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Next morn I miss'd three hens, and our old cock,
And off the hedge two pinners and a fmock.
I bore these loffes with a Christian mind,
And no mishaps could feel, while thou wert kind;
But fince, alas! I grew my Colin's fcorn,
I've known no pleasure night, or noon, or morn.
Help me, ye Gypfies! bring him home again,
And to a constant lafs give back her swain.

Have I not fate with thee full many a night,
When dying embers were our only light,
When ev'ry creature did in flumber lie,
Befides our cat, my Colin Clout and I?
No troublous thoughts the cat or Colin move,
While I alone am kept awake by Love.

Remember, Colin, when at laft year's wake
I bought the coftly prefent for thy fake,
Couldft thou fpell o'er the pofie on thy knife,
And with another change thy ftate of life?
If thou forgett'ft, I wot, I can repeat,

My memory can tell the verfe fo fweet.
As this is grav'd upon this knife of thine,
So is thy image on this heart of mine.
But woe is me! fuch prefents luckless prove,
For knives, they tell me, always fever love.

Thus Marian wail'd, her eyes with tears brim.
full,

When Goody Dobbins brought her cow to bull.
With apron blue to dry her tears fhe fought,
Then law the cow well ferv'd, and took a groat.

Beisp. S. 1. B.

Pope.

Gay

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(Die diesem Dichter eigne Eleganz und geschmackvolle Ausfeilung seiner Arbeiten findet man auch in seinen vier, nach den Jahrszeiten benannten, Schäfergedichten, die der Manier Theokrit's und noch mehr, Virgil's, nachgeahmt find. Aber eben diese Nachahmung führte ihn oft zu weit von der wahren, ländlichen Natur in eine allzu eingebildete Welt; er vermischte oft, wie Warton bemerkt, griechische und brittische Ideen und Bilder, und war überhaupt in dies sen Eklogen, die sonst einen sehr wohlklingenden Versbau haben, allzuschr Nachahmer. Vielleicht wåre er mehr Oris ginal geworden, wenn er feinen Vorsak, amerikanische Schis fergedichte zu schreiben, ausgeführt hätte. Und immer vers dienen auch jene vier Schäfergedichte noch sehr viel Lob, wenn man bedenkt, daß Pope sie in einem Alter von sechs; zehn Jahren schrieb, wodurch auch selbst die überall hervorz schimmernde Begierde, klassische Literatur zu verrathen, sehr verzeihlich wird. Ungleich mehr Schönheiten hat indeß seis ne hier beigefügte Ekloge, der Nieffias, bei der er, die, hier zu vergleichenden, Muster des Propheten Jesaias, Kap. LX, und Virgil's, in der Ekloge Pollio, vor Augen hatte.)

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LYC. Thyrfis, the mufick of that murm'ring
fpring
Is not fo murnful as the ftrains you fing.
Nor rivers winding through the vales below,
So fweetly warble, or fo fmoothly flow.
Now fleeping flocks on their foft fleeces lie,
The moon, ferene in glory, mounts the sky;

Whilft filent birds forget their tuneful lays
Oh fing of Daphne's fate, and Daphne's
praise!

HYR. Behold the groves that shine with filver froft,
Their beauty wither'd and their verdure loft.
Here fhall I try the fweet Alexis'ftrain,
That call'd the lift'ning Dryads to the plain?
Thames heard the numbers as he flow'd along,
And bade his willows learn the moving fong.

LYC. So may kind rains their vital moisture yield
And fwell the future harveft of the field.
Begin; this charge the dying Daphne gave,
And faid,,,ye fhepherds, fing around my gra-
ve!"

Sing, while befide the 1 haded tomb I mourn,
`And with fresh bays her rural shrine adorn.

THYR. Ye gentle mufes, leave your crystal spring,
Let nymphs and fylvans cyprefs garlands
bring;

Ye weeping loves, the ftream with myrtles
hide,
And break your bows, as when Adonis dy'd:
And with your golden darts, now ufelefs
grown,

Inscribe a verse on this relenting stone:
"Let nature change, let heav'n and earth de-
plore,

„Fair Daphne's dead, and love is now no mo-
re!"

'Tis done, and Nature's various charms decay.
See gloomy clouds obfcure the cheerful day!
Now hung with pearls the dropping trees ap-

pear,

Their faded honours fcatter'd on her bier.
See, where on earth the flow'ry glories lie.
With her they flourish'd and with her they die.
Ah what avail the beauties Nature wore?

DD 2

Fair

Pope.

Pope.

Fair Daphne's dead, and beauty is no more!
For her the flocks refufe their verdant food,
The thirsty heifers 1 hun the gliding flood
The filver swans her hapless fate bemoan
In notes more fad than when they fing their

own;

In hollow caves fweet Echo filent lies,
Silent, or only to her name replies;

Her name with pleasure once she taught the
fhore,

Now Daphne's dead and pleasure is no more!
No grateful dews defcend from evning-fkies,
Nor morning-odours from the flow'rs arise
No rich perfumes refresh the fruitful field,
Nor fragrant herbs their native incenfe yield.
The balmy zephyrs, filent fince her death,
Lament the ceafing of a fwelter breath;
Th'induftrious bees neglect their golden ftore!
Fair Daphne's dead, aud fweetnefs is no more!

No more the mounting larks, while Daphne
fings,

Shall lift'ning in mid air suspend their wings;
No more the birds fhall imitate her lays,
Or hufh'd with wonder, hearken from the
fprays:

No more the ftreams their murmurs fhall for
bear,

A fweeter mufic than their own to hear,
But tell the reeds, and tell the vocal fhore,
Fair Daphne's dead, and mufic is no more!

Her fate is whisper'd by the gentle breeze.
And told in fighs to all the trembling trees;
The trembling trees, in ev'ry plain and wood,
Her fate remurmur to the filver flood;
The filver flood, fo lately calm, appears,
Swell'd with new paffion, and o'erflows with
tears;

The winds, and trees, and floods her death de

plore,

Daphne,

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Daphne, our grief! our glory now no more!
But fee! where Daphne wond'ring mounts on
high

Above the clouds, above the ftarry sky!
Eternal beauties grace the fhining scene,
Fields ever fresh, and groves for ever green!
There while you reft in amaranthine bow'rs,
Or from thofe meads felect unfading flow'rs,
Behold us kindly, who your name implore,,
Daphne, our goddefs, and our grief no more!

LYC. How all things liften, while thy mufe com.
plains!

Such filence waits on Philomela's strains,
In some still ev'ning, when the whisp'ring
breeze,

Pants on the leaves, and dies upon the trees.
To the bright goddefs, oft a lamb fhall bleed,
If teeming ewes increafe my fleecy breed.
While plants their fhade, or flow'rs their odours.
give,
Thy name, thy honour, and thy praise fhall
live!

THYR. But fee, Orion fheds unwholesome dews;
Arife, the pines a noxious fhade diffuse;
Sharp Boreas blows, and Nature feels decay,
Time conquers all, and we must Time obey.
Adieu, ye vales, ye mountains, ftreams, and
groves;

Adieu, ye fhepherds rural lays and loves;
Adieu, my flocks; farewell, ye fylvan crew;
Daphne, farewell; and all the world adieu!

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MES

Pope.

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