But call'd the nymphs to hear his jocund fong,
And told his joy to all the rustic throng.

Bleft be the hour, he faid, that happy hour,
When first I own'd my Delia's gentle pow'r;
Then gloomy discontent and pining care
Forfook my breast, and left soft wishes there:
Soft wishes there they left, and gay defires,
Delightful languors, and tranfporting fires.
Where yonder limes combine to form a shade,
These eyes first gaz'd upon the charming maid;
There the appear'd, on that aufpicious day,

When swains their sportive rites to Bacchus pay:
She led the dance-heav'ns! with what grace fhe mov'd!
Who could have seen her then, and not have lov'd?

I ftrove not to refift so sweet a flame,

But glory'd in a happy captive's name;

Nor would I now, could love permit, be free,
But leave to brutes their favage liberty.

And art thou then, fond fwain, secure of joy?
Can no reverse thy flatt'ring blifs deftroy?
Has treach❜rous Love no torment yet in store?
Or haft thou never prov'd his fatal pow'r?

Whence flow'd those tears that late bedew'd thy cheek?
Why figh'd thy heart as if it ftrove to break?

4

Why

Why were the defart rocks invok'd to hear
The plaintive accents of thy fad despair ?
From Delia's rigour all those pains arose,
Delia, who now compaffionates my woes,
Who bids me hope; and in that charming word
Has peace and tranfport to my foul restor❜d.
Begin, my pipe, begin the gladsome lay;
A kifs from Delia fhall thy mufic pay;
A kifs obtain❜d 'twixt struggling and confent,
Giv❜n with forc'd anger, and disguis'd content:
No laureat wreaths I afk to bind my brows,
Such as the Mufe on lofty bards bestows;
Let other swains to praise or fame aspire
I from her lips my recompence require.

Hark how the bees with murmurs fill the plain,
While every flow'r of every sweet they drain;
See, how beneath yon hillock's fhady steep,
The shelter'd herds on flow'ry couches fleep:
Nor bees, nor herds, are half fo bleft as I,
If with my fond defires my Love comply:
From Delia's lips a fweeter honey flows,
And on her bofom dwells more soft repose.

Ah how, my dear, shall I deserve thy charms?
What gift can bribe thee to my longing arms?

A bird

A bird for thee in filken bands I hold,
Whofe yellow plumage fhines like polish'd gold
From diftant ifles the lovely stranger came,
And bears the Fortunate Canaries name;
In all our woods none boasts so sweet a note,
Not ev❜n the nightingale's melodious throat.
Accept of this; and could I add befide
What wealth the rich Peruvian mountains hide;
If all the gems in Eastern rocks were mine,
On thee alone their glitt ring pride should shine
But if thy mind no gifts have pow'r to move,
Phoebus himself shall leave th' Aonian grove;
The tuneful Nine, who never fue in vain,

Shall come sweet fuppliants for their favʼrite swain.
For him each blue-ey'd Naiad of the flood,
For him each green-hair'd fifter of the wood,
Whom oft beneath fair Cynthia's gentle ray
His mufic calls to dance the night away.

And you, fair nymphs, companions of my Love,
With whom fhe joys the cowflip meads to rove,
I beg you recommend my faithful flame,
And let her often hear her fhepherd's name;
Shade all my faults from her enquiring fight,
And fhew my merits in the faireft light;

My

My pipe your kind assistance shall repay,
And every friend fhall claim a diff'rent lay.

But fee! in yonder glade the heav'nly fair
Enjoys the fragrance of the breezy air
Ah, thither let me fly with eager feet;
Adieu, my pipe, I go my Love to meet -
O may I find her as we parted last,

And may each future hour be like the past!
So fhall the whiteft lamb these pastures feed,
Propitious Venus, on thy altars bleed.

JEALOUSY.

XXXXXX

ECLOGUE III.

To Mr. EDWARD WALPOLE.

THE gods, O WALPOLE, give no bliss fincere:

Wealth is disturb'd by care, and pow'r by fear,

Of all the paffions that employ the mind,
In gentle Love the fweeteft joys we find;
Yet e'en those joys dire Jealoufy molests,
And blackens each fair image in our breasts.

O may

O may the warmth of thy too tender heart
Ne'er feel the fharpness of his venom'd dart;
For thy own quiet think thy mistress juft,
And wifely take thy happiness on trust.

Begin, my Muse, and Damon's woes rehearse,
In wildest numbers and diforder'd verse.
On a romantic mountain's airy head
(While browzing goats at ease around him fed).
Anxious he lay, with jealous cares opprefs'd;
Distrust and anger lab'ring in his breast —
The vale beneath a pleasing profpect yields,
Of verdant meads and cultivated fields;
Through these a river rolls its winding flood,
Adorn'd with various tufts of rifing wood;
Here half conceal'd in trees a cottage ftands,
A castle there the op'ning plain commands,
Beyond, a town with glitt'ring fpires is crown'd,
And diftant hills the wide horizon bound:
So charming was the scene, awhile the swain
Beheld delighted, and forgot his pain;

But foon the stings infix'd within his heart,

With cruel force renew'd their raging smart:

His flow'ry wreath, which long with pride he wore, The gift of Delia, from his brows he tore :

Then