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Thro' rocks and caves the name of Delia sounds;
Delia, each cave and echoing rock rebounds.
Ye pow'rs, what pleasing frenzy fooths my mind!
Do lovers dream, or is my Delia kind ?
She comes, my Delia comes!—Now cease


lay, And cease, ye gales, to bear my fighs away!

Next Agon sung, while Windfor groves admir'd; Rehearse, ye Muses, what youríelves inspir’d.

Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful strain! Of perjur'd Doris, dying I complain: Here where the mountains, lefs'ning as they rise, Lose the low yales, and iteal into the kies; 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 fleet shades glide o'er the dusky green.

Refound, ye hills, resound my mournful lay! 6; Beneath yon' popląr 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, Now golden fruits on loaded branches shine, And grateful cluiters swell with floods of wine ;


VER. 52. An qui amant, ipîi fibi fomnia fingunt ? Id. vii,

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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 focks 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?

eyes but hers, 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 fly from shepherds, flocks, and flow'ry plains.
From shepherds, flocks, and plains, I may remove,
Forsake 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, resound my mournful lay!
Farewell, ye woods, adieu the light of day!
One leap from yonder cliff shall end my pains, 95
No more, ye hills, no more resound my strains!

Thus sung the lhepherds till th’approach of night,
The skies yet blushing with departing light,
When failing dews with spangles deck'd the glade,
And the low fun had lengthend ev'ry snade.

Ver. 82. Or quhat ill eyes?

Ncfcio quis teneros oculus mihi fascinat agnos.
VER. 89. Nunc scio quid fit Amor: duris in cotibus illum, etc.

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Hyrsis, the music of that murm'ring spring

Is not so mournful as the strains
Nor rivers winding thro' the vales below,
So sweetly warble, or so smoothly flow.

you sing.


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

IMITATIONS, Ver. 1. Thyrfis, the music, etc.] Ad Ti, etc. Theocr, Idyl, i.

Now sleeping flocks on their soft fleeces lie,

S The moon, serene in glory, mounts the sky, While silent birds forget their tuneful lays, Oh fing of Daphne's fate, and Daphne's praise !

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

So may kind rains their vital moisture yield,

And fw the future harvest of the field.
Begin ; this charge the dying Daphne gave,
And said, “ Ye fhepherds, fing around my grave!"


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 death, 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. 13. Thames beard, etc.)

Audiit Eurotas, jusitque cdiscere lauros. Virg.
Vol. I,


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