The Poetical Works of the Revd. Mr. Colvill :: :: University of Virginia Library

Now Sol the skies with purple light array'd,
The glories of his western throne display'd.
Where the clear stream, with verdant alder crown'd,
Flows gently murm'ring o'er the channel'd ground:
While all is flush'd by the departing ray,
Damon and Hylas fram'd the rural lay;
Young Damon o'er the perjur'd Chloris mourn'd,
And Hylas for his absent Delia burn'd.

Soft as they sung, the sighing groves complain,
The sorrowing flocks, attentive, heard the strain;
With pity mov'd, the silver swans deplore,
And taught the theme to all the list'ning shore;
The list'ning shore to every verse reply'd,
And zephyr o'er the bending osiers sigh'd.

O thou! whom Phœbus and the Nine inspire,
With pow'rful art to strike the sounding lyre,
To rouse the British youth to war's alarms,
To fire each patriot breast with glory's charms,
To call forth virtue by the magic sound,
From crouds attentive, and consenting round;
Accept, O Home! and let this myrtle twine
Around thy garland, woven by the Nine:
This humble shrub would some protection claim
Among thy laurels, rising into fame.

Damon.

Ye sylvan pow'rs! ye genii of the grove!
Ye echoes! vocal with my tale of love:
Ye meads! adorn'd with flow'rs of golden hue,
That fill their cups with tears of evening dew!
Ye mourning woods! ye weeping fountains! join
Sighs with my sighs, and shed your tears with mine;
Of Chloris, perjur'd, loudly I complain;
Hear, and assist this last, my dying strain.

No more the days on golden wings shall rise,
While bounteous nature paints the vernal skies;
For me no joys shall purple autumn bring,
Nor winter conquest at the village ring:
The verdant mountain, and the flow'ry field,
The shepherd's charge, no more delight shall yield;
With Chloris nature did her charms display,
With her they flourish'd, and with her decay:

For her well pleas'd I join'd the rural throng,
The shepherd's fortune, and the shepherd's song;
By her forsaken, these delight no more,
Nor plains, nor mountains, nor the breezy shore:
While well known scenes and conscious groves I view,
My passion rages, and my griefs renew.
Say, hapless youths! who love's disaster prove,
How great the anguish sprung from slighted love.
Chloris! I waste beneath thy proud disdain;
Resound, ye woods, resound my dying strain.

Here where the green walks lead to op'ning glades,
Cool'd by soft fountains and embow'ring shades;
Here, hand in hand, with Chloris have I stray'd,
Chloris then faithful to the vows she made;
Here on the sunny bank, where fairest grows
The golden king-cup and the blushing rose,
I gather'd ev'ry flow'r that seem'd most fair,
And deck'd the garland for her beauteous hair:
Each morn her favour with fresh gifts I sought,
And downy chesnuts from my hamlet brought.
Ah! now these careless joyful days are gone,
Chloris is fled, and I am left alone;
Chloris the shepherd and his gifts disdains,
Resound ye woods! resound my dying strains.

Where the tall poplar speads its branching shade,
On the fair rind I carv'd the vows she made:
Ev'n then I clasp'd her in my circling arms,
And glow'd enamour'd with deceitful charms;

Her faith she pledg'd, invok'd the gods above,
And call'd on all the mighty pow'rs of love.
She swore and said, when Chloris perjur'd proves,
Vultures shall fly before the fearless doves;
O'er the mid land shall boiling ocean roar,
And waving harvests turn to sandy shore;
On barren oaks shall golden apples grow,
And rivers backward to their fountains flow.
Flow back, ye streams! and seek your springs again;
Arise ye floods! and overwhelm the plain;
Chloris is false: no more the dove shall fear,
Nor barren oaks their fruitless branches rear.

Ye powers! that over love mysterious reign!
To you I come, nor let me plead in vain:
For you at midnight shall my incense rise
With all the pomp of magic sacrifice;
Cypress shall wave your flaming altars round;
With lonely weed each image shall be crown'd;
By moon-light I will cut the unripen'd ear,
And mournful yew, and deadly night-shade bear;
Libations dire your list'ning pow'r shall move,
I'll drink the potion, and forget to love;
While witness to your rites, the silver moon,
Eclipsing oft, shall look with pity down.

I rave! I rave! what charms successful prove
Against the shafts of all-subduing love!
Chloris still in my inmost bosom reigns,
Fills every thought, and burns through all my veins:

With slow dissolving anguish I consume,
And life is only but a joyless gloom;
Soon will its care and adverse frown be o'er,
Damon at rest, and Chloris lov'd no more;
Damon to silent dreary shades shall go,
Where luckless lovers rest from human wo.
Farewel, ye flocks! adieu, ye groves and plains!
Now cease, ye woods, no more resound my strains.

Next Hylas sung, while, from the hawthorn spray,
The nightingale pursu'd her am'rous lay.

Hylas.

Begin, my muse, the soft Sicilian strain,
Sicilian muses haunt the flow'ry plain.
Now the cool evening sheds its purple ray,
And dewy night succeeds the scorching day;
From new shorn meads the dusty swains retreat,
The weary reaper seeks his humble seat;
Beneath the shade the jovial lab'rers rest,
And every swain is with his Sylvia blest.
Where now, Oh! where can charming Delia stray,
While love's soft fires upon her Hylas prey.

Begin, my muse! the soft Sicilian strain;
Such am'rous lays a mighty charm contain.
While Orpheus sung, he sooth'd the shades below,
And Hell consenting, mourn'd the poet's wo:
Th'ambitious youth Timotheus could inspire
With love at once, and check the rising fire:

With song the Syrens rul'd the lawless main,
And mighty warriors bound in magic chain:
By song I try my Delia's heart to move,
And numbers shall recal my absent love.
Hark! from the spreading oak's aerial boughs,
His ling'ring mate the am'rous ring-dove woos:
From yonder beech, th'impatient turtle sighs,
And see, her lover at the signal flies:
Forlorn, unpity'd, and unheard, I mourn;
'Tis night, yet Delia deigns not to return.

Begin, my muse! the soft Sicilian strain;
Come, Delia, come, and bless thy faithful swain!
As Phœbus sunk, the yellow sunflower mourns,
Shuts up its leaves, and droops till he returns;
As, without genial heat, the tender vines
Decay, and ev'ry with'ring flow'ret pines:
So, far from Delia, love's dissolving flame,
And fruitless sighs, destroy my sinking frame.
Absent from thee, what object can delight,
The flocks displease, and sunshine turns to night;
The woodbine shade its balmy sweets denies,
The drooping lily hangs its head and dies;
Th'industrious bees neglect their flow'ry toil;
Come, Delia! come, and all around will smile.

Begin, my muse! the soft Sicilian lay,
My song, ye floods, to Delia's ear convey.
Perhaps ev'n now, amid your crystal waves,
Her snowy sides the naked wanton laves;

Breath soft, ye zephyrs! round the gentle fair,
Ye river nymphs! employ your friendly care,
May no rough touch her tender limbs molest,
Nor rougher wave insult her snowy breast:
But Delia haste! thy simple vestures seize,
Nor give thy beauties to the ruder breeze;
Come, Delia! come! and let my longing arms
Infold thee, glowing with disorder'd charms.

But whence the fields this sudden verdure wear,
And o'er the plain resounding shouts I hear,
Soft am'rous whispers die along the shore,
And, ere he sets, gay Phœbus smiles once more.
'Tis Delia, Delia, ye immortal pow'rs!
Delia consents to bless the silent hours:
Cease then, ye gentle muses! to complain,
No more resound the soft Sicilian strain.

Thus sung the shepherds at the close of day,
The sky still blushing with the ev'ning ray:
Safe in the fold they lodge their fleecy care,
And, warn'd by Hesper, to their home repair.