Optima quæque dies miferis mortalibus ævi
Prima fugit
Tear bedews my DELIA's eye,
To think yon playful kid must die; From crystal spring, and flowery mead, Muft, in his prime of life, recede!
Erewhile, in sportive circles round
She faw him wheel, and frisk, and bound;
From rock to rock purfue his way,
And, on the fearful margin, play.
Pleas'd on his various freaks to dwell,
She faw him climb my ruftic cell;
Thence eye my lawns with verdure bright,
And feem all ravifh'd at the fight.
She tells, with what delight he stood,
To trace his features in the flood:
Then skip'd aloof with quaint amaze;
And then drew near again to gaze.
She tells me how with eager fpeed
He flew, to hear my vocal reed;
And how, with critic face profound,
And stedfast ear, devour'd the found.
His every frolic, light as air,
Deferves the gentle DELIA's care;
And tears bedew her tender eye,
To think the playful kid muft die.
But knows my DELIA, timely wife,
How foon this blameless æra flies?
While violence and craft fucceed;
Unfair defign, and ruthless deed!
Soon would the vine his wounds deplore,
And yield her purple gifts no more;
Ah foon, eras'd from every grove
Were DELIA's name, and STREPHON'S love.
No more those bow'rs might STREPHON fee,
Where first he fondly gaz'd on thee;
No more those beds of flow'rets find,
Which for thy charming brows he twin'd.
Each wayward paffion foon would tear
His bofom, now fo void of care;
And, when they left his ebbing vein,
What, but infipid age, remain?
Then mourn not the decrees of fate,
That gave his life fo fhort a date;
And I will join thy tendereft fighs,
To think that youth so swiftly flies!
SONGS, written chiefly between the Year 1737 and 1742.
Told my nymph, I told her true,
My fields were small, my flocks were few;
While faultering accents spoke my fear,
That FLAVIA might not prove fincere.
Of crops deftroy'd by vernal cold,
And vagrant fheep that left my fold:
Of these fhe heard, yet bore to hear;
And is not FLAVIA then fincere?
How chang'd by fortune's fickle wind,
The friends I lov'd became unkind,
She heard, and shed a generous tear;
And is not FLAVIA then fincere?
How, if she deign'd my love to blefs,
My FLAVIA must not hope for drefs;
This too fhe heard, and fmil'd to hear;
And FLAVIA fure must be fincere.
Go fhear your flocks, ye jovial fwains,
Go reap the plenty of your plains;
Defpoil'd of all which you revere,
I know my FLAVIA's love fincere.
H Erewhile I pafs'd the day!
W pleas'd within my native bowers
Was ever scene fo deck'd with flowers?
Were ever flowers fo gay?
How sweetly fmil'd the hill, the vale,
And all the landskip round!
The river gliding down the dale!
The hill with beeches crown'd!
But now, when urg'd by tender woes
I speed to meet my dear,
That hill and stream my zeal oppose,
And check my fond career.
No more, fince DAPHNE was my theme,
Their wonted charms I fee:
That verdant hill, and silver stream,
Divide my love and me,
E gentle nymphs and generous dames,
That rule o'er every British mind; Be fure ye foothe their amorous flames, your laws are not unkind.
For hard it is to wear their bloom
In unremitting fighs away:
To mourn the night's oppreffive gloom,
And faintly blefs the rifing day.
And cruel 'twere a free-born fwain,
A British youth fhould vainly moan;
Who fcornful of a tyrant's chain,
Submits to yours, and yours alone.
Nor pointed spear, nor links of fteel,
Could e'er thofe gallant minds fubdue,
Who beauty's wounds with pleasure feel,
And boast the fetters wrought by you.
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