Oh, how fudden the jeffamine ftrove
With the lilac to render it gay!
Already it calls for my love,
To prune the wild branches away.
From the plains, from the woodlands and groves,
What trains of mild melody flow!
How the nightingales warble their loves,
From thickets of rofes that blow !
And when her bright form fhall appear,
Each bird fhall harmonioufly join
In a concert fo foft and fo 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 fay 'twas a barbarous deed.
For he ne'er could be true, the averr'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 fweetness unfold
How that pity was due to a dove;
That it ever attended the bold,
And fhe call'd it the filter of love.
But her words fuch a pleasure convey,
So much I her accents adore,
Let her fpeak, and whatever the fay,
Methinks I fhould love her the more.
Can a bofom fo gentle remain
Unmov'd when her Corydon fighs?
Will a nymph that is fond of the plain,
Thefe plains and this valley defpife?
Dear regions of filence and fhade!
Soft fcenes of contentment and ease!
Where I could have pleasingly ftray'd,
If aught in her abfence could please.
And where are her grots and her bow'rs? Are the groves and the valleys as gay, And the thepherds as gentle as ours? The groves may perhaps be as fair, And the face of the valleys as fine, The fwains may in manners compare; But their love is not equal to niine.
Why will you my paffion reprove?
Why term it a folly to grieve,
Ere I fhew you the charms of my love?
She is fairer than you can believe.
With her mien fhe enamours the brave;
With her wit the engages the free;
With her modefty pleases the grave;
She is every way pleafing to me.
you that have been of her train,
Come and join in my amorous lays !
I could lay down my life for the fwain
That will fing but a fong in her praise.
When he fings, may the nymphs of the town Come trooping, and liften the while;
Nay, on him let not Phillida frown;
But I cannot allow her to finile.
For when Paridel tries in the dance
Any favour with Phillis to find,
O how, with one trivial glance,
Might the ruin the peace of my
In ringlets he dresses his hair,
And his crook is beftudded around! And his pipe-oh, may Phillis beware Of a magic there is in the found!
"Tis his with mock paffion to g'ow: 'Tis his in fmooth tales to unfold, "How her face is as bright as the fnow, "And her bofom, be fure, 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."
To the grove or the garden he ftrays,
And pillages every sweet:
Then, fuiting the wreath to his lays,
He throws it at Phillis's feet.
"O Phillis," he whispers, "more fair,
"More fweet than the jeffamine's flow'r;
"What are pinks in the morn to compare
"What is eglantine, after a fhow'r?
"Then the lily no longer is white;
"Then the rofe is depriv'd of its bloom;
"Then the violets die with defpight,
"And the woodbines give up their perfume.”
Thus glide the foft numbers along,
And he fancies no fhepherd his peer:
-Yet I never should envy the fong,
Were not Phillis to lend it an ear.
Let his crook be with hyacinths bound,
So Phillis the trophy defpife;
Let his forehead with laurels be crown'd,
So they fhine not in Phillis's eyes.
The language that flows from the heart
Is a ftranger to Paridel's tongue;
-Yet may the beware of his art,
Or fure I must envy the fong.
Ye shepherds give ear to my lay,
And take no more heed of my sheep:
They have nothing to do but to ftray;
I have nothing to do but to weep..
Yet do not my folly reprove:
She was fair-and my paffion begun ;
She fimil'd-and I could not but love;
She is faithlefs-and I am undone.
Perhaps I was void of all thought;
Perhaps it was plain to forefee,
That a nymph fo compleat would be fought
By a wain 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 fmile.
She is faithlefs, and I am undone :
Ye that witness the woes I endure,
Let reafon inftruct you to fun
What it cannot inftruct 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.
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 repofe.
Yet time may diminish the pain:
The flower, the fhrub, and the tree,
Which I rear'd for her pleasure in vain,
In time may have comfort for me.
The fweet of a dew-sprinkled rofe,
The found of a murmuring stream, The peace which from folitude flows, Henceforth fhall be Corydon's theme.
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