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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 repose. Yet time may diminish the pain :
The flower, the shrub, and the tree, Which I rear'd for her pleasure in vain,
In time may have comfort for me.
The sweets of a dew-sprinkled rose,
The sound of a murmuring stream, The peace which from solitude flows,
Henceforth shall be CORYDON's theme. High transports are shown to the sight,
But we are not to find them our own; Fate never bestow'd such delight
As I with my Phyllis had known.
O ye woods, spread your branches apace;
To your deepest recesses I fly;
I would vanish from every eye.
With the same sad complaint it begun ;
TO THE MEMORY OF WILLIAM SIENSTONE, Esq.
Come, shepherds, we'll follow the hearse,
And see our loved Corydon laid:
Yet let the sad tribute be paid.
In sooth, he was gentle and kind;
The graces that glow'd in his mind.
On purpose he planted yon trees,
That birds in the covert might dwell; He cultured the thyme for the bees,
But never would rifle their cell. Ye lambkins, that play'd at his feet,
Go bleat, and your master bemoan: His music was artless and sweet,
His manners as mild as your own.
No verdure shall cover the vale,
No bloom on the blossoms appear ; The sweets of the forest shall fail,
And winter discolour the year.
No No birds in our hedges shall sing,
(Our hedges so vocal before) Since he that should welcome the spring
Can greet the gay season no more.
Ilis Phyllis was fond of his praise,
And poets came round in a throng ; They listen'd, and envied his lays,
But which of them equall'd his song?
For lost is the pastoral strain ;
O'er moorlands and mountains, rude, barren and
bare, As wilder'd and wearied I roam, A gentle young shepherdess sees my despair,
And leads me o'er lawns to her home : Yellow sheaves from rich Ceres her cottage had
crown'd, Green rushes were strew'd on the floor; Jler casement sweet woodbines crept wantonly round,
And deck'd the sod seats at her door,
We sat ourselves down to a cooling repast,
Fresh fruits, and she cullid me the best,
Love slily stole into my breast.
(Ye virgins, her voice was divine,)
Yet take me, fond shepherd, I'm thine."
Her air was so modest, her aspect so meek,
So simple, yet sweet were her charms,
And lock'd the loved maid in my arms.
And if on the banks, by the stream, Reclined on her bosom I sink into sleep,
Her image still softens my dream.
Together we range o'er the slow-rising hills,
Delighted with pastoral views,
And mark out new themes for my Muse.
The damsel's of humble descent;
And shepherds have named her CONTENT.
MORAL AND MISCELLANEOUS
No glory I covet, no riches I want,
Ambition is nothing to me;
Is a mind independent and frec.
With passions anruffled, untainted with pride,
By reason my life let me square ;
And the rest is but folly and care.
The blessings which Providence freely has lent
I'll justly and gratefully prize;
Shall make me both healthful and wise.
In the pleasures the great man's possessions display
Unenvied I'll challenge my part;