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The dawn now blushing on the mountain's side, Thus Daphnis spoke, and Strephon thus replied: DAPHNIS.
Hear how the birds, on every bloomy spray, With joyous music wake the dawning day! Why sit we mute, when early linnets sing, When warbling Philomel salutes the spring? Why sit we sad, when Phosphor shines so clear, And lavish Nature paints the purple year?
Sing then, and Damon shall attend the strain,
And I this bowl, where wanton ivy twines,
And what is that which binds the radiant sky,
Then sing by turns, by turns the muses sing: Now hawthorns blossom, now the daisies spring Now leaves the trees, and flowers adorn the ground
Begin, the vales shall every note resound.
Inspire me, Phœbus, in my Delia's praise,
With Waller's strains. or Granville's moving lays' A milk-white bull shall at your altar stand,
That threats a fight, and spurns the rising sand.
O Love! for Sylvia let me gain the prize,
Me gentle Delia beckons from the plain,
The sprightly Sylvia trips along the green;
O'er golden sands let rich Pactolus flow,
Celestial Venus haunts Idalia's groves;
If Windsor shades delight the matchless maid,
All Nature mourns, the skies relent in showers,
The skies to brighten, and the birds to sing.
All Nature laughs, the groves are fresh and fair
The sun's mild lustre warms the vital air;
'f Sylvia smile, new glories gild the shore,
In spring the fields, in autumn hills I love,
Sylvia's like autumn ripe, yet mild as May
E'en spring displeases when she shines not here; But, bless'd with her, 'tis spring throughout the year STREPHON.
Say, Daphnis, say, in what glad soil appears, A wondrous tree that sacred monarchs bears: Tell me but this, and I'll disclaim the prize, And give the conquest to thy Sylvia's eyes.DAPHNIS.
Nay, tell me first, in what more happy fields The thistle springs, to which the lily yields: And then a nobler prize I will resign,
For Sylvia, charming Sylvia, shall be thine.
Cease to contend; for, Daphnis, I decree, The bowl to Strephon, and the lamb to thee. Blest swains, whose nymphs in every grace excel; Blest nymphs, whose swains those graces sing so well Now rise and haste to yonder woodbine bowers, A soft retreat from sudden vernal showers: The turf with rural dainties shall be crown'd, While opening blooms diffuse their sweets around. For see! the gathering flocks to shelter tend, And from the Pleiads fruitful showers descend.
THE SECOND PASTORAL; OR, ALEXIS
A SHEPHERD'S boy (he seeks no better name)
Accept, O Garth, the muse's early lays,
Ye shady beeches, and ye cooling streams,
Where stray ye, muses, in what lawn or grove, While your Alexis pines in hopeless love? In those fair fields where sacred Isis glides, Or else where Cam his winding vales divides? As in the chrystal spring I view my face, Fresh rising blushes paint the watery glass; But since those graces please thine eyes no more, I shun the fountains which I sought before. Once I was skill'd in every herb that grew, And every plant that drinks the morning dew Ah, wretched shepherd! what avails thy art, To cure thy lambs, but not to heal thy heart! Let other swains attend the rural care, Feed fairer flocks, or richer fleeces shear: But nigh yon mountain let me tune my lays, Embrace my love, and bind my brows with bays That flute is mine which Colin's tuneful breath Inspired when living, and bequeathed in death: He said: 'Alexis, take this pipe, the same That taught the groves my Rosalinda's name.' But now the reed shall hang on yonder tree, For ever silent, since despis'd by thee. O! were I made by some transforming power, The captive bird that sings within thy bower'
Then might my voice thy listening ears employ,
And yet my numbers please the rural throng,
See what delights in sylvan scenes appear!
And crown'd with corn their thanks to Ceres yield.