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Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs along! The birds fhall cease to tune their ev'ning fong, 40 The winds to breathe, the waving woods to move, And streams to murmur, ere I ceafe to love. Not bubbling fountains to the thirsty swain, Not balmy fleep to lab'rers faint with pain, Not show'rs to larks, or fun-fhine to the bee, 45 Are half so charming as thy fight to me.

Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs away! Come, Delia, come; ah, why this long delay ? Thro' rocks and caves the name of Delia founds, Delia, each cave and echoing rock rebounds. 50 Yepow'rs, what pleafing phrenzy fooths my mind! Do lovers dream, or is my Delia kind? She comes, my Delia comes!-Now ceafe my lay, And ceafe, ye gales, to bear my fighs away!

VARIATIONS.
VER. 48. Originally thus in the MS.-

With him thro' Libya's burning plains I'll go,
On Alpine mountains tread th' eternal fnow;
Yet feel no heat but what our loves impart,
And dread no coldness but in Thyrfis' heart.

IMITATIONS.

VER. 37:
Aurea duræ
Mala ferant quercus; narciffo floreat alnus,
Pinguia corticibus fudent electra myricæ.

VER. 43, etc.]

Virg. Ecl. viii. P.

Quale fopor feffis in gramine, quale per æftum

Dulcis aquæ faliente fitim reftinguere rivo. Ecl. v. P. VER. 52. An qui amant, ipfi fibi fomnia fingunt ?

Id. viii. P.

Next Egon fung, while Windfor

mir'd;

groves ad

Rehearse, ye Muses, what yourselves infpir'd. 56
Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful strain!
Of perjur'd Doris, dying I complain :
Here where the mountains, lefs'ning as they rife,
Lose the low vales, and steal into the fkies: 60
While lab'ring oxen, spent with toil and heat,
In their loofe traces from the field retreat:
While curling fmoaks from village-tops are feen,
And the fleet shades glide o'er the dusky green.
Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful lay! 65
Beneath yon' poplar oft we past the day:
Oft' on the rind I carv'd her am'rous vows,
While the with garlands hung the bending
boughs:

The garlands fade, the vows are worn away;
So dies her love, and fo my hopes decay.

79

Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful strain! Now bright Arcturus glads the teeming grain, Now golden fruits on loaded branches fhine, And grateful clusters fwell with floods of wine; Now blushing berries paint the yellow grove; 75 Juft Gods! fhall all things yield returns but love?

REMARK S,

VER. 74. And grateful clusters, etc.] The fcene in Windfor-foreft; fo this image not fo exact.

3

Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful lay! The shepherds cry, "Thy flocks are left a prey”-Ah! what avails it me, the flocks to keep,

Who lost my heart while I preferv'd my sheep. 80
Pan came, and ask'd, what magic caus'd my smart,
Or what ill eyes malignant glances dart?
What eyes but hers, alas, have pow'r to move!
And is there magic but what dwells in love! 84
Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful strains!
I'll fly from shepherds, flocks, and flow'ry plains,
From shepherds, flocks, and plains, I may remove,
Forfake mankind, and all the world-but love!
I know thee, Love! on foreign mountains bred,
Wolves gave thee fuck, and favage tigers fed. 90
Thou wert from Ætna's burning entrails torn,
Got by fierce whirlwinds, and in thunder born!
Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful lay!
Farewell, ye woods, adieu the light of day!
One leap from yonder cliff fhall end my pains, 95
No more, ye hills, no more refound my ftrains!

IMITATIONS.

VER. 82. Or what ill eyes]

Nefcio quis teneros oculus mihi fascinat agnos. P.

VER. 89. Nunc fcio quid fit Amor: duris in cotibu

illum, etc. P.

VOL. I.

G

Thus fung the shepherds till th' approach of night,

The skies yet blushing with departing light, When falling dews with spangles deck'd the glade,

And the low fun had lengthen'd ev'ry fhade. 100

REMARK S.

VER. 98. 100.] There is a little inaccuracy here; the first line makes the time after fun-fet; the fecond before.

WINTER:

THE

FOURTH PASTORAL,

OR,

DAPHNE.

To the Memory of Mrs. TEMPEST.

LYCIDAS.

HYRSIS, the mufic of that murm'ring spring
Is not fo

ΤΗ
Tis not to mournful as the strains you fing.

Nor rivers winding through the vales below,
So fweetly warble, or fo fmoothly flow.

REMARK S.

WINTER.] This was the Poet's favourite Paftoral:

Mrs. Tempeft.] This Lady was of an ancient family in Yorkshire, and particularly admired by the Author's friend Mr. Walsh, who, having celebrated her in a Pastoral Elegy,

IMITATIONS.

VER. 1. Thyrfis, the mufic, etc.]

Adú Ti, etc. Theocr. Id. i.
τι,

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