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Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs away!
To Delia's ear the tender notes convey.
As some sad turtle his lost love deplores,
And with deep murmurs fills the sounding shores ;
Thus, far from Delia, to the winds I mourn,
Alike unheard, unpity'd, and forlorn.

Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs along !
For her, the feather'd quires neglect their song ;
For her, the limes their pleasing shades deny ; 25
For her, the lilies hang their heads and die.
Ye flow'rs that droop, forsaken by the spring,
Ye birds that, left by summer, cease to sing,
Ye trees that fade when autumn-heats remove,
Say, is not absence death to those who love ? 30

Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs away! Curs'd be the fields that cause my

Delia's stay ; Fade ev'ry blossom, wither ev'ry tree, Die ev'ry flow'r, and perish all, but she. What have I said ? where'er my Delia Alies, . 35 Let spring attend, and sudden flow'rs arise ; Let op'ning roses knotted oaks adorn, And liquid amber drop from ev'ry thorn.

Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs along ! The birds shall cease to tune their ev’ning song, 40 The winds to breathe, the waving woods to move, And streams to murmur, ere I cease to love. Not bubbling fountains to the thirsty swain, Not balmy sleep to lab'rers faint with pain,



Not show'rs to larks, nor sun-shine to the bee, 45 Are half so charming as thy sight to me.

Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs away! Come, Delia, come ; ah, why this long delay? Thro' rocks and caves the name of Delia sounds, Delia, each cave and echoing rock rebounds.

50 Ye Pow'rs, what pleasing phrenzy sooths my mind! Do lovers dream, or is my Delia kind ? She comes, my Delia comes !-Now cease my lay, And cease, ye gales, to bear my sighs away!

Next Ægon sung, while Windsor groves admir'd; Rehearse, ye Muses, what yourselves inspir'd.

Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful strain! Of. perjur'd Doris, dying I complain : Here, where the mountains, less'ning as they rise, Lose the low vales, and steal into the skies : 60 While lab'ring oxen, spent with toil and heat, In their loose traces from the field retreat : While curling smoaks from village-tops are seen, And the feet shades glide o’er the dusky green.

Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful lay! 65 Beneath yon' poplar oft we past the day: Oft' on the rind I carv'd her am'rous vows, While she with garlands hung the bending boughs ; The garlands fade, the vows are worn away ; So dies her love, and so my hopes decay.

70 Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful strain ! Now bright Arcturus glads the teeming grain, VOL. I.



Now golden fruits on loaded branches shine,
And grateful clusters swell with floods of wine ;
Now blushing berries paint the yellow grove; 75
Just Gods! shall all things yield returns but love?

Resound, ye hills, resound 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 preserv'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 her's, alas, have pow'r to move !
And is there magic but what dwells in love! 84

Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful strains !
I'll Aly from shepherds, flocks, and flow'ry plains.
From shepherds, flocks, and plains, I may removes
Forsake mankind, and all the world -- but love!
I know thee, Love! on foreign mountains bred,
Wolves gave thee suck, and savage tigers fed. go
Thou wert from Ætna's burning entrails torn,
Got by fierce whirlwinds, and in thunder born!

Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful lay! !
Farewel, ye woods, adieu the light of day!
One leap from yonder cliff shall end my pains,

95 No more, ye hills, no more resound


strains ! Thus sung 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 sun had lengthen'd ev'ry shade. .









THYRSIS, the music of that murm’ring spring

Is not so mournful as the strains you sing ;
Nor rivers winding through the vales below,
So sweetly warble, or so smoothly flow.
Now sleeping flocks on their soft fleeces lie,
The moon, serene in glory, mounts the sky,
While silent birds forget their tuneful lays,
Oh sing of Daphne's fate, and Daphne's praise !



WINTER.) This was the poet's favourite pastoral.

Mrs. Tempest.] 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, desired his friend to do the same, as appears from one of his letters, dated Sept. 9, 1706. Your last Eclogue being on the same subject with mine, on Mrs. Tempest's deatli, I should take it very kindly in you to give it a little turn, as if it were to the memory of the same lady.” Her death having happened on the night of the great storm in 1703, gave a propriety to this Eclogue, which in its general turn alludes to it. The scene of the pastoral lies in a grove; the time at midnight.

Ver. I. Thirsis, the music, &c.] adú ri, &c. Theocr. Id. i.


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Behold the groves that shine with silver frost,
Their beauty wither'd, and their verdure lost.
Here shall I try the sweet Alexis' strain,
That call'd the list'ning Dryads to the plain?
Thames heard the numbers as he flow'd along,
And bade his willows learn the moving song.


So may kind rains their vital moisture yield, 15 And swell the future harvest of the field. Begin ; this charge the dying Daphne gave, And said, “ Ye shepherds sing around my grave !" Sing, while beside the shaded tomb I mourn, And with fresh bays her rural shrine adorn.



Ye gentle Muses, leave your crystal spring, Let nymphs and sylvans cypress garlands bring, Ye weeping loves, the stream with myrtles hide, And break

your bows, as when Adonis dy'd ; And with your golden darts, now useless grown, 25 Inscribe a verse on this relenting stone : Let nature change, let heav'n and earth deplore, “ Fair Daphne's dead, and love is now no more !”

'Tis done, and nature's various charms decay, See gloomy clouds obscure the cheerful day! 30 Now hung with pearls the dropping trees appear, Their faded honours scatter'd on her bier. See, where on earth the flow'ry glories lie, With her they flourish’d, and with her they die.


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