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One would think she might like to retire

To the bow'r I have labour'd to rear;!' Not a fhrub that I heard her admire,

But I hasted and planted it there. 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 strains of wild melody flow!
How the nightingales warble their loves
From thickets of rofes that blow!
And when her bright form shall appear,
Each bird shall harmoniously join
In a concert fo soft and fo clear,
As----she may not be found 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...

have heard her with fweetness unfold How that pity was due to---a dove; That it ever attended the bold,

And the call'd it the fifter of love. But her words fuch a pleasure convey, So much I her accents adore,

Let her speak, and whatever she fay, Methinks I should 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 defpise ? Dear regions of filence and fhade!

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 ftray??

And where are her grots and her bow'rs
Are the groves and the valleys as gay,
And the fhepherds 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 mine.

III. SOLICITUDE.

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 she engages the free;
With her modefty pleases the grave;
She is ev'ry way pleasing to me.

O 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 Phyllida frown';

1001

-But I cannot allow her to fmile.

For when Paridel tries in the dance
Any favour with Phyllis to find,
O how, with one trivial glance,
Might the ruin the peace of my mind!
In ringlets he dresses his hair,

And his crook is beftudded around;
And his pipe----oh, my Phyllis! beware
Of a magic there is in the found.

'Tis his with mock paffion to glow;
'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 ftrain,.
"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 strays,
And pillages every sweet;
Then, fuiting the wreath to his lays,
He throws it at Phyllis's feet.

O Phyllis," he whispers, "more fair,
"More sweet than the jeffamine's flow'r !
"What are pinks, in the morn, to compare?
"What is eglantine, after a show'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 fhould envy the fong,

Were not Phyllis to lend it an ear.

Let his crook be with hyacinths bound
So Phyllis the trophy defpife;

Let his forehead with laurels be crown'd,
So they fhine, not in Phyllis's eyes.
The language that flows from the heart,
Is a ftranger to Paridel's tongue;
--Yet may fhe beware of his art,
Or fure I muft envy the fong.

IV. DISAPPOINTMENT.

YE fhepherds give ear to my lay,
And take no more heed of my fheep:
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 fmil'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 complete would be fought
By a fwain more engaging than me.
Ah! love ev'ry hope can infpire;
It banishes wisdom the while;

And the lip of the nymph we admire

Seems for ever adorn'd with a fmile,

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