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HOPE. ECLOGUE II.

To Mr. DODDINGTON,

Afterwards Lord MELCOMBE.

EAR, DODDINGTON, the notes that fhepherds fing,
Notes foft as thofe of nightingales in fpring:

Nor Pan, nor Phoebus tune the shepherd's reed;
From Love alone our tender lays proceed :
Love warms our fancy with enliv'ning fires,
Refines our genius, and our verse inspires:
From him Theocritus, on Enna's plains,
Learnt the wild sweetness of his Doric ftrains;
Virgil by him was taught the moving art,
That charm'd each ear, and foften'd every heart;
O would't thou quit the pride of courts, and deign
To dwell with us upon the vocal plain,

Thee too his pow'r fhould reach, and every fhade
Refound the praises of thy fav'rite maid ;

Thy pipe our rural concert would improve,
And we should learn of thee to please and love,
Damon no longer fought the filent shade,
No more in unfrequented paths he stray'd,

But

But call'd the nymphs to hear his jocund song,
And told his joy to all the ruftic throng.

Bleft be the hour, he faid, that happy hour,
When firft I own'd my Delia's gentle pow'r ;
Then gloomy discontent and pining care
Forfook my breast, and left soft wishes there:
Soft wishes there they left, and gay defires,
Delightful languors, and transporting fires.
Where yonder limes combine to form a shade,
These eyes first gaz'd upon the charming maid;
There the appear'd, on that aufpicious day,
When fwains their sportive rites to Bacchus pay:
She led the dance-heavens! with what grace she mov'd!
Who could have feen her then, and not have lov'd?

I ftrove not to refift so sweet a flame,

But glory'd in a happy captive's name;
Nor would I now, could Love permit, be free,
But leave to brutes their favage liberty.

And art thou then, fond swain, secure of joy?
Can no reverse thy flatt'ring blifs destroy?
Has treach❜rous Love no torment yet in store?
Or haft thou never prov'd his fatal pow'r ?
Whence flow'd thofe tears that late bedew'd thy cheek?
Why figh'd thy heart as if it ftrove to break?

Why were the defart rocks invok'd to hear
The plaintive accents of thy fad despair ?
From Delia's rigour all those pains arofe,
Delia, who now compaffionates my woes,
A 4

Whe

Who bids me hope; and in that charming word
Has peace ard tranfport to my foul reftor'd.
Begin, my pipe, begin the glad fome lay;
A kifs from Del a fhall thy music pay ;
A kifs obtain'd 'twixt ftruggling and confent,
Giv'n with forc'd anger, and disguis'd content:
No laureat wreaths I ask to bind my brows,
Such as the Mufe on lofty bards bestows;
Let other fwains to praife or fame aspire:
I from her lips my recompence require.

Hark how the bees with murmurs fill the plain,
While every flow'r of every fweet they drain;
See, how beneath yon hillock's fhady fteep,
The fhelter'd herds on flow'ry couches fleep:
Nor bees, nor herds, are half fo bleft as I,
If with my fond defires my Love comply:
From Delia's lips a fweeter honey flows,
And on her bofom dwells more foft repose.

Ah how, my dear, fhall I deferve thy charms?
What gift can bribe thee to my longing arms?
A bird for thee in filken bands I hold,
Whofe yellow plumage shines like polish'd gold;
From diftant ifles the lovely ftranger came,
And bears the Fortunate Canaries name;
In all our woods none boasts so sweet a note,
Not ev'n the nightingale's melodious throat.
Accept of this; and could I add befide

What wealth the rich Peruvian mountains hide;

If all the gems in Eastern rocks were mine,
On thee alone their glitt'ring pride fhould fhine.
But if thy mind no gifts have pow'r to move,
Phoebus himself shall leave th' Aonian grove;
The tuneful Nine, who never fue in vain,
Shall come fweet fuppliants for their fav'rite fwain.
For him each blue-ey'd Naiad of the flood,
For him each green-hair'd fifter of the wood,
Whom oft beneath fair Cynthia's gentle ray
His mufic calls to dance the night away.
And you, fair nymphs, companions of my Love,
With whom the joys the cowlip meads to rove,
I beg you recommend my faithful flame,
And let her often hear her fhepherd's name ;
Shade all my faults from her enquiring fight,
And fhew my merits in the fairest light;
My pipe your kind affistance shall repay,
And ev'ry friend shall claim a diff'rent lay.

But fee in yonder g'ade the heav'nly fair
Enjoys the fragrance of the breezy air—
Ah, thither let me fly with eager feet;
Adieu, my pipe, I go my Love to meet-
may I find her as we parted laft,

O

And may each future hour be like the past!
So fhall the whiteft lamb these pastures feed,
Propitious Venus, on thy altars bleed.

JE A

Now Sir EDWARD WALPOLE, fecond Son to Sir ROBERT WALPOLE, Earl of Orford.

HE gods, O WALPOLE, give no bliss fincere :
Wealth is difturb'd by care, and pow'r by fear.

Of all the paffions that employ the mind,
In gentle love the sweetest joys we find ;
Yet ev❜n those joys dire Jealousy molefts,
And blackens each fair image in our breafts.
O may the warmth of thy too tender heart
Ne'er feel the sharpness of his venom'd dart
For thy own quiet think thy mistress juft,
And wifely take thy happiness on truft.

Begin, my Mufe, and Damon's woes rehearse,
In wildeft numbers and disorder'd verse.
On a romantic mountain's airy head
(While browzing goats at ease around him fed)
Anxious he lay, with jealous cares opprefs'd;
Diftruft and anger lab'ring in his breast-
The vale beneath a pleafing prospect yields,
Of verdant meads and cultivated fields;

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