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Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs away!
Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs along !
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,
Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful lay!
Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful strains !
Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful lay! !
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. .
THE FOURTH PASTORAL.
TO THE MEMORY OF MRS. TEMPEST.
THYRSIS, the music of that murm’ring spring
Is not so mournful as the strains you sing ;
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.
Behold the groves that shine with silver frost,
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.