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SPRING.
PASTORAL I.-DAMON.

To Sir William Trumbal.
FIRST in these fields I try the silvan strains,

Nor blush to sport on Windsor's blissful plains: Fair Thames ! flow gently from thy sacred spring, While on thy banks Sicilian Muses sing; Let vernal airs through trembling osiers play, And Albion's cliffs resound the rural lay.

You, that too wise for pride, too good for pow'r, Enjoy the glory to be great no more, And, carrying with you all the world can boast, To all the world illustriously are lost! O let my muse her slender reed inspire, Till in your native shades you tune the lyre : So when the nightingale to rest removes, The thrush may chant to the forsaken groves ; But charm’d to silence, listens while she sings, And all the aërial audience clap their wings.

Soon as the flocks shook off the nightly dews, Two swains, whom love kept wakeful, and the muse, Pour'd o'er the whitening vale their fleecy care, Fresh as the morn, and as the season fair; The dawn now blushing on the mountain's side, Thus Daphnis spoke, and Strephon thus replied :

Daph. Hear how the birds on every blooming 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?

Streph.Siug then,and Damon shall attend thestrain, While yon slow oxen turn the furrow'd plain : Here the bright crocus and blue violet glow; Here western winds on breathing roses blow. l'll stake yon lamb, that near the fountain plays, And from the brink his dancing shade surveys.

Daph. And I this bowl, where wanton ivy twines, And swelling clusters bend the curling vides :

Four figures rising from the work appear,
The various seasons of the rolling year;
And what is that, which binds the radiant sky,
Where twelve fair signs in beauteous order lie?

Dam. 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 rebound.

Streph. Inspire me, Phæbus! in my Delia's praise, With Waller's strains, or Granvilla's moving lays : A milk-white bull shall at your altars stand, That threats a fight, and spurns the rising sand.

Daph. O Love! for Sylvia let me gain the prize, And make my tongue victorious as her eyes: No lambs or sheep for victims I'll impart, Thy victim, Love, shall be the shepherd's heart.

Streph. Me gentle Delia beckons from the plain, Then, hid in shades, eludes her eager swain ; But feigns a laugh, to see me search around, And by that laugh the willing fair is found.

Daph. The sprightly Sylvia trips along the green, She runs, but hopes she does not run unseen; While a kind glance at her pursuer flies, How much at variance are her feet and eyes!

Streph. O'er golden sands let rich Pactolus flow, And trees weep amber on the banks of Po; Blest Thames's shores the brightest beauties yield, Feed here, my lambs, I'll seek no distant field.

Daph. Celestial Venus haunts Idalia's groves ;
Diana Cynthus, Ceres Hybla loves :
If Windsor-shades delight the matchless maid,
Cynthus and Hybla yield to Windsor-shade.

Streph.Allnature mourns, the skies relentin show'rs,
Hush'd are the birds, and clos'd the drooping flow'rs;
If Delia smile the flowers begin to spring,
The skies to brighten, and the birds to sing.
Daph.All nature laughs,the groves are fresh and fair,
The sun's mild lustre warms the vital air ;
If Sylvia smiles, new glories gild the shore.
And vanquish'd nature sooms co'charm no more.

Streph. In spring the fields, in autumn hills I love, At morn the plains, 'at noon the shady grove, But Delia always; absent from her sight, Nor plains at morn, nor groves at noon delight. i Daph. Sylvia's like autumn ripe, yet mild as May, More bright than noon, yet fresh as early day : Ev'n spring displeases, when she shines not here; But bless'd with her,'tis spring throughout the year.

Streph. 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.

Daph. 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. Dam. 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 bow'rs, A soft retreat from sudden vernal show'rs; The tuif 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.

SUMMER.

PASTORAL II.-ALEXIS.

To Dr. Garth.

A

Shepherd's boy she seeks no better game)

Led forth his flocks along the silver Thame, Where dancing sun-beams on the waters play'd, And verdant alders form'd a quiv'ring shade. . Soft as he mourn'd, the streams forgot to flow, The flocks around a dumb compassion show,

The Naïads wept in every watery bow'r,
And Jove consented in a silent show'r.

Accept, O Garth! the muse's early lays,
That adds this wreath of ivy to the bays;
Hear what from love unpractis'd hearts endure,
From love, the sole disease thou canst not cure.

Ye shady beeches, and ye cooling streams, Defence from Phæbús', not from Cupid's beams, To you I mourn; nor to the deaf I sing, The woods shall answer, and their echo ring. The hills and rocks attend my doleful lay, Why art thou prouder and more hard than they?. The bleating sheep with my complaints agree, They parch'd with heat, and I inflam'd by thee. The sultry Sirius burns the thirsty plains, While in thy heart eternal winter reigns.

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 crystal spring I view my face, Eresh rising blushes paint the watery glass ; But since those graces please thy 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 sheer: 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 Inspir'd when living, and bequeath'd in death; He said, “ Alexis, take this pipe, the same That taught the groves my Rosalinda's name." But now the reeds shall hang on yonder tree, For ever silent, since despis’d by thee. Oh! were I made by some transforming pow'r The captive bird that sings within thy bow'r!

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Then might my voice thy listening ears employ, And I those kisses he receives enjoy.

And yet my numbers please the rural throng, Rough satyrs dance, and Pan applauds the song : The nymphs, forsaking every cave and spring, Their early fruit, and milk-white turtles bring; Each amorous nymph prefers her gifts in vain, On you their gifts are all bestow'd again. For you the swains the fairest flowers design, And in one garland all their beauties join ; Accept the wreath which you deserve alone, In whom all beauties are compris'd in oue.

See what delights in silvan scenes appear! Descending gods have found Elysium here. In woods bright Venus with Adonis stray'd, And chaste Diana haunts the forest-shade. Come, lovely nymph, and bless the silent hours, When swains from sheering seek their nightly bow'rs; When weary reapers quit the sultry field, And, crown'd with corn, their thanks to Ceres yield. This harmless grove no lurking viper hides, But in my breast the serpent Love abides. Here bees from blossoms sip the rosy dew, But your Alexis knows no sweets but you. O deign to visit our forsaken seats, The mossy fountains, and the green retreats ! Where'er you walk, cool gales shall far the glade, Trees, where you sit, shall crowd into a shade: Where'er you tread, the blushing flowers shall rise, And all things flourish where you turn your eyes. O how I long with you to pass my days, Invoke the Muses, and resound your praise ! Your praise the birds shall chant in every grove, And winds shall waft it to the pow'rs above. But would you sing, and rival Orpheus' strain, The wondering forests soon should dance again ; The moving mountains hear the powerful call, And headlong streams hang listening in their fall!

But see, the shepherds shun the noon-day heat, The Towing herds to murmuring brooks retreat;

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