A Collection of Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Attend me Harrison, while I rehearse
A pensive Shepherd's Plaints in humble Verse,
Begin, my Muse! whilst Harrison attends,
The best good-natur'd Man, and best of Friends;
Nor doubt his gen'rous Temper will refuse
To smile on thee, for still he loves the Muse.

The western Clouds in golden Borders shone,
And half in Ocean dip'd, appear'd the Sun;
Kind was the Season, and the Evening cool,
And all was calm and gay, but Dolon's Soul,
A chearless Swain, within a lonely Glade,
'Gainst Silvia's Cruelty he thus inveigh'd;
While with his Verse each Grot around him rung,
And Hills gave back the Burthen of his Song.

Now comes the softest Season of the Year,
Delightsome Ev'nings, and a balmy Air;
See, beauteous Nature in her Charms arise,
Fine flow'ry Fields, and bright indulgent Skies;
The Woods shoot out in Leaves, the Grass in Bloom,
And tender Zephyrs steal the sweet perfume;
The Birds exult, while Hills and Plains reply,
And all Things feel the Joys of Love but I.

The Sun returning, sheds his genial Beams,
And makes the Earth relent, and warms the Streams;
And as his vital Influences flow,
The joyful Glebe confesses them below;
What bloom in Field, in Park, in Wood and Grove,
Are all the blissful Progeny of Love.

The happy Time is known in Earth and Skie,
And all Things feel the Joys of Love but I.

The Honey-suckle round the Hawthorn twines,
The Hawthorn with the Honey-suckle joyns:
While on the Bud the am'rous Zephyr Blows,
It heaves and swells, and bursts into a Rose,
And as it bursts, a Flood of Fragrance flows.
The blooming Groves a flowry Gleam display,
That adds unto the Brightness of the Day;
While those to these, in balmy Breezes sigh,
And all Things feel the Joys of Love but I.

The little Birds, in Pairs and am'rous Play,
Court thro' the Wood, or bill upon the Spray.
See, perch'd on high, there sits the Turtle Dove,
And spreads his Plumes and cooes about his Love;
While she with all the Softness of a Bride,
Melts to his Song, and leans against his Side.
All Nature seems in Scenes of Love to vie,
And all Things feel it's blissful Joys but I.

And must I still this lonely Thing remain,
Condemn'd forever to implore in Vain?
Ah cruel Silvia! can there nought remove
Thy settled Scorn, and bend thy Heart to love?

What is my Crime, O fair Relentless! tell;
Whose greatest Fault is loving thee too well?
If that's a Fault, dear Silvia! tell me why?
For all Things feel the Joys of Love but I.

While I consume amidst thy Frowns and Scorn,
There nothing pleases, Ev'ning, Noon, or Morn;
Nor all the Meads, nor all their balmy Stores,
Nor Groves, tho' fill'd with Musick and with Flow'rs;
In vain their Fragrance, Zephyrs breathe in vain,
They cannot cure, or sooth a Lover's Pain;
There nought delights my Smell, my Ear, or Eye,
While all Things feel the Joys of Love but I.

But should'st thou smile, all Nature wou'd revive,
To Dolon's Soul, and doubly be alive;
In sweeter Notes the warbling Choir would sing,
The Spring grow fairer, and be more than Spring.
A fresher Spirit all the World improve,
And all Things rise in Bliss, in Life, and Love.
Then come my Silvia, to my Breast come nigh!
For all Things feel the Joys of Love but I.

What holds my Dear from coming to these Arms?
What Pow'r ill-fated, still detains thy Charms?

Come, bring one Glance of thy deluding Eyes,
For while thou stay'st, thy wretched Dolon dies!
Ah! wilt thou triumph in my latest Breath,
Can Pleasure find thee in a Lover's Death?
If so, to please her, Heavens, let me die!
And all Things feel the Joys of Love but I.
Thus sung the pensive Swain his mournful Lay,
Here ceas'd his Song, and with his Song, the Day.