Ev'n now I sigh not for my former store,
But wish the gods had destin'd Delia poor.
"Tis joy, my friend, to think I can repay
The loss you bore by rigid Autumn's sway;
Yon fertile meadow, where the daisies spring,
Shall yearly pasture to your heifers bring;
Your lambs with mine shall on yon mountain feed,
Cheer'd by the warbling of your tuneful reed.
No more shall Delia's ever fretful sire,
Against your hopes and generous love conspire;
Fir'd by her smiles, you'll tune the early 2 lay,
While hills responsive waft your songs away.
May plenteous crops your irksome labour crown, And hoodwink'd fortune cease her envious frown; May growing wealth increase3 with growing years, Your flocks be num'rous as your silver hairs.
But lo! the heats invite us, at our ease,
To court the twining shades and cooling breeze;
Our languid joints we'll there at peace recline,
And midst the flow'rs and op'ning blossoms dine.
1 Var. flock. 2 Var. happy. 3 Var. may riches still increase.
WHILE yet grey twilight does his empire hold,
Drive all our heifers to the peaceful fold;
With sullied wing grim darkness soars along,
And larks to nightingales resign the song.
The weary ploughman 1 flies the waving fields,
To taste what fare his humble cottage yields,
As bees that daily through the meadows roam,
Feed on the sweets they have prepared at home.
What awful silence reigns throughout the shade,
The peaceful olive bends his drooping head;
No sounds are heard throughout the gloomy maze,
Wide o'er the deep the fiery meteors blaze.
The grassy meads that smil'd serenely gay,
Cheer'd by the everburning lamp of day,
In dusky hue attir'd are cramp'd with colds,
And springing flowrets shut their crimson folds.
The west, yet ting'd with Sol's effulgent ray,
With feeble light illumes our homeward way;
1 I retain the 'dialogue' of the Original. It was mis-arranged in
the volume 1773, and in every subsequent edition.
The glowing stars with keener lustre burn,
While round the earth their fiery axles turn.
What mighty power conducts the stars on high?
Who bids these comets through our system fly?
Who wafts the lightning to the icy pole,
And through our regions makes1 his thunders roll?
But say, what mightier power from nought could raise
The earth, the sun, and all that fiery maze
Of distant stars, that gild our ev'ning sky,2
And through the void in settled orbits fly.
That righteous Power, before whose heav'nly eye
The stars are nothing, and the planets die;
Whose breath divine supports our mortal frame,
Who form'd3 the lion wild and lambkin tame.
At his command the bounteous spring returns,
Hot summer, raging o'er th' Atlantic burns,
The yellow autumn crowns our sultry toil,
And winter's snows prepare the cumbrous soil.
By him the morning darts her purple ray,
To him the birds their early homage pay;
With vocal harmony the meadows ring,
While swains in concert heav'nly praises sing.
Sway'd by his word the nutrient dews descend,
And growing pastures to the moisture bend;
The vernal blossoms sip his falling show'rs,
The meads are garnish'd with his opening flow'rs.
For man, the object of his chiefest care,
Fowls he hath form'd to wing the ambient air;
For him the steer his lusty neck must 2 bend,
Fishes for him their scaly fins extend.
Wide o'er the orient sky the moon appears,
A foe to darkness, and its gloomy3 fears;
Around her orb the stars in clusters shine,
And distant planets tend her silver shrine.
Hush'd are the busy numbers of the day,
On downy couch they sleep their hours away.
Hail, balmy sleep! that soothes the troubled mind;
Lock'd in thy arms our cares a refuge find;
Oft do you tempt us with delusive dreams
When wildring fancy darts her dazzling beams;
Asleep the lover with his mistress strays
Through leafy thickets, and untrodden ways;
But when pale Cynthia's sable empire's fled,
And hov'ring slumbers shun the morning bed,
Rous'd by the dawn, he wakes with frequent sigh,
And all his flatt'ring visions quickly fly.
1 Var. ripening. 2 Var. doth.
Now owls and bats infest the midnight scene!
Dire snakes, envenom'd, twine along the green;
Forsook by man the rivers mourning glide,
And sounding echoes swell the noisy tide.
Straight to our cottage let us bend our way,
My drowsy pow'rs confess sleep's magic sway;
Peaceful1 and calm upon our couch we'll lie,
While sweet reviving slumbers round our pillows fly.
THE COMPLAINT.—A PASTORAL.
NEAR the heart of a fair spreading grove,
Whose foliage shaded the green,
A shepherd repining at love,
In anguish was heard to complain.
O Cupid! thou wanton young boy!
Since, with thy invisible dart,
Thou hast robb'd a fond youth of his joy,
In return grant the wish of his heart.
Send a shaft so severe from thy bow
(His pining, his sighs to remove),
That Stella, once wounded, may know
How keen are the arrows of love.
No swain once so happy as I,
Nor tun'd with more pleasure the reed;
My breast never vented a sigh,
Till Stella approach'd the gay mead.
|