SONGS AND BALLADS. A PASTORAL BALLAD, IN FOUR PARTS. 1733. Arbusta humilesque myrice. Groves and lowly shrubs. I. ABSENCE. YE shepherds! so cheerful and gay, ye Nor talk of the change that find; None once was so watchful as I; -I have left my dear Phyllis behind. Now I know what it is to have strove And to leave her we love and admire. And the damps of each evening repel ; Alas! I am faint and forlorn : -I have bade my dear Phyllis farewell. VIRG. Since Phyllis vouchsaf'd me a look, I priz'd every hour that went by Beyond all that had pleas'd me before; But now they are past, and I sigh, And I grieve that I priz'd them no more. But why do I languish in vain ? Why wander thus pensively here? Oh! why did I come from the plain, Where I fed on the smiles of my dear? They tell me my favourite maid, The pride of that valley, is flown; When forc'd the fair nymph to forego, My path I could hardly discern: So sweetly she bade me adieu, I thought that she bade me return. The pilgrim that journeys all day Is happy, nor heard to repine: Soft hope is the relic I bear, And my solace wherever I go. II. HOPE. Mr banks they are furnish'd with bees, And my hills are white over with sheep. Such health do my fountains bestow; My fountains, all border'd with moss, Where the harebells and violets grow. Not a pine in my grove is there seen But a sweetbriar entwines it around: One would think she might like to retire To prune the wild branches away. From the plains, from the woodlands and groves, What strains of wild melody flow! How the nightingales warble their loves And when her bright form shall appear, As she may not be fond to resign. I have found out a gift for my fair; I have found where the wood-pigeons breed ; But let me that plunder forbear, She will say 'twas a barbarous deed: I have heard her with sweetness unfold, And she call'd it the sister of Love. Can a bosom so gentle remain Unmov'd when her Corydon sighs? Soft scenes of contentment and ease! The groves may perhaps be as fair, III. SOLICITUDE. WHY will you my passion reprove? With her mien she enamours the brave, O you that have been of her train, For when Paridel tries in the dance mind! And his crook is bestudded around; And his pipe-oh! may Phyllis beware Of a magic there is in the sound! |