The works, in verse and prose, of William Shenstone, Esq In two volumes. With Decorations. The fourth edition |
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| SONGS, written chiefly between the Year 1737 and 1742. |
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 | The works, in verse and prose, of William Shenstone, Esq |  |
SONGS, written chiefly between the Year 1737 and 1742.
SONG I.
[I told my nymph, I told her true]
I told my nymph, I told her true,
My fields were small, my flocks were few;
While faultering accents spoke my fear,
That Flavia might not prove sincere.
My fields were small, my flocks were few;
While faultering accents spoke my fear,
That Flavia might not prove sincere.
Of crops destroy'd by vernal cold,
And vagrant sheep that left my fold:
Of these she heard, yet bore to hear;
And is not Flavia then sincere?
And vagrant sheep that left my fold:
Of these she heard, yet bore to hear;
And is not Flavia then sincere?
How chang'd by fortune's fickle wind,
The friends I lov'd became unkind,
She heard, and shed a generous tear;
And is not Flavia then sincere?
The friends I lov'd became unkind,
She heard, and shed a generous tear;
And is not Flavia then sincere?
How, if she deign'd my love to bless,
My Flavia must not hope for dress;
This too she heard, and smil'd to hear;
And Flavia sure must be sincere.
My Flavia must not hope for dress;
This too she heard, and smil'd to hear;
And Flavia sure must be sincere.
150
Go shear your flocks, ye jovial swains,
Go reap the plenty of your plains;
Despoil'd of all which you revere,
I know my Flavia's love sincere.
Go reap the plenty of your plains;
Despoil'd of all which you revere,
I know my Flavia's love sincere.
SONG II. The Landskip.
How pleas'd within my native bowers
Ere while I pass'd the day!
Was ever scene so deck'd with flowers?
Were ever flowers so gay?
Ere while I pass'd the day!
Was ever scene so deck'd with flowers?
Were ever flowers so gay?
How sweetly smil'd the hill, the vale,
And all the landskip round!
The river gliding down the dale!
The hill with beeches crown'd!
And all the landskip round!
The river gliding down the dale!
The hill with beeches crown'd!
But now, when urg'd by tender woes
I speed to meet my dear,
That hill and stream my zeal oppose,
And check my fond career.
I speed to meet my dear,
That hill and stream my zeal oppose,
And check my fond career.
No more, since Daphne was my theme,
Their wonted charms I see:
That verdant hill, and silver stream,
Divide my love and me.
Their wonted charms I see:
That verdant hill, and silver stream,
Divide my love and me.
151
SONG III.
[Ye gentle nymphs and generous dames]
Ye gentle nymphs and generous dames,
That rule o'er every British mind;
Be sure ye soothe their amorous flames,
Be sure your laws are not unkind.
That rule o'er every British mind;
Be sure ye soothe their amorous flames,
Be sure your laws are not unkind.
For hard it is to wear their bloom
In unremitting sighs away:
To mourn the night's oppressive gloom,
And faintly bless the rising day.
In unremitting sighs away:
To mourn the night's oppressive gloom,
And faintly bless the rising day.
And cruel 'twere a free-born swain,
A British youth should vainly moan;
Who scornful of a tyrant's chain,
Submits to yours, and yours alone.
A British youth should vainly moan;
Who scornful of a tyrant's chain,
Submits to yours, and yours alone.
Nor pointed spear, nor links of steel,
Could e'er those gallant minds subdue,
Who beauty's wounds with pleasure feel,
And boast the fetters wrought by you.
Could e'er those gallant minds subdue,
Who beauty's wounds with pleasure feel,
And boast the fetters wrought by you.
152
SONG IV. The Sky-Lark.
Go, tuneful bird, that glad'st the skies,
To Daphne's window speed the way;
And there on quiv'ring pinions rise,
And there thy vocal art display.
To Daphne's window speed the way;
And there on quiv'ring pinions rise,
And there thy vocal art display.
And if she deign thy notes to hear,
And if she praise thy matin song,
Tell her the sounds that soothe her ear,
To Damon's native plains belong.
And if she praise thy matin song,
Tell her the sounds that soothe her ear,
To Damon's native plains belong.
Tell her, in livelier plumes array'd,
The bird from Indian groves may shine;
But ask the lovely partial maid,
What are his notes compar'd to thine?
The bird from Indian groves may shine;
But ask the lovely partial maid,
What are his notes compar'd to thine?
Then bid her treat yon witless beau,
And all his flaunting race with scorn;
And lend an ear to Damon's woe,
Who sings her praise, and sings forlorn.
And all his flaunting race with scorn;
And lend an ear to Damon's woe,
Who sings her praise, and sings forlorn.
153
SONG V.
[On every tree, in every plain]
Ah! ego non aliter tristes evincere morbos
Optarem, quam te sic quoque velle putem.
Optarem, quam te sic quoque velle putem.
On every tree, in every plain,
I trace the jovial spring in vain!
A sickly languor veils mine eyes,
And fast my waning vigor flies.
I trace the jovial spring in vain!
A sickly languor veils mine eyes,
And fast my waning vigor flies.
Nor flow'ry plain, nor budding tree,
That smile on others, smile on me;
Mine eyes from death shall court repose,
Nor shed a tear before they close.
That smile on others, smile on me;
Mine eyes from death shall court repose,
Nor shed a tear before they close.
What bliss to me can seasons bring?
Or, what the needless pride of spring?
The cypress bough, that suits the bier,
Retains its verdure all the year.
Or, what the needless pride of spring?
The cypress bough, that suits the bier,
Retains its verdure all the year.
'Tis true, my vine so fresh and fair,
Might claim awhile my wonted care;
My rural store some pleasure yield;
So white a flock, so green a field!
Might claim awhile my wonted care;
My rural store some pleasure yield;
So white a flock, so green a field!
My friends, that each in kindness vie,
Might well expect one parting sigh;
Might well demand one tender tear;
For when was Damon unsincere?
Might well expect one parting sigh;
Might well demand one tender tear;
For when was Damon unsincere?
154
But ere I ask once more to view
Yon setting sun his race renew,
Inform me, swains; my friends, declare,
Will pitying Delia join the prayer?
Yon setting sun his race renew,
Inform me, swains; my friends, declare,
Will pitying Delia join the prayer?
SONG VI. The Attribute of Venus.
Yes; Fulvia is like Venus fair;
Has all her bloom, and shape and air:
But still, to perfect ev'ry grace,
She wants—the smile upon her face.
Has all her bloom, and shape and air:
But still, to perfect ev'ry grace,
She wants—the smile upon her face.
The crown majestic Juno wore;
And Cynthia's brow the crescent bore,
An helmet mark'd Minerva's mien,
But smiles distinguish'd beauty's queen.
And Cynthia's brow the crescent bore,
An helmet mark'd Minerva's mien,
But smiles distinguish'd beauty's queen.
Her train was form'd of smiles and loves,
Her chariot drawn by gentlest doves!
And from her zone, the nymph may find,
'Tis beauty's province to be kind.
Her chariot drawn by gentlest doves!
And from her zone, the nymph may find,
'Tis beauty's province to be kind.
Then smile, my fair; and all whose aim
Aspires to paint the Cyprian dame,
Or bid her breathe in living stone,
Shall take their forms from you alone.
Aspires to paint the Cyprian dame,
Or bid her breathe in living stone,
Shall take their forms from you alone.
155
SONG VII.
[The lovely Delia smiles again!]
1744.
The lovely Delia smiles again!
That killing frown has left her brow:
Can she forgive my jealous pain,
And give me back my angry vow?
That killing frown has left her brow:
Can she forgive my jealous pain,
And give me back my angry vow?
Love is an April's doubtful day:
Awhile we see the tempest low'r;
Anon the radiant heav'n survey,
And quite forget the flitting show'r.
Awhile we see the tempest low'r;
Anon the radiant heav'n survey,
And quite forget the flitting show'r.
The flow'rs, that hung their languid head,
Are burnish'd by the transient rains;
The vines their wonted tendrils spread,
And double verdure gilds the plains.
Are burnish'd by the transient rains;
The vines their wonted tendrils spread,
And double verdure gilds the plains.
The sprightly birds, that droop'd no less
Beneath the pow'r of rain and wind,
In every raptur'd note, express
The joy I feel—when thou art kind.
Beneath the pow'r of rain and wind,
In every raptur'd note, express
The joy I feel—when thou art kind.
SONG VIII.
[When bright Roxana treads the green]
1742.
When bright Roxana treads the green,
In all the pride of dress and mien;
Averse to freedom, love and play,
The dazzling rival of the day:
None other beauty strikes mine eye,
The lilies droop, the roses die.
In all the pride of dress and mien;
Averse to freedom, love and play,
The dazzling rival of the day:
156
The lilies droop, the roses die.
But when, disclaiming art, the fair
Assumes a soft engaging air;
Mild as the opening morn of May,
Familiar, friendly, free and gay:
The scene improves, where'er she goes,
More sweetly smile the pink and rose.
Assumes a soft engaging air;
Mild as the opening morn of May,
Familiar, friendly, free and gay:
The scene improves, where'er she goes,
More sweetly smile the pink and rose.
O lovely maid! propitious hear,
Nor deem thy shepherd insincere;
Pity a wild illusive flame,
That varies objects still the same:
And let their very changes prove
The never-vary'd force of love.
Nor deem thy shepherd insincere;
Pity a wild illusive flame,
That varies objects still the same:
And let their very changes prove
The never-vary'd force of love.
SONG IX.
['Tis said that under distant skies]
1743. Valentine's Day.
'Tis said that under distant skies,
Nor you the fact deny;
What first attracts an Indian's eyes
Becomes his deity.
Nor you the fact deny;
What first attracts an Indian's eyes
Becomes his deity.
Perhaps a lily, or a rose,
That shares the morning's ray,
May to the waking swain disclose
The regent of the day.
That shares the morning's ray,
May to the waking swain disclose
The regent of the day.
157
Perhaps a plant in yonder grove,
Enrich'd with fragrant pow'r,
May tempt his vagrant eyes to rove,
Where blooms the sov'reign flow'r.
Enrich'd with fragrant pow'r,
May tempt his vagrant eyes to rove,
Where blooms the sov'reign flow'r.
Perch'd on the ceder's topmast bough,
And gay with gilded wings,
Perchance, the patron of his vow,
Some artless linnet sings.
And gay with gilded wings,
Perchance, the patron of his vow,
Some artless linnet sings.
The swain surveys her pleas'd, afraid,
Then low to earth he bends;
And owns upon her friendly aid,
His health, his life depends.
Then low to earth he bends;
And owns upon her friendly aid,
His health, his life depends.
Vain futile idols, bird or flow'r,
To tempt a votary's pray'r!—
How would his humble homage tow'r
Should he behold my Fair!
To tempt a votary's pray'r!—
How would his humble homage tow'r
Should he behold my Fair!
Yes—might the pagan's waking eyes,
O'er Flavia's beauty range,
He there would fix his lasting choice,
Nor dare, nor wish to change.
O'er Flavia's beauty range,
He there would fix his lasting choice,
Nor dare, nor wish to change.
158
SONG X.
[The fatal hours are wonderous near]
1743.
The fatal hours are wonderous near,
That, from these fountains, bear my dear;
A little space is giv'n; in vain:
She robs my sight, and shuns the plain.
That, from these fountains, bear my dear;
A little space is giv'n; in vain:
She robs my sight, and shuns the plain.
A little space, for me to prove
My boundless flame, my endless love;
And like the train of vulgar hours,
Invidious time that space devours.
My boundless flame, my endless love;
And like the train of vulgar hours,
Invidious time that space devours.
Near yonder beech is Delia's way,
On that I gaze the livelong day;
No eastern monarch's dazzling pride
Should draw my longing eyes aside.
On that I gaze the livelong day;
No eastern monarch's dazzling pride
Should draw my longing eyes aside.
The chief, that knows of succours nigh,
And sees his mangled legions die,
Casts not a more impatient glance,
To see the loitering aids advance.
And sees his mangled legions die,
Casts not a more impatient glance,
To see the loitering aids advance.
Not more, the school-boy that expires
Far from his native home, requires
To see some friend's familiar face,
Or meet a parent's last embrace—
Far from his native home, requires
To see some friend's familiar face,
Or meet a parent's last embrace—
159
She comes—but ah! what crowds of beaux
In radiant bands my fair enclose;
Oh! better hadst thou shun'd the green,
Oh Delia! better far unseen.
In radiant bands my fair enclose;
Oh! better hadst thou shun'd the green,
Oh Delia! better far unseen.
Methinks, by all my tender fears,
By all my sighs, by all my tears,
I might from torture now be free—
'Tis more than death to part from thee!
By all my sighs, by all my tears,
I might from torture now be free—
'Tis more than death to part from thee!
SONG XI.
[Perhaps it is not love, said I]
1744.
Perhaps it is not love, said I,
That melts my soul when Flavia's nigh;
Where wit and sense like her's agree,
One may be pleas'd, and yet be free.
That melts my soul when Flavia's nigh;
Where wit and sense like her's agree,
One may be pleas'd, and yet be free.
The beauties of her polish'd mind,
It needs no lover's eye to find;
The hermit freezing in his cell,
Might wish the gentle Flavia well.
It needs no lover's eye to find;
The hermit freezing in his cell,
Might wish the gentle Flavia well.
It is not love—averse to bear
The servile chain that lovers wear;
Let, let me all my fears remove,
My doubts dispel—it is not love—
The servile chain that lovers wear;
Let, let me all my fears remove,
My doubts dispel—it is not love—
160
Oh! when did wit so brightly shine
In any form less fair than thine?
It is—it is love's subtle fire,
And under friendship lurks desire.
In any form less fair than thine?
It is—it is love's subtle fire,
And under friendship lurks desire.
SONG XII.
[O'er desert plains, and rushy meers]
1744.
O'er desert plains, and rushy meers,
And wither'd heaths I rove;
Where tree, nor spire, nor cot appears,
I pass to meet my love.
And wither'd heaths I rove;
Where tree, nor spire, nor cot appears,
I pass to meet my love.
But tho' my path were damask'd o'er
With beauties e'er so fine;
My busy thoughts would fly before
To fix alone—on thine.
With beauties e'er so fine;
My busy thoughts would fly before
To fix alone—on thine.
No fir-crown'd hills cou'd give delight
No palace please mine eye:
No pyramid's aerial height,
Where mouldering monarchs lie.
No palace please mine eye:
No pyramid's aerial height,
Where mouldering monarchs lie.
Unmov'd, should Eastern kings advance;
Could I the pageant see:
Splendour might catch one scornful glance,
Not steal one thought from thee.
Could I the pageant see:
Splendour might catch one scornful glance,
Not steal one thought from thee.
161
SONG XIII. The Scholar's Relapse.
By the side of a grove, at the foot of a hill,
Where whisper'd the beech, and where murmur'd the rill;
I vow'd to the muses my time and my care,
Since neither could win me the smiles of my fair.
Where whisper'd the beech, and where murmur'd the rill;
I vow'd to the muses my time and my care,
Since neither could win me the smiles of my fair.
Free I rang'd like the birds, like the birds free I sung,
And Delia's lov'd name scarce escap'd from my tongue:
But if once a smooth accent delighted my ear,
I should wish, unawares, that my Delia might hear.
And Delia's lov'd name scarce escap'd from my tongue:
But if once a smooth accent delighted my ear,
I should wish, unawares, that my Delia might hear.
With fairest ideas my bosom I stor'd,
Allusive to none but the nymph I ador'd!
And the more I with study my fancy refin'd,
The deeper impression she made on my mind.
Allusive to none but the nymph I ador'd!
And the more I with study my fancy refin'd,
The deeper impression she made on my mind.
So long as of nature the charms I pursue,
I still must my Delia's dear image renew:
The graces have yielded with Delia to rove,
And the muses are all in alliance with love.
I still must my Delia's dear image renew:
The graces have yielded with Delia to rove,
And the muses are all in alliance with love.
162
SONG XIV. The Rose-Bud.
See, Daphne, see, Florelio cry'd,
And learn the sad effects of pride;
Yon shelter'd rose, how safe conceal'd!
How quickly blasted, when reveal'd!
And learn the sad effects of pride;
Yon shelter'd rose, how safe conceal'd!
How quickly blasted, when reveal'd!
The sun with warm attractive rays
Tempts it to wanton in the blaze:
A gale succeeds from Eastern skies,
And all its blushing radiance dies.
Tempts it to wanton in the blaze:
A gale succeeds from Eastern skies,
And all its blushing radiance dies.
So you, my fair, of charms divine,
Will quit the plains too fond to shine
Where fame's transporting rays allure,
Tho' here more happy, more secure.
Will quit the plains too fond to shine
Where fame's transporting rays allure,
Tho' here more happy, more secure.
The breath of some neglected maid
Shall make you sigh you left the shade:
A breath to beauty's bloom unkind,
As, to the rose, an Eastern wind.
Shall make you sigh you left the shade:
A breath to beauty's bloom unkind,
As, to the rose, an Eastern wind.
The nymph reply'd—You first, my swain,
Confine your sonnets to the plain;
One envious tongue alike disarms,
You, of your wit, me, of my charms.
Confine your sonnets to the plain;
One envious tongue alike disarms,
You, of your wit, me, of my charms.
163
What is, unknown, the poet's skill?
Or what, unheard, the tuneful thrill?
What unadmir'd, a charming mien,
Or what the rose's blush, unseen?
Or what, unheard, the tuneful thrill?
What unadmir'd, a charming mien,
Or what the rose's blush, unseen?
SONG XV.
[No more, ye warbling birds rejoice]
Winter. 1746.
No more, ye warbling birds rejoice:
Of all that chear'd the plain,
Echo alone preserves her voice,
And she—repeats my pain.
Of all that chear'd the plain,
Echo alone preserves her voice,
And she—repeats my pain.
Where'er my love-sick limbs I lay,
To shun the rushing wind,
Its busy murmur seems to say,
“She never will be kind!”
To shun the rushing wind,
Its busy murmur seems to say,
“She never will be kind!”
The naiads, o'er their frozen urns,
In icy chains repine;
And each in sullen silence mourns
Her freedom lost, like mine!
In icy chains repine;
And each in sullen silence mourns
Her freedom lost, like mine!
Soon will the sun's returning rays
The chearless frost controul;
When will relenting Delia chase
The winter of my soul?
The chearless frost controul;
When will relenting Delia chase
The winter of my soul?
164
SONG XVI. Daphne's Visit.
Ye birds! for whom I rear'd the grove,
With melting lay salute my love:
My Daphne with your notes detain:
Or I have rear'd my grove in vain.
With melting lay salute my love:
My Daphne with your notes detain:
Or I have rear'd my grove in vain.
Ye flow'rs! before her footsteps rise;
Display at once your brightest dyes;
That she your opening charms may see:
Or what were all your charms to me?
Display at once your brightest dyes;
That she your opening charms may see:
Or what were all your charms to me?
Kind Zephyr! brush each fragrant flow'r,
And shed its odours round my bow'r:
Or never more, O gentle wind,
Shall I, from thee, refreshment find.
And shed its odours round my bow'r:
Or never more, O gentle wind,
Shall I, from thee, refreshment find.
Ye streams! if e'er your banks I lov'd,
If e'er your native sounds improv'd,
May each soft murmur soothe my fair:
Or oh! 'twill deepen my despair.
If e'er your native sounds improv'd,
May each soft murmur soothe my fair:
Or oh! 'twill deepen my despair.
And thou, my grot! whose lonely bounds
The melancholy pine surrounds,
May Daphne praise thy peaceful gloom;
Or thou shalt prove her Damon's tomb.
The melancholy pine surrounds,
May Daphne praise thy peaceful gloom;
Or thou shalt prove her Damon's tomb.
165
SONG XVII. Written in a Collection of Bacchanalian Songs.
Adieu, ye jovial youths, who join
To plunge old care in floods of wine;
And, as your dazled eye-balls roll,
Discern him struggling in the bowl.
To plunge old care in floods of wine;
And, as your dazled eye-balls roll,
Discern him struggling in the bowl.
Not yet is hope so wholly flown,
Not yet is thought so tedious grown,
But limpid stream and shady tree
Retain, as yet, some sweets for me.
Not yet is thought so tedious grown,
But limpid stream and shady tree
Retain, as yet, some sweets for me.
And see, thro' yonder silent grove,
See yonder does my Daphne rove:
With pride her foot-steps I pursue,
And bid your frantic joys adieu.
See yonder does my Daphne rove:
With pride her foot-steps I pursue,
And bid your frantic joys adieu.
The sole confusion I admire,
Is that my Daphne's eyes inspire:
I scorn the madness you approve,
And value reason next to love.
Is that my Daphne's eyes inspire:
I scorn the madness you approve,
And value reason next to love.
166
SONG XVIII. Imitated from the French.
Yes, these are the scenes where with Iris I stray'd,
But short was her sway for so lovely a maid!
In the bloom of her youth to a cloyster she run;
In the bloom of her graces, too fair for a nun!
Ill-grounded, no doubt, a devotion must prove
So fatal to beauty, so killing to love!
But short was her sway for so lovely a maid!
In the bloom of her youth to a cloyster she run;
In the bloom of her graces, too fair for a nun!
Ill-grounded, no doubt, a devotion must prove
So fatal to beauty, so killing to love!
Yes, these are the meadows, the shrubs and the plains;
Once the scene of my pleasures, the scene of my pains;
How many soft moments I spent in this grove!
How fair was my nymph! and how fervent my love!
Be still tho', my heart! thine emotion give o'er;
Remember, the season of love is no more.
Once the scene of my pleasures, the scene of my pains;
How many soft moments I spent in this grove!
How fair was my nymph! and how fervent my love!
Be still tho', my heart! thine emotion give o'er;
Remember, the season of love is no more.
With her how I stray'd amid fountains and bow'rs,
Or loiter'd behind and collected the flow'rs!
Then breathless with ardor my fair-one pursu'd,
And to think with what kindness my garland she view'd!
But be still, my fond heart! this emotion give o'er!
Fain wouldst thou forget thou must love her no more.
Or loiter'd behind and collected the flow'rs!
Then breathless with ardor my fair-one pursu'd,
And to think with what kindness my garland she view'd!
But be still, my fond heart! this emotion give o'er!
Fain wouldst thou forget thou must love her no more.
The HALCYON.
Why o'er the verdant banks of ooze
Does yonder halcyon speed so fast;
'Tis all because she would not lose
Her fav'rite calm that will not last.
Does yonder halcyon speed so fast;
'Tis all because she would not lose
Her fav'rite calm that will not last.
167
The sun with azure paints the skies,
The stream reflects each flow'ry spray;
And frugal of her time she flies
To take her fill of love and play.
The stream reflects each flow'ry spray;
And frugal of her time she flies
To take her fill of love and play.
See her, when rugged Boreas blows,
Warm in some rocky cell remain;
To seek for pleasure, well she knows,
Would only then enhance the pain.
Warm in some rocky cell remain;
To seek for pleasure, well she knows,
Would only then enhance the pain.
Descend, she cries, thou hated show'r,
Deform my limpid waves to-day,
For I have chose a fairer hour
To take my fill of love and play.
Deform my limpid waves to-day,
For I have chose a fairer hour
To take my fill of love and play.
You too, my Silvia, sure will own
Life's azure seasons swiftly roll:
And when our youth, or health is flown,
To think of love but shocks the soul.
Life's azure seasons swiftly roll:
And when our youth, or health is flown,
To think of love but shocks the soul.
Could Damon but deserve thy charms,
As thou art Damon's only theme;
He'd fly as quick to Delia's arms,
As yonder halcyon skims the stream.
As thou art Damon's only theme;
He'd fly as quick to Delia's arms,
As yonder halcyon skims the stream.
168
ODE.
[So dear my Lucio is to me]
So dear my Lucio is to me,
So well our minds and tempers blend;
That seasons may for ever flee,
And ne'r divide me from my friend;
But let the favour'd boy forbear
To tempt with love my only fair.
So well our minds and tempers blend;
That seasons may for ever flee,
And ne'r divide me from my friend;
But let the favour'd boy forbear
To tempt with love my only fair.
O Lycon, born when every muse,
When every grace benignant smil'd,
With all a parent's breast could chuse
To bless her lov'd, her only child;
'Tis thine, so richly grac'd to prove
More noble cares, than cares of love.
When every grace benignant smil'd,
With all a parent's breast could chuse
To bless her lov'd, her only child;
'Tis thine, so richly grac'd to prove
More noble cares, than cares of love.
Together we from early youth
Have trod the flowery tracks of time,
Together mus'd in search of truth,
O'er learned sage, or bard sublime;
And well thy culter'd breast I know,
What wonderous treasure it can show.
Have trod the flowery tracks of time,
Together mus'd in search of truth,
O'er learned sage, or bard sublime;
And well thy culter'd breast I know,
What wonderous treasure it can show.
Come then, resume thy charming lyre,
And sing some patriot's worth sublime,
Whilst I in fields of soft desire,
Consume my fair and fruitless prime;
Whose reed aspires but to display
The flame that burns me night and day.
And sing some patriot's worth sublime,
Whilst I in fields of soft desire,
Consume my fair and fruitless prime;
Whose reed aspires but to display
The flame that burns me night and day.
169
O come! the dryads of the woods
Shall daily soothe thy studious mind,
The blue-ey'd nymphs of yonder floods
Shall meet and court thee to be kind;
And fame sits listening for thy lays
To swell her trump with Lucio's praise.
Shall daily soothe thy studious mind,
The blue-ey'd nymphs of yonder floods
Shall meet and court thee to be kind;
And fame sits listening for thy lays
To swell her trump with Lucio's praise.
Like me, the plover fondly tries
To lure the sportsman from her nest,
And flutt'ring on with anxious cries,
Too plainly shews her tortur'd breast:
O let him, conscious of her care,
Pity her pains, and learn to spare.
To lure the sportsman from her nest,
And flutt'ring on with anxious cries,
Too plainly shews her tortur'd breast:
O let him, conscious of her care,
Pity her pains, and learn to spare.
A PASTORAL ODE,
To the Honourable Sir RICHARD LYTTELTON.
The morn dispens'd a dubious light,
A sullen mist had stolen from sight
Each pleasing vale and hill;
When Damon left his humble bowers
To guard his flocks, to fence his flowers,
Or check his wandering rill.
A sullen mist had stolen from sight
Each pleasing vale and hill;
When Damon left his humble bowers
To guard his flocks, to fence his flowers,
Or check his wandering rill.
Tho' school'd from fortune's paths to fly,
The swain beneath each lowr'ing sky,
Would oft his fate bemoan;
That he, in sylvan shades, forlorn!
Must waste his chearless ev'n and morn,
Nor prais'd, nor lov'd, nor known.
The swain beneath each lowr'ing sky,
Would oft his fate bemoan;
170
Must waste his chearless ev'n and morn,
Nor prais'd, nor lov'd, nor known.
No friend to fame's obstreperous noise,
Yet to the whispers of her voice,
Soft murmuring, not a foe:
The pleasures he thro' choice declin'd,
When gloomy fogs depress'd his mind,
It griev'd him to forego.
Yet to the whispers of her voice,
Soft murmuring, not a foe:
The pleasures he thro' choice declin'd,
When gloomy fogs depress'd his mind,
It griev'd him to forego.
Griev'd him to lurk the lakes beside,
Where coots in rushy dingles hide,
And moorcooks shun the day;
While caitiff bitterns, undismay'd,
Remark the swain's familiar shade,
And scorn to quit their prey.
Where coots in rushy dingles hide,
And moorcooks shun the day;
While caitiff bitterns, undismay'd,
Remark the swain's familiar shade,
And scorn to quit their prey.
But see, the radiant sun once more
The brightening face of heaven restore,
And raise the doubtful dawn;
And more to gild his rural sphere,
At once the brightest train appear,
That ever trod the lawn.
The brightening face of heaven restore,
And raise the doubtful dawn;
And more to gild his rural sphere,
At once the brightest train appear,
That ever trod the lawn.
Amazement chill'd the shepherd's frame,
To think Bridgewater's honour'd name
Should grace his rustic cell;
That she, on all whose motions wait
Distinction, titles, rank and state,
Should rove where shepherds dwell.
To think Bridgewater's honour'd name
Should grace his rustic cell;
171
Distinction, titles, rank and state,
Should rove where shepherds dwell.
But true it is, the generous mind,
By candour sway'd, by taste refin'd,
Will nought but vice disdain;
Nor will the breast where fancy glows
Deem every flower a weed, that blows
Amid the desart plain.
By candour sway'd, by taste refin'd,
Will nought but vice disdain;
Nor will the breast where fancy glows
Deem every flower a weed, that blows
Amid the desart plain.
Beseems it such, with honour crown'd,
To deal its lucid beams around,
Nor equal meed receive:
At most such garlands from the field,
As cowslips, pinks, and pansies yield,
And rural hands can weave.
To deal its lucid beams around,
Nor equal meed receive:
At most such garlands from the field,
As cowslips, pinks, and pansies yield,
And rural hands can weave.
Yet strive, ye shepherds, strive to find,
And weave the fairest of the kind,
The prime of all the spring;
If haply thus yon lovely fair
May round her temples deign to wear
The trivial wreaths you bring.
And weave the fairest of the kind,
The prime of all the spring;
If haply thus yon lovely fair
May round her temples deign to wear
The trivial wreaths you bring.
O how the peaceful halcyons play'd,
Where'er the conscious lake betray'd
Athenia's placid mien;
How did the sprightlier linnets throng,
Where Paphia's charms requir'd the song.
'Mid hazel copses green;
Where'er the conscious lake betray'd
Athenia's placid mien;
How did the sprightlier linnets throng,
Where Paphia's charms requir'd the song.
'Mid hazel copses green;
172
Lo, Dartmouth on those banks reclin'd,
While busy fancy calls to mind
The glories of his line;
Methinks my cottage rears its head,
The ruin'd walls of yonder shed,
As thro' enchantment, shine.
While busy fancy calls to mind
The glories of his line;
Methinks my cottage rears its head,
The ruin'd walls of yonder shed,
As thro' enchantment, shine.
But who the nymph that guides their way?
Could ever nymph descend to stray
From Hagley's fam'd retreat?
Else by the blooming features fair,
The faultless make, the matchless air,
'Twere Cynthia's form compleat.
Could ever nymph descend to stray
From Hagley's fam'd retreat?
Else by the blooming features fair,
The faultless make, the matchless air,
'Twere Cynthia's form compleat.
So would some tuberose delight,
That struck the pilgrim's wondering sight
'Mid lonely desarts drear;
All as at Eve, the sovereign flower
Dispenses round its balmy power,
And crowns the fragant year.
That struck the pilgrim's wondering sight
'Mid lonely desarts drear;
All as at Eve, the sovereign flower
Dispenses round its balmy power,
And crowns the fragant year.
Ah, now no more, the shepherd cry'd,
Must I ambition's charms deride,
Her subtle force disown;
No more of fawns or fairies dream,
While fancy, near each crystal stream,
Shall paint these forms alone.
Must I ambition's charms deride,
Her subtle force disown;
No more of fawns or fairies dream,
While fancy, near each crystal stream,
Shall paint these forms alone.
By low-brow'd rock, or pathless mead,
I deem'd that splendour ne'er should lead
My dazled eyes astray
But who, alas! will dare contend,
If beauty add, or merit blend
Its more illustrious ray?
I deem'd that splendour ne'er should lead
My dazled eyes astray
173
If beauty add, or merit blend
Its more illustrious ray?
Nor is it long—O plaintive swain!
Since Guernsey saw, without disdain,
Where, hid in woodlands green,
The partner of his early days,
And once the rival of his praise,
Had stol'n thro' life unseen.
Since Guernsey saw, without disdain,
Where, hid in woodlands green,
The partner of his early days,
And once the rival of his praise,
Had stol'n thro' life unseen.
Scarce faded is the vernal flower,
Since Stamford left his honour'd bower
To smile familiar here:
O form'd by nature to disclose
How fair that courtesy which flows
From social warmth sincere.
Since Stamford left his honour'd bower
To smile familiar here:
O form'd by nature to disclose
How fair that courtesy which flows
From social warmth sincere.
Nor yet have many moons decay'd,
Since Pollio sought this lonely shade,
Admir'd this rural maze:
The noblest breast that virtue fires,
The graces love, the muse inspires,
Might pant for Pollio's praise.
Since Pollio sought this lonely shade,
Admir'd this rural maze:
The noblest breast that virtue fires,
The graces love, the muse inspires,
Might pant for Pollio's praise.
Say Thomson here was known to rest,
For him yon vernal seat I drest,
Ah, never to return!
In place of wit, and melting strains,
And social mirth, it now remains
To weep beside his urn.
For him yon vernal seat I drest,
Ah, never to return!
In place of wit, and melting strains,
And social mirth, it now remains
To weep beside his urn.
174
Come then, my Lelius, come once more,
And fringe the melancholy shore
With roses and with bays,
While I each wayward fate accuse,
That envy'd his impartial muse
To sing your early praise.
And fringe the melancholy shore
With roses and with bays,
While I each wayward fate accuse,
That envy'd his impartial muse
To sing your early praise.
While Philo, to whose favour'd sight,
Antiquity, with full delight,
Her inmost wealth displays;
Beneath yon ruins moulder'd wall
Shall muse, and with his friend recal!
The pomp of ancient days.
Antiquity, with full delight,
Her inmost wealth displays;
Beneath yon ruins moulder'd wall
Shall muse, and with his friend recal!
The pomp of ancient days.
Here too shall Conway's name appear,
He prais'd the stream so lovely clear,
That shone the reeds among;
Yet clearness could it not disclose,
To match the rhetoric that flows
From Conway's polish'd tongue.
He prais'd the stream so lovely clear,
That shone the reeds among;
Yet clearness could it not disclose,
To match the rhetoric that flows
From Conway's polish'd tongue.
Ev'n Pitt, whose servent periods roll
Resistless, thro' the kindling soul
Of senates, councils, kings!
Tho' form'd for courts, vouchsaf'd to rove
Inglorious, thro' the shepherd's grove,
And ope his bashful springs.
Resistless, thro' the kindling soul
Of senates, councils, kings!
Tho' form'd for courts, vouchsaf'd to rove
Inglorious, thro' the shepherd's grove,
And ope his bashful springs.
But what can courts discover more,
Than these rude haunts have seen before,
Each fount and shady tree?
Have not these trees and fountains seen
The pride of courts, the winning mien
Of peerless Aylesbury?
Than these rude haunts have seen before,
Each fount and shady tree?
175
The pride of courts, the winning mien
Of peerless Aylesbury?
And Grenville, she whose radiant eyes
Have mark'd by slow gradation rise
The princely piles of Stow;
Yet prais'd these unembellish'd woods,
And smil'd to see the babbling floods
Thro' self-worn mazes flow.
Have mark'd by slow gradation rise
The princely piles of Stow;
Yet prais'd these unembellish'd woods,
And smil'd to see the babbling floods
Thro' self-worn mazes flow.
Say Dartmouth, who your banks admir'd,
Again beneath your caves retir'd,
Shall grace the pensive shade;
With all the bloom, with all the truth,
With all the sprightliness of youth,
By cool reflection sway'd?
Again beneath your caves retir'd,
Shall grace the pensive shade;
With all the bloom, with all the truth,
With all the sprightliness of youth,
By cool reflection sway'd?
Brave, yet humane, shall Smith appear,
Ye sailors, tho' his name be dear,
Think him not yours alone:
Grant him in other spheres to charm,
The shepherd's breasts tho' mild are warm,
And ours are all his own.
Ye sailors, tho' his name be dear,
Think him not yours alone:
Grant him in other spheres to charm,
The shepherd's breasts tho' mild are warm,
And ours are all his own.
O Lyttelton! my honour'd guest,
Could I describe thy generous breast,
Thy firm, yet polish'd mind;
How public love adorns thy name,
How fortune too conspires with fame;
The song should please mankind.
Could I describe thy generous breast,
Thy firm, yet polish'd mind;
How public love adorns thy name,
How fortune too conspires with fame;
The song should please mankind.
176
VERSES written towards the close of the Year 1748, to William Lyttelton, Esq
How blithely pass'd the summer's day!
How bright was every flow'r!
While friends arriv'd, in circles gay,
To visit Damon's bow'r!
How bright was every flow'r!
While friends arriv'd, in circles gay,
To visit Damon's bow'r!
But now, with silent step, I range
Along some lonely shore;
And Damon's bow'r, alas the change!
Is gay with friends no more.
Along some lonely shore;
And Damon's bow'r, alas the change!
Is gay with friends no more.
Away to crowds and cities borne
In quest of joy they steer;
Whilst I, alas! am left forlorn,
To weep the parting year!
In quest of joy they steer;
Whilst I, alas! am left forlorn,
To weep the parting year!
O pensive Autumn! how I grieve
Thy sorrowing face to see!
When languid suns are taking leave
Of every drooping tree.
Thy sorrowing face to see!
When languid suns are taking leave
Of every drooping tree.
Ah let me not, with heavy eye,
This dying scene survey!
Haste, winter, haste; usurp the sky;
Compleat my bow'r's decay.
This dying scene survey!
Haste, winter, haste; usurp the sky;
Compleat my bow'r's decay.
177
Ill can I bear the motley cast
Yon sickening leaves retain;
That speak at once of pleasure past,
And bode approaching pain.
Yon sickening leaves retain;
That speak at once of pleasure past,
And bode approaching pain.
At home unblest, I gaze around,
My distant scenes require;
Where all in murky vapours drown'd
Are hamlet, hill, and spire.
My distant scenes require;
Where all in murky vapours drown'd
Are hamlet, hill, and spire.
Tho' Thomson, sweet descriptive bard!
Inspiring Autumn sung;
Yet how should we the months regard,
That stopp'd his flowing tongue?
Inspiring Autumn sung;
Yet how should we the months regard,
That stopp'd his flowing tongue?
Ah luckless months, of all the rest,
To whose hard share it fell!
For sure he was the gentlest breast
That ever sung so well.
To whose hard share it fell!
For sure he was the gentlest breast
That ever sung so well.
And see, the swallows now disown
The roofs they lov'd before;
Each, like his tuneful genius, flown
To glad some happier shore.
The roofs they lov'd before;
Each, like his tuneful genius, flown
To glad some happier shore.
The wood-nymph eyes, with pale affright,
The sportsman's frantic deed;
While hounds and horns and yells unite
To drown the muse's reed.
The sportsman's frantic deed;
While hounds and horns and yells unite
To drown the muse's reed.
178
Ye fields with blighted herbage brown,
Ye skies no longer blue!
Too much we feel from fortune's frown,
To bear these frowns from you.
Ye skies no longer blue!
Too much we feel from fortune's frown,
To bear these frowns from you.
Where is the mead's unsullied green?
The zephyr's balmy gale?
And where sweet friendship's cordial mien,
That brighten'd every vale?
The zephyr's balmy gale?
And where sweet friendship's cordial mien,
That brighten'd every vale?
What tho' the vine disclose her dyes,
And boast her purple store;
Not all the vine-yard's rich supplies
Can soothe our sorrows more.
And boast her purple store;
Not all the vine-yard's rich supplies
Can soothe our sorrows more.
He! he is gone, whose moral strain
Could wit and mirth refine;
He! he is gone, whose social vein
Surpass'd the pow'r of wine.
Could wit and mirth refine;
He! he is gone, whose social vein
Surpass'd the pow'r of wine.
Fast by the streams he deign'd to praise,
In yon sequester'd grove,
To him a votive urn I raise;
To him, and friendly love.
In yon sequester'd grove,
To him a votive urn I raise;
To him, and friendly love.
Yes there, my friend! forlorn and sad,
I grave your Thomson's name;
And there, his lyre; which fate forbad
To sound your growing fame.
I grave your Thomson's name;
And there, his lyre; which fate forbad
To sound your growing fame.
179
There shall my plaintive song recount
Dark themes of hopeless woe;
And faster than the dropping fount,
I'll teach mine eyes to flow.
Dark themes of hopeless woe;
And faster than the dropping fount,
I'll teach mine eyes to flow.
There leaves, in spite of Autumn green,
Shall shade the hallow'd ground;
And Spring will there again be seen,
To call forth flow'rs around.
Shall shade the hallow'd ground;
And Spring will there again be seen,
To call forth flow'rs around.
But no kind suns will bid me share,
Once more, his social hour;
Ah Spring! thou never can'st repair
This loss, to Damon's bow'r.
Once more, his social hour;
Ah Spring! thou never can'st repair
This loss, to Damon's bow'r.
JEMMY DAWSON. A Ballad; written about the Time of his Execution, in the Year 1745.
Come listen to my mournful tale,
Ye tender hearts and lovers dear;
Nor will you scorn to heave a sigh,
Nor need you blush to shed a tear.
Ye tender hearts and lovers dear;
Nor will you scorn to heave a sigh,
Nor need you blush to shed a tear.
And thou, dear Kitty, peerless maid,
Do thou a pensive ear incline;
For thou canst weep at every woe;
And pity every plaint—but mine.
Do thou a pensive ear incline;
For thou canst weep at every woe;
And pity every plaint—but mine.
180
Young Dawson was a gallant boy,
A brighter never trod the plain;
And well he lov'd one charming maid,
And dearly was he lov'd again.
A brighter never trod the plain;
And well he lov'd one charming maid,
And dearly was he lov'd again.
One tender maid, she lov'd him dear,
Of gentle blood the damsel came;
And faultless was her beauteous form,
And spotless was her virgin fame.
Of gentle blood the damsel came;
And faultless was her beauteous form,
And spotless was her virgin fame.
But curse on party's hateful strife,
That led the favour'd youth astray;
The day the rebel clans appear'd,
O had he never seen that day!
That led the favour'd youth astray;
The day the rebel clans appear'd,
O had he never seen that day!
Their colours, and their sash he wore,
And in the fatal dress was found;
And now he must that death endure,
Which gives the brave the keenest wound.
And in the fatal dress was found;
And now he must that death endure,
Which gives the brave the keenest wound.
How pale was then his true-love's cheek,
When Jemmy's sentence reach'd her ear!
For never yet did Alpine snows
So pale, or yet so chill appear.
When Jemmy's sentence reach'd her ear!
For never yet did Alpine snows
So pale, or yet so chill appear.
With faultering voice, she weeping said,
Oh Dawson, monarch of my heart;
Think not thy death shall end our loves,
For thou and I will never part.
Oh Dawson, monarch of my heart;
Think not thy death shall end our loves,
For thou and I will never part.
181
Yet might sweet mercy find a place,
And bring relief to Jemmy's woes;
O George, without a pray'r for thee,
My orisons should never close.
And bring relief to Jemmy's woes;
O George, without a pray'r for thee,
My orisons should never close.
The gracious prince that gave him life,
Would crown a never-dying flame;
And every tender babe I bore
Should learn to lisp the giver's name.
Would crown a never-dying flame;
And every tender babe I bore
Should learn to lisp the giver's name.
But tho' he should be dragg'd in scorn
To yonder ignominious tree;
He shall not want one constant friend
To share the cruel fates' decree.
To yonder ignominious tree;
He shall not want one constant friend
To share the cruel fates' decree.
O then her mourning coach was call'd,
The sledge mov'd slowly on before;
Tho' borne in a triumphal car,
She had not lov'd her fav'rite more.
The sledge mov'd slowly on before;
Tho' borne in a triumphal car,
She had not lov'd her fav'rite more.
She follow'd him, prepar'd to view
The terrible behests of law;
And the last scene of Jemmy's woes,
With calm and stedfast eye she saw.
The terrible behests of law;
And the last scene of Jemmy's woes,
With calm and stedfast eye she saw.
Distorted was that blooming face,
Which she had fondly lov'd so long;
And stifled was that tuneful breath,
Which in her praise had sweetly sung.
Which she had fondly lov'd so long;
And stifled was that tuneful breath,
Which in her praise had sweetly sung.
182
And sever'd was that beauteous neck,
Round which her arms had fondly clos'd;
And mangled was that beauteous breast,
On which her love-sick head repos'd;
Round which her arms had fondly clos'd;
And mangled was that beauteous breast,
On which her love-sick head repos'd;
And ravish'd was that constant heart,
She did to ev'ry heart prefer;
For tho' it could its king forget,
'Twas true and loyal still to her.
She did to ev'ry heart prefer;
For tho' it could its king forget,
'Twas true and loyal still to her.
Amid those unrelenting flames,
She bore this constant heart to see;
But when 'twas mouldered into dust,
Yet, yet, she cry'd, I follow thee.
She bore this constant heart to see;
But when 'twas mouldered into dust,
Yet, yet, she cry'd, I follow thee.
My death, my death alone can shew
The pure, the lasting love I bore;
Accept, O heaven! of woes like ours,
And let us, let us weep no more.
The pure, the lasting love I bore;
Accept, O heaven! of woes like ours,
And let us, let us weep no more.
The dismal scene was o'er and past,
The lover's mournful hearse retired;
The maid drew back her languid head,
And sighing forth his name, expir'd.
The lover's mournful hearse retired;
The maid drew back her languid head,
And sighing forth his name, expir'd.
Tho' justice ever must prevail,
The tear my Kitty sheds, is due;
For seldom shall she hear a tale
So sad, so tender, yet so true.
The tear my Kitty sheds, is due;
For seldom shall she hear a tale
So sad, so tender, yet so true.
183
A Pastoral BALLAD, in Four Parts.
Written 1743.
Arbusta humilesque myricæ.
Virg.
Virg.
I. ABSENCE.
Ye shepherds so chearful and gay,
Whose flocks never carelessly roam;
Should Corydon's happen to stray,
Oh! call the poor wanderers home.
Allow me to muse and to sigh,
Nor talk of the change that ye find;
None once was so watchful as I;
—I have left my dear Phyllis behind.
Whose flocks never carelessly roam;
Should Corydon's happen to stray,
Oh! call the poor wanderers home.
Allow me to muse and to sigh,
Nor talk of the change that ye find;
None once was so watchful as I;
—I have left my dear Phyllis behind.
Now I know what it is, to have strove
With the torture of doubt and desire;
What it is, to admire and to love,
And to leave her we love and admire.
Ah lead forth my flock in the morn,
And the damps of each ev'ning repel;
Alas! I am faint and forlorn:
—I have bade my dear Phyllis farewel.
With the torture of doubt and desire;
What it is, to admire and to love,
And to leave her we love and admire.
Ah lead forth my flock in the morn,
And the damps of each ev'ning repel;
Alas! I am faint and forlorn:
—I have bade my dear Phyllis farewel.
Since Phyllis vouchsaf'd me a look,
I never once dreamt of my vine;
May I lose both my pipe and my crook,
If I knew of a kid that was mine.
I priz'd every hour that went by,
Beyond all that had pleas'd me before;
But now they are past, and I sigh;
And I grieve that I priz'd them no more.
I never once dreamt of my vine;
May I lose both my pipe and my crook,
If I knew of a kid that was mine.
184
Beyond all that had pleas'd me before;
But now they are past, and I sigh;
And I grieve that I priz'd them no more.
But why do I languish in vain;
Why wander thus pensively here?
Oh! why did I come from the plain,
Where I fed on the smiles of my dear?
They tell me, my favourite maid,
The pride of that valley, is flown;
Alas! where with her I have stray'd,
I could wander with pleasure, alone.
Why wander thus pensively here?
Oh! why did I come from the plain,
Where I fed on the smiles of my dear?
They tell me, my favourite maid,
The pride of that valley, is flown;
Alas! where with her I have stray'd,
I could wander with pleasure, alone.
When forc'd the fair nymph to forego,
What anguish I felt at my heart!
Yet I thought—but it might not be so—
'Twas with pain that she saw me depart.
She gaz'd, as I slowly withdrew;
My path I could hardly discern;
So sweetly she bade me adieu,
I thought that she bade me return.
What anguish I felt at my heart!
Yet I thought—but it might not be so—
'Twas with pain that she saw me depart.
She gaz'd, as I slowly withdrew;
My path I could hardly discern;
So sweetly she bade me adieu,
I thought that she bade me return.
The pilgrim that journeys all day
To visit some far-distant shrine,
If he bear but a relique away,
Is happy, nor heard to repine.
Thus widely remov'd from the fair,
Where my vows, my devotion, I owe,
Soft hope is the relique I bear,
And my solace wherever I go.
To visit some far-distant shrine,
If he bear but a relique away,
Is happy, nor heard to repine.
Thus widely remov'd from the fair,
Where my vows, my devotion, I owe,
Soft hope is the relique I bear,
And my solace wherever I go.
185
II. HOPE.
My banks they are furnish'd with bees,
Whose murmur invites one to sleep;
My grottos are shaded with trees,
And my hills are white-over with sheep.
I seldom have met with a loss,
Such health do my fountains bestow;
My fountains all border'd with moss,
Where the hare-bells and violets grow.
Whose murmur invites one to sleep;
My grottos are shaded with trees,
And my hills are white-over with sheep.
I seldom have met with a loss,
Such health do my fountains bestow;
My fountains all border'd with moss,
Where the hare-bells and violets grow.
Not a pine in my grove is there seen,
But with tendrils of woodbine is bound:
Not a beech's more beautiful green,
But a sweet-briar entwines it around.
Not my fields, in the prime of the year,
More charms than my cattle unfold;
Not a brook that is limpid and clear,
But it glitters with fishes of gold.
But with tendrils of woodbine is bound:
Not a beech's more beautiful green,
But a sweet-briar entwines it around.
Not my fields, in the prime of the year,
More charms than my cattle unfold;
Not a brook that is limpid and clear,
But it glitters with fishes of gold.
One would think she might like to retire
To the bow'r I have labour'd to rear;
Not a shrub that I heard her admire,
But I hasted and planted it there.
O how sudden the jessamine strove
With the lilac to render it gay!
Already it calls for my love,
To prune the wild branches away.
To the bow'r I have labour'd to rear;
Not a shrub that I heard her admire,
But I hasted and planted it there.
O how sudden the jessamine strove
With the lilac to render it gay!
Already it calls for my love,
To prune the wild branches away.
186
From the plains, from the woodlands and groves,
What strains of wild melody flow!
How the nightingales warble their loves
From thickets of roses that blow!
And when her bright form shall appear,
Each bird shall harmoniously join
In a concert so soft and so clear,
As—she may not be fond to resign.
What strains of wild melody flow!
How the nightingales warble their loves
From thickets of roses that blow!
And when her bright form shall appear,
Each bird shall harmoniously join
In a concert so soft and so clear,
As—she may not be fond to resign.
I have found out a gift for my fair;
I have found where the wood-pigeons breed:
But let me that plunder forbear,
She will say 'twas a barbarous deed.
For he ne'er could be true, she aver'd,
Who could rob a poor bird of its young:
And I lov'd her the more, when I heard
Such tenderness fall from her tongue.
I have found where the wood-pigeons breed:
But let me that plunder forbear,
She will say 'twas a barbarous deed.
For he ne'er could be true, she aver'd,
Who could rob a poor bird of its young:
And I lov'd her the more, when I heard
Such tenderness fall from her tongue.
I have heard her with sweetness unfold
How that pity was due to—a dove:
That it ever attended the bold;
And she call'd it the sister of love.
But her words such a pleasure convey,
So much I her accents adore,
Let her speak, and whatever she say,
Methinks I should love her the more.
How that pity was due to—a dove:
That it ever attended the bold;
And she call'd it the sister of love.
But her words such a pleasure convey,
So much I her accents adore,
Let her speak, and whatever she say,
Methinks I should love her the more.
187
Can a bosom so gentle remain
Unmov'd, when her Corydon sighs!
Will a nymph that is fond of the plain,
These plains and this valley despise?
Dear regions of silence and shade!
Soft scenes of contentment and ease!
Where I could have pleasingly stray'd,
If aught, in her absence, could please.
Unmov'd, when her Corydon sighs!
Will a nymph that is fond of the plain,
These plains and this valley despise?
Dear regions of silence and shade!
Soft scenes of contentment and ease!
Where I could have pleasingly stray'd,
If aught, in her absence, could please.
But where does my Phyllida stray?
And where are her grots and her bow'rs?
Are the groves and the valleys as gay,
And the shepherds as gentle as ours?
The groves may perhaps be as fair,
And the face of the valleys as fine;
The swains may in manners compare,
But their love is not equal to mine.
And where are her grots and her bow'rs?
Are the groves and the valleys as gay,
And the shepherds as gentle as ours?
The groves may perhaps be as fair,
And the face of the valleys as fine;
The swains may in manners compare,
But their love is not equal to mine.
III. SOLICITUDE.
Why will you my passion reprove?
Why term it a folly to grieve?
Ere I shew you the charms of my love,
She is fairer than you can believe.
With her mien she enamours the brave;
With her wit she engages the free;
With her modesty pleases the grave;
She is ev'ry way pleasing to me.
Why term it a folly to grieve?
Ere I shew you the charms of my love,
She is fairer than you can believe.
With her mien she enamours the brave;
With her wit she engages the free;
With her modesty pleases the grave;
She is ev'ry way pleasing to me.
188
O you that have been of her train,
Come and join in my amorous lays;
I could lay down my life for the swain,
That will sing but a song in her praise.
When he sings, may the nymphs of the town
Come trooping, and listen the while;
Nay on him let not Phyllida frown;
—But I cannot allow her to smile.
Come and join in my amorous lays;
I could lay down my life for the swain,
That will sing but a song in her praise.
When he sings, may the nymphs of the town
Come trooping, and listen the while;
Nay on him let not Phyllida frown;
—But I cannot allow her to smile.
For when Paridel tries in the dance
Any favour with Phyllis to find,
O how, with one trivial glance,
Might she ruin the peace of my mind!
In ringlets he dresses his hair,
And his crook is be-studded around;
And his pipe—oh may Phyllis beware
Of a magic there is in the sound.
Any favour with Phyllis to find,
O how, with one trivial glance,
Might she ruin the peace of my mind!
In ringlets he dresses his hair,
And his crook is be-studded around;
And his pipe—oh may Phyllis beware
Of a magic there is in the sound.
'Tis his with mock passion to glow;
'Tis his in smooth tales to unfold,
“How her face is as bright as the snow,
And her bosom, be sure, is as cold?
How the nightingales labour the strain,
With the notes of his charmer to vie;
How they vary their accents in vain,
Repine at her triumphs, and die.”
'Tis his in smooth tales to unfold,
“How her face is as bright as the snow,
And her bosom, be sure, is as cold?
How the nightingales labour the strain,
With the notes of his charmer to vie;
How they vary their accents in vain,
Repine at her triumphs, and die.”
189
To the grove or the garden he strays,
And pillages every sweet;
Then, suiting the wreath to his lays
He throws it at Phyllis's feet.
“O Phyllis, he whispers, more fair,
More sweet than the jessamine's flow'r!
What are pinks, in a morn, to compare?
What is eglantine, after a show'r?
And pillages every sweet;
Then, suiting the wreath to his lays
He throws it at Phyllis's feet.
“O Phyllis, he whispers, more fair,
More sweet than the jessamine's flow'r!
What are pinks, in a morn, to compare?
What is eglantine, after a show'r?
Then the lily no longer is white;
Then the rose is depriv'd of its bloom;
Then the violets die with despight,
And the wood-bines give up their perfume.”
Thus glide the soft numbers along,
And he fancies no shepherd his peer;
—Yet I never should envy the song,
Were not Phyllis to lend it an ear.
Then the rose is depriv'd of its bloom;
Then the violets die with despight,
And the wood-bines give up their perfume.”
Thus glide the soft numbers along,
And he fancies no shepherd his peer;
—Yet I never should envy the song,
Were not Phyllis to lend it an ear.
Let his crook be with hyacinths bound,
So Phyllis the trophy despise:
Let his forehead with laurels be crown'd,
So they shine not in Phyllis's eyes.
The language that flows from the heart
Is a stranger to Paridel's tongue;
—Yet may she beware of his art,
Or sure I must envy the song.
So Phyllis the trophy despise:
Let his forehead with laurels be crown'd,
So they shine not in Phyllis's eyes.
The language that flows from the heart
Is a stranger to Paridel's tongue;
—Yet may she beware of his art,
Or sure I must envy the song.
190
IV. DISAPPOINTMENT.
Ye shepherds give ear to my lay,
And take no more heed of my sheep:
They have nothing to do but to stray;
I have nothing to do but to weep.
Yet do not my folly reprove;
She was fair—and my passion begun;
She smil'd—and I could not but love;
She is faithless—and I am undone.
And take no more heed of my sheep:
They have nothing to do but to stray;
I have nothing to do but to weep.
Yet do not my folly reprove;
She was fair—and my passion begun;
She smil'd—and I could not but love;
She is faithless—and I am undone.
Perhaps I was void of all thought:
Perhaps it was plain to foresee,
That a nymph so compleat would be sought
By a swain more engaging than me.
Ah! love ev'ry hope can inspire;
It banishes wisdom the while;
And the lip of the nymph we admire
Seems for ever adorn'd with a smile.
Perhaps it was plain to foresee,
That a nymph so compleat would be sought
By a swain more engaging than me.
Ah! love ev'ry hope can inspire;
It banishes wisdom the while;
And the lip of the nymph we admire
Seems for ever adorn'd with a smile.
She is faithless, and I am undone;
Ye that witness the woes I endure;
Let reason instruct you to shun
What it cannot instruct you to cure.
Beware how you loiter in vain
Amid nymphs of an higher degree:
It is not for me to explain
How fair, and how fickle they be.
Ye that witness the woes I endure;
Let reason instruct you to shun
What it cannot instruct you to cure.
Beware how you loiter in vain
Amid nymphs of an higher degree:
It is not for me to explain
How fair, and how fickle they be.
191
Alas! from the day that we met,
What hope of an end to my woes?
When I cannot endure to forget
The glance that undid my repose.
Yet time may diminish the pain:
The flow'r, and the shrub, and the tree,
Which I rear'd for her pleasure in vain,
In time may have comfort for me.
What hope of an end to my woes?
When I cannot endure to forget
The glance that undid my repose.
Yet time may diminish the pain:
The flow'r, and the shrub, and the tree,
Which I rear'd for her pleasure in vain,
In time may have comfort for me.
The sweets of a dew-sprinkled rose,
The sound of a murmuring stream,
The peace which from solitude flows,
Henceforth shall be Corydon's theme.
High transports are shewn to the sight,
But we are not to find them our own;
Fate never bestow'd such delight,
As I with my Phyllis had known.
The sound of a murmuring stream,
The peace which from solitude flows,
Henceforth shall be Corydon's theme.
High transports are shewn to the sight,
But we are not to find them our own;
Fate never bestow'd such delight,
As I with my Phyllis had known.
O ye woods, spread your branches apace;
To your deepest recesses I fly;
I would hide with the beasts of the chace;
I would vanish from every eye.
Yet my reed shall resound thro' the grove
With the same sad complaint it begun;
How she smil'd, and I could not but love;
Was faithless, and I am undone!
To your deepest recesses I fly;
I would hide with the beasts of the chace;
I would vanish from every eye.
Yet my reed shall resound thro' the grove
With the same sad complaint it begun;
How she smil'd, and I could not but love;
Was faithless, and I am undone!
| The works, in verse and prose, of William Shenstone, Esq | |