And while each turn of passion I pursue,
Ask thy own heart if what I tell be true?

To the green margin of a lonely wood,
Whose pendent shades o'erlook'd a silver flood,
Young Damon came, unknowing where he stray'd,
Full of the image of his beauteous maid:
His flock far off, unfed, untended lay,
To ev'ry savage a defenceless prey;
No sense of int'rest could their master move,
And ev'ry care seem'd trifling now but Love.
Awhile in pensive silence he remain'd,
But tho' his voice was mute his looks complain'd;
At length the thoughts within his bosom pent,
Forc'd his unwilling tongue to give them vent.

Ye Nymphs, he cry'd, ye Dryads, who so long
Have favour'd Damon, and inspir'd his song;
For whom, retir'd, I shun the gay resorts
Of sportful cities, and of pompous courts;
In vain I bid the restless world adieu,
To seek tranquillity and peace with you.
Tho' wild Ambition and destructive Rage,
No Factions here can form, no Wars can wage;
Tho' Envy frowns not on your humble shades,
Nor Calumny your innocence invades,
Yet cruel Love, that troubler of the breast,
Too often violates your boasted rest;
With inbred storms disturb your calm retreat,
And taints with bitterness each rural sweet.

Ah luckless day! when first with fond surprize
On Delia's face I fix'd my eager eyes;
Then in wild tumults all my soul was tost:
Then reason, liberty, at once were lost:
And ev'ry wish, and thought, and care was gone,
But what my heart employ'd on her alone.
Then too she smil'd: can smiles our peace destroy,
Those lovely children of Content and Joy?
How can soft pleasure and tormenting woe,
From the same spring at the same moment flow?
Unhappy boy, these vain enquiries cease,
Thought could not guard, nor will restore thy peace:
Indulge the frenzy that thou must endure,
And sooth the pain thou know'st not how to cure.
Come, flatt'ring Memory, and tell my heart
How kind she was, and with what pleasing art
She strove its fondest wishes to obtain,
Confirm her pow'r, and faster bind my chain.
If on the green we danc'd, a mirthful band,
To me alone she gave her willing hand;
Her partial taste, if e'er I touch'd the lyre,
Still in my song found something to admire.
By none but her my crook with flow'rs was crown'd,
By none but her my brows with ivy bound:
The world that Damon was her choice believ'd,
The world, alas! like Damon, was deceiv'd!
When last I saw her, and declar'd my fire
In words as soft as passion cou'd inspire,
Coldly she heard, and full of scorn withdrew,
Without one pitying glance, or sweet adieu.
The frighted hind, who sees his ripen'd corn
Up from the roots by sudden tempests torn,
Whose fairest hopes destroy'd and blasted lie,
Feels not so keen a pang of grief as I.
Ah, how have I deserv'd, inhuman maid,
To have my faithful service thus repay'd?
Were all the marks of kindness I receiv'd,
But dreams of joy, that charm'd me and deceiv'd?
Or did you only nurse my growing love,
That with more pain I might your hatred prove?
Sure guilty treachery no place cou'd find
In such a gentle, such a gen'rous mind:
A maid brought up the woods and wilds among,
Could ne'er have learnt the art of courts so young:
No; let me rather think her anger feign'd,
Still let me hope my Delia may be gain'd;
'Twas only modesty that seem'd disdain,
And her heart suffer'd when she gave me pain.

Pleas'd with this flatt'ring thought the love-sick boy
Felt the faint dawnings of a doubtful joy;
Back to his flock more cheerful he return'd,
When now the setting sun less fiercely burn'd:
Blue vapours rose along the mazy rills,
And light's last blushes ting'd the distant hills.