The boatswain gives the dreadful word,
The sails their swelling bosoms spread;
No longer must she stay on board,

They kiss'd; she sigh'd; he hung his head: Her less'ning boat unwilling rows to land; Adieu, she cries, and waved her lily hand.

[Gay.]

DAPHNIS stood pensive in the shade.
With arms across, and head reclin'd:
Pale looks accus'd the cruel maid,

And sighs reliev'd his love-sick mind:
His tuneful pipe all broken lay,
Looks, sighs, and actions seem'd to say,
My Chloe is unkind.

Why ring the woods with warbling throats?
Ye larks, ye linnets, cease your strains;
I faintly hear in your sweet notes,

My Chloe's voice that wakes my pains:
Yet why should you your song forbear?
Your mates delight your song to hear,
But Chloe mine disdains.

As thus he melancholy stood,

Dejected as the lonely dove,

Sweet sounds broke gently through the wood.
I feel the sound; my heart-strings move :
"Twas not the nightingale that sung;
No, 'tis my Chloe's sweeter tongue,
Hark, hark, what says my love!

How foolish is the nymph, she cries,
Who trifles with her lover's pain !
Nature still speaks in woman's eyes,

Our artful lips were made to feign.
O Daphnis, Daphnis, 'twas my pride,
"Twas not my heart thy love denied,
Come back, dear youth, again.

As t'other day my hand he seiz'd,

My blood with thrilling motion flew Sudden I put on looks displeas'd,

And hasty from his hold withdrew.

'Twas fear alone, thou simple swain,

Then hadst thou prest my hand again,
My heart had yielded too!

'Tis true, thy tuneful reed I blam'd,

That swell'd thy lip and rosy cheek; Think not thy skill in song defam'd,

;

That lip should other pleasures seek:
Much, much thy music I approve;
Yet break thy pipe, for more I love,

Much more to hear thee speak.

My heart forebodes that I'm betray'd,
Daphnis, I fear, is ever gone ;
Last night with Delia's dog he play'd,
Love by such trifles first comes on.
Now, now, dear shepherd, come away,
My tongue would now my heart obey,
Ah Chloe, thou art won!

The youth stepp'd forth with hasty pace,
And found where wishing Chloe lay;
Shame sudden lighten'd in her face,
Confus'd she knew not what to say.
At last in broken words she cried,
To-morrow you in vain had tried,
But I am lost to-day!

DESPAIRING SHEPHERD.

[By Rowe.]

DESPAIRING beside a clear stream,

A shepherd forsaken was laid, And whilst a false nymph was his theme, A willow supported his head;

The wind that blew over the plain

To his sighs with a sigh did reply,

And the brook in return to his pain

Ran mournfully murmuring by.

Alas! silly swain that I was!

Thus sadly complaining he cried; When first I beheld that fair face,

"Twere better by far I had died.

She talk'd, and I blest the dear tongue,
When she smil'd 'twas a pleasure too great!
I listen'd, and cried, when she sung,
Was nightingale ever so sweet?

How foolish was I to believe

She would doat on so lowly a clown, Or that her fond heart would not grieve To forsake the fine folks of the town; To think that a beauty so gay,

So kind and so constant would prove, To go clad like our maidens in gray, And live in a cottage on love.

What tho' I have skill to complain,

Tho' the Muses my temples have crown'd? What tho' when they hear my soft strain,

The virgins sit weeping around?

Ah Colin thy hopes are in vain,

Thy pipe and thy laurel resign,

Thy fair one inclines to a swain

Whose music is sweeter than thine.

And you, my companions so dear,
Who sorrow to see me betray'd,
Whatever I suffer, forbear,

Forbear to accuse the false maid; Tho' thro' the wide world we should range, "Tis in vain from our fortune to fly; "Twas hers to be false, and to change, 'Tis mine to be constant, and die.

If while my hard fate I sustain,
In her breast any pity is found,

Let her come with the nymphs of the plain,
And see me laid low in the ground:
The last humble boon that I crave

Is to shade me with cypress and yew, And when she looks down on my grave Let her own that her shepherd was true.

Then to her new love let her go,
And deck her in golden array,

Be finest at every fine show,

And frolic it all the long day:
While Colin forgotten and gone,
No more shall be heard of her seen,
Unless when beneath the pale moon
His ghost shall glide over the green.