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To the Memory of Mrs. TEMPEST.



HYRSIS, the mufic of that murm'ring spring
Is not fo mournful as the ftrains you fing,

Nor rivers winding thro' the vales below,
So fweetly warble, or fo fmoothly flow.


WINTER.] This was the Poet's favourite Paftoral,

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


VER. 1. Thyrfis, the music, etc.]

Adú TI, etc. Theocr. Id. i.

Now fleeping flocks on their soft fleeces lie,
The moon, ferene in glory, mounts the sky,
While filent birds forget their tuneful lays,
Oh fing of Daphne's fate, and Daphne's praise!



Behold the groves that shine with filver froft, Their beauty wither'd, and their verdure loft. 10 Here fhall I try the sweet Alexis' stṛain, 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.


his friend to do the fame, as appears from one of his Letters, dated Sept. 9, 1706. "Your laft Eclogue being on the fame fubject with mine on Mrs. Tempeft's death, I fhould take it "very kindly in you to give it a little turn, as if it were to the "memory of the fame lady," Her death having happened on the night of the great ftorm in 1703, gave a propriety to this eclogue, which in its general turn alludes to it. The scene of the Paftoral lies in a grove, the time at midnight. P.

VER. 9. fine with filver froft,] The image is a fine one, but improperly placed. The idea he would raife is the deformity of Winter, as appears by the following line: but this imagery contradicts it. It should have been---glare with hoary froft, or fome fuch expreffion: the fame inaccuracy in ✯ 31, where he ufes pearls, when he fhould have faid tears.


VER. 1. Thames heard etc.]

Audiit Eurotas, juffitque edifcere lauros, Virg. P.

So may


kind rains their vital moisture yield, 15

And fwell the future harvest of the field.

Begin; this charge the dying Daphne gave,
And faid, "Ye fhepherds, fing around my grave!"
Sing, while befide the shaded tomb I mourn,
And with fresh bays her rural shrine adorn.



Ye gentle Muses, leave your cryftal spring, Let Nymphs and Sylvans cyprefs 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, Inscribe a verse on this relenting ftone:


"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 obfcure the chearful day!


VER. 29. Originally thus in the MS.

'Tis done, and nature's chang'd fince you are gone,
Behold the clouds have put their Mourning on.

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Now hung with pearls the dropping trees appear,

Their faded honours fcatter'd on her bier.

See, where on earth the flow'ry glories lie,
With her they flourish'd, and with her they die.
Ah what avail the beauties nature wore?

Fair Daphne's dead, and beauty is no more!
For her the flocks refufe their verdant food,
The thirsty heifers fhun the gliding flood,
The filver fwans her hapless fate bemoan,


In notes more fad than when they fing their own; In hollow caves fweet Echo filent lies,

Silent, or only to her name replies;


Her name with pleasure once she taught the shore, Now Daphne's dead, and pleasure is no more!

No grateful dews defcend from ev'ning fkies, Nor morning odours from the flow'rs arife; 46 No rich perfumes refresh the fruitful field, Nor fragrant herbs their native incense yield, The balmy Zephyrs, filent fince her death, Lament the ceafing of a sweeter breath ; Th' industrious bees neglect their golden ftore! Fair Daphne's dead, and sweetness is no more! No more the mounting larks, while Daphne fings, Shall lift'ning in mid air fufpend their wings;


No more the birds fhall imitate her lays,


Or hufh'd with wonder, hearken from the sprays:
No more the streams their murmurs fhall forbear,
A fweeter mufic than their own to hear,
But tell the reeds, and tell the vocal fhore,
Fair Daphne's dead, and mufic is no more!


Her fate is whisper'd by the gentle breeze, And told in fighs to all the trembling trees; The trembling trees, in ev'ry plain and wood, Her fate remurmur to the filver flood; The filver flood, fo lately calm, appears Swell'd with new paffion, and o'erflows with tears; The winds and trees and floods her death deplore, Daphne, our grief! our glory now no more!



But fee! where Daphne wond'ring mounts on high Above the clouds, above the ftarry sky! Eternal beauties grace the shining scene, Fields ever fresh, and groves for ever green! There while you reft in Amaranthine bow'rs, Or from those meads felect unfading flow'rs,

VER. 69, 70,


miratur limen Ölympi,

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