« 上一頁繼續 »
One would think she might like to retire
To the bow'r I have labour'd to rear; Not a shrub that I heard her admire,
But I hasted and planted it there. Oh how sudden the jeffamine strove
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 !
From thickets of roses that blow!
Each bird shall harmoniously join
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 say '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 sweetness unfold
How that pity was due t0r--a dove:; That it ever attended the bold,
And the call'd it the fifter of love.
So much I her accents adore,
Methinks I should love her the morca
Can a bofom fo gentle remain
Unmov'd when her Corydon fighs! Will a nymphu that is fond of the plain,
These plains and this valley. defpise? Dear regions of filence and shade!
Soft scenes of contentment and ease! Where I could have pleasingly. stray'd,
If aught in hier absence could please.
But where does my Phyllda ftray?
And where are her grots and her bow'rs. Are the groves and the valleys as gay,
And the Ihepherds as gentle as ours? The groves may perhaps be as fair,
And the face of the valleys as fine; The swains may in inanners comparez.
But their love is not equal to mine.
Why term it a folly to grieve?
She is fairer than you can believe.
With her wit The engages the free; With her modesty 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!
That will sing but a song in her praise. When he sings, may the nymphs of the towna
Come trooping, and listen the while ; Nay, on him let not Phyllida frown';
.-But I cannot allow her to smile.
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 bestudded around ; And his pipe----oh, my Phyllis ! beware
Of a magic there is in the sound.
'Tis his with mock passion to glow;
'Tis his in smooth tales to unfold, “ How her face is as bright as the snow,
“ And her bosom, be sure, 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 strays,
And pillages every sweet;
He throws it at Phyllis's feet.
“ More sweet than the jefsamine'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 rose is depriv'd of its bloom; " Then the violets die with despight,
“ And the woodbines give up their perfume." 'Thus glide the soft numbers along, And he fancies no shepherd his peer:
-Yet I never fhould envy the song,
Let his crook be with hyacinths bound,
So Phyllis the crophy defpise ;
So they shine not in Phyllis's eyes.
Is a stranger to Paridel's tongue ;
IV. DISAPPOINTMENT. YE shepherds give ear to my lay,
And take no more heed of my sheep: They have nothing to do but to stray;
I have nothing to do, but to weep. Yet do not my folly reprove;
She was fair---and my paffion begun ; She smil'd---and I could not but love;
She is faithlessamnand I am undone.
Perhaps I was void of all thought;
Perhaps it was plain to foresee, That a nymph so complete would be fought
By a swain more engaging than me.
It banishes wisdom the while;
Seems for ever adorn'd with a smile,