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Daph. All Nature laughs, the groves are fresh and

fair.

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The sun's mild lustre warms the vital air;
If Sylvia smiles, new glories gild the shore,
And vanquish'd Nature seems to 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. 30
Duph. 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 ap-
pears,

A wondrous tree, that sacred Monarchs bears*? 86
Tell me but this, and I'll disclaim the prize,
And give the conquest to thy Sylvia's eyes.

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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 ev'ry grace excel; 95 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 turf with rural dainties shall be crown'd, While op'ning blooms diffuse their sweets around. For see! the gath'ring flocks to shelter tend, And from the Pieïads fruitful show'rs descend.

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An allusion to the royal oak, in which Charles II. had been hid

from the pursuit after the battle of Worcester.

+ Alludes to the device of the Scots monarchs, the thistle, worn by Queen Anne; and to the arms of France, the fleur de lys. The two riddles are in imitation of those in Virg. Ecl. 3d.

II.

SUMMER; OR, ALEXIS,

TO DR. GARTH.

A SHEPHERD'S boy (he seeks no better name)
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 ev'ry wat'ry bow'r,
And Jove consented in a silent show'r.
Accept, O Garth, the Muses' early lays,
That adds this wreath of ivy to thy 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 Phoebus', 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,

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They parch'd with heat, and I inflam'd by thee. 20
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,
Fresh rising blushes paint the wat'ry glass;
But since those graces please thy eyes no more.
I shun the fountains which I sought before.
Once I was skill'd in ev'ry herb that grew,
And ev'ry plant that drinks the morning
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 shear;

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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!
Then might my voice thy list'ning 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 nymphis. forsaking ev'ry cave and spring,
Their early fruit, and milk-white turtles bring;
Each am'rous nymph prefers her gifts in vain,
On you their gifts are all bestow'd again.
For you the swains the fairest flow'rs design,
And in one garland all their beauties join:
Accept the wreath which you deserve alone,
In whom all beauties are compriz'd in one.

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See what delights in sylvan 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 shearing seek their nightly bow'rs; When weary reapers quit the sultry field,

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65 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, Oh, deign to visit our forsaken seats, The mossy fountains, and the green retreats! Where'er you walk, cool gales shall fan the glade, Trees, where you sit, shall croud into a shade: Where'er you tread, the blushing flow'rs shall rise, And all things flourish where you turn your eyes.

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