The Hero to their Shed the Swains convey'd,
The Nymphs with Tears fupport the fainting
Maid.

Soon to her Father's Ears the Rumour flies,
That by a Shaft unknown Philander dies:
He hopes, and, cruel! thence enjoys the Smart,
That Time will rase his Image from her Heart.
Now of her Fate the wretched Maid com-

plains,

And feels of hopeless Love the sharpest Pains; A thousand Thoughts against herPeace confpire, Croud in her Mind, as Fuel feeds the Fire; The Grove, the orange Shade, the vi'let Bed, The native Blue now blushing ftain'd with Red: Now the paleGhost screaming forfakes theDay; She fickens at the Thought, and dies away.

Soon as the firft, the difmal, Shock was o'er, And she was said to live, and scarcely more, Her Sire, affecting now the tender Man, Thus from the Softness of his Heart began ; Daughter, if 'tis your Wish that Name should

laft,

Repent, as I forgive, thy Follies pass'd ; Prepare thyself, since I have fix'd the Hour When I fhall wed thee with an ample Dow'r : Ten Days I grant thee more, from hence their Date :

I wait no Answer; be my Will thy Fate. Dion, who knew with Grief th' appointed Day, Advis'd the lovely Mourner to obey,

Till the laft Moment bad her not despair,
But to the Pow'rs divine prefer the Pray'r,
The Pow'rs divine her Sorrows might relieve,
Nor unrewarded let her Virtue grieve:

Doubt not, my Fair, he cry'd, an Hour to find
Both to your Virtue, and your Wishes, kind.
He ended here, but had he told her more,
Her Virgin Blood had never ftain'd the Floor,
With Patience fhe had ftaid till he had us'd
The Means to rescue Innocence abus'd.

The Maid, to Duty and to Love resign'd,
Conceals in Silence her distracted Mind:
Fix'd her Resolves as Fate, fhe waits the Day,
Nor less her Looks, till then, her Heart betray:
And when the much expected Sun arose,
That saw the End, Cydippe, of thy Woes,
Agathocles appear'd, in all his Pride,

To take Poffeffion of the promis'd Bride.
Her Father, Brother, both attend the Maid,
The Nymph proceeds in virgin White array'd.
The Temple old Agenor, strange to tell!
To enter thrice assay'd, and thrice he fell ;
Hence Dion would foresee th' approaching Fate,
And warn his Father e're it was too late ;
But all in vain; he will no longer stay,
But fee the Rites perform'd without Delay:
And now the wretched Bride, the conftant Fair,
Of Hope itself bereft, in wild Despair,
A Poniard drew, conceal'd beneath her Veft,
And, turning to her Father, pierc'd her Breaft :

The

The Brother, who already felt the Smart,
The Weapon feiz'd before it reach'd her Heart:
Juft at the Entrance of the Temple stand
The brave Philander and his armed Band,
To bear away, each stedfast in his Cause,
His own by plighted Vows, and Nature's Laws:
Shrieks echo'd from within, at which he flew
Quick to the Altar, where he bled anew;
The Wound he fuffer'd from his Rival's Dart
Was flight, compar'd to this, that pierc'd his
Heart.

As in her Lover's Arms Cydippe lay,

Charm'd by his Voice again to view the Day, In his Designs, the ftupid Bridegroom, foil'd, Mutt'ring retir'd, as from a Bargain spoil❜d. Agenor feels inutterable Woes:

Now his wrong Judgment in the Brute he chofe, Philander's Virtues, and reported Death,

In which he joy'd, his Child thought void of
Breath,

Accufe his Soul; his filver Locks he tore,
And throw'd his aged Breast against the Floor:
Deeply he groan'd his last, and rose no more.
The pious Tear the Friend and Brother shed;
And they, whom once he wrong'd, bewail'd
him dead;

With Rev'rence they perform his Obfequies,
And bear their Sorrows as befeem the Wife.

Soon

Soon as the Maid was from her Wound re

ftor'd,

Her all the yielded to her plighted Lord : Thrice twenty Seasons blefs'd the virtuous Pair, The brave Philander, and Cydippe fair.

COLINETTA.

A PASTORAL.

WAS when the Fields had shed their

"TWA golden Grain,

And burning Suns had fear'd the Ruffet-Plain;
No more the Rofe nor Hyacinth were seen,
Nor yellow Cowflip on the tufted Green:
But the rude Thistle rear'd its hoary Crown,.
And the ripe Nettle fhew'd an irksome Brown.
In mournful Plight the tarnish'd Groves appear,
And Nature weeps for the declining Year.
The Sun too quickly reach'd the western Sky,
And rifing Vapours hid his ev'ning Eye:
Autumnal Threads around the Branches flew,
While the dry Stubble drank the falling Dew.
In this fick Seafon, at the Clofe of Day,
On Lydia's Lap pale Colinetta lay;
Whofe fallow Cheeks had loft their rofy Dye,
The Sparkles languish'd in her closing Eye.
Parch'd were those Lips whence Mufic us❜d to
flow,

Nor more the Flute her weary Fingers know,

Yet

Yet thrice to raise her feeble Voice she try'd, Thrice on her Tongue the fainting Numbers

dy'd:

At laft reviv'd, on Lydia's Neck she hung,
And, like the Swan, expiring thus she sung:

Farewel, ye Forests and delightful Hills,
Ye flow'ry Meadows, and ye chrystal Rills,
Ye friendly Groves to whom we us'd to run,
And beg a Shelter from the burning Sun.
Those blafted Shades all mournful now I fee,
Who droop their Heads as tho' they wept for me.
The penfive Linnet has forgot to fing;
The Lark is filent till returning Spring.
TheSpring fhall all those wontedCharms restore,
Which Colinetta must behold no more.

Farewel, ye Fields; my native Fields adieu; Whofe fertile Lays my early Labours knew; Where, when an Infant, I was wont to stray, And gather King-cups at the clofing Day.' How oft has Lydia told a mournful Tale, By the clear Lake that shines in yonder Vale; When fhe had done, I fung a chearful Lay, While the glad Goldfinch liften'd on the Spray; Lur'd by my Song each jolly Swain drew near, And rofy Virgins throng'd around to hear; Farewell, ye Swains; ye rofy Nymphs, adieu : Though I,unwilling, leave the Streams and you, Still may foft Mufic bless your happy Shore, But Colinetta you must hear no more,