Marinda Poems and Translations upon Several Occasions [by Mary Monck] |
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A Pastoral Dialogue from the Spanish.
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 | Marinda |  |
A Pastoral Dialogue from the Spanish.
ALCIDAS and DIANA.ALCIDAS.
Whilst the Sun's ardent Beams
The Heavens around us Fire,
And the chast Bands of Nymphs retire
To shady Groves, and purling Streams;
Whilst in repeated Strains,
The Grashopper complains;
With such a Grace
Pastora mourns,
That the Sky's angry Face
No longer burns,
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That glad the thirsty Earth, and raise the drooping Flowers,
DIANA.
Whilst the bright Planet of the Day
In midway poiz'd, 'twixt East and West,
Darts thence on lab'ring Hind his burning Ray
With fiercest Ire,
Who on the naked Plain with Toil opprest
Stands all his Fire:
My Shepherd Tunes his Oaten Reed
With such resistless Charms,
The boist'rous Winds he of their Rage disarms:
Their Fury stopt, they now with speed
Wondring to his Musick throng,
And with soft Zephirs bland, accompany his Song.
ALCIDAS.
Ye limpid Brooks that gliding hither bring
An everlasting Spring,
By whose kind Influence the Banks around
With never-fading Flow'rs are crown'd,
May your clear Streams enjoy a cool Retreat
Beneath this gloomy Shade,
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May no rude Flocks invade,
And with unhallow'd Feet
Defile your Chrystal Waters sweet;
Nor any wretched Lover's woe
Make your smooth Current swell, or Turbid flow.
DIANA.
Ye verdant Meads,
Where Nature with a liberal Hand
Her Bounty spreads;
Trees that in gay Confusion stand,
And Flow'rs, that paint the various Scene,
May your thick Boughs be ever green,
And may no furious Winds have pow'r
With keener blast
Your Beauties to devour,
And all your tender Honours waste;
Let not the ruffl'd Heavens in Tempests rowl,
Nor lowring o'er the grateful Land-skip scowl.
ALCIDAS.
Here far remote from all the dang'rous Storms
Of fickle Courts,
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Of all our Rural Sports;
Now on a shady Bank recline
We strike the vocal Lyre;
The little Birds make up the Choir,
And in the tuneful Consort joyn;
The flowry Shrubs beneath us bend,
And thro' the Air their fragrant Odours send.
Thus our short Time we pleasingly beguile,
Whilst Fields, Woods, Hills and Plains around us smile.
DIANA.
Here the soft whispers of a gentle Breeze,
That murmurs thro' the Trees,
Delights us more,
Than do's the noisie Shout
Of a loud popular Rout
The Men in Power;
Vain little Minds that study to be Great!
Your stately Banquet's but a brawl,
And your points of Honour all
An empty Cheat.
Your Words the farthest from your Meaning flie,
And all your Converse centres in a Lie.
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No Snares th'Ambitious here in Covert lay
Their Rivals to betray.
No Miser with unwearied pains
Pursues his sordid Gains;
None here with high Desires,
To Trusts or Posts aspires:
Our guiltless Hearts from Wrath and Guile are free,
In all our Looks and Words appear
A Native Goodness, and Simplicity;
Envy, Injustice, Pride, are strangers here,
Safe in a low Estate we rest,
And with pure unmix'd Joys, our homely Fare is blest.
DIANA.
The simple Swain
Plows no new Seas, nor no new World explores
In quest of Gain,
Nor to the distant Indies roams,
And there by Thousands summs
His Leagues, and Stores;
But hies as joyous to the Field,
With what his scanty Fortune gives,
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Of what his large Possessions yield,
As he who thousand Fertile Acres sows,
And in his crowded Folds unnumber'd Cattle stows.
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