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E shepherds fo chearful and gay,
Whose flocks never carelessly roam;
Oh! call the poor wanderers home.
Nor talk of the change that ye find;
--I have left my dear Phyllis behind.
Now I know what it is, to have strove
With the torture of doubt and desire;
And to leave her we love and admire.
And the damps of each ev'ning repel;
-I have bade my dear Phyllis farewel.
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Since PHYLLIS vouchsaf'd me a look,
If I knew of, a kid that was mine. I priz'd every hour that went by,
Beyond all that had pleas’d me before ; But now they are past, and I figh;
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 Alas! where with her I have stray’d,
I could wander with pleasure, alone.
When forc'd the fair nymph to forego,
What anguish I felt at my heart !
'Twas with pain that she saw me depart. She gaz’d, as I Nowly withdrew;
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
To visit fome far-diftant fhrine, If he bear but a relique away,
Is happy, nor heard to repine. Thus widely remov'd from the fair,
Where my vows, my devotion, I owe, Soft hope is the relique I bear,
And my solace wherever I go.
Y banks they are furnish'd with bees,
Whose murmur invites one to sleep;
hills are white-over with sheep.
fountains bestow ri My fountains all border'd with moss,
Where the hare-bells and violets grow.
Not a pine in my grove is there seen,
But with tendrils of woodbine is bound : Not a beech's more beautiful
green, But a sweet-briar entwines it around. Not my fields, in the prime of the year,
More charms than my cattle unfold: Not a brook that is limpid and clear, But it glitters with fishes of gold.
One would think she might like to retire
To the bow'r I have labour'd to rear; Not a shrub that I heard her admire,
But I hasted and planted it there. Oh how fudden the jessamine strove
With the lilac to render it gay! Already it calls for my love,
To prune the wild branches away.
From the plains, from the woodlands and groves,
What strains of wild melody flow?
From thickets of roses that blow!
Each bird shall harmoniously join
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. For he ne'er could be true, she aver’d,
Who could rob a poor bird of its young: And I lov'd her the more, when I heard
Such tenderness fall from her tongue.
I have heard her with sweetness unfold
How that pity was due toma dove:
And she call'd it the sister of love.
So much I her accents adore,
Methinks I should love her the more.
Can a bofom so gentle remain
Unmov'd, when her CORYDON sighs !
These plains and this valley despise ?
Soft scenes of contentment and ease!
If aught, in her absence, could please.
But where does my Phyllida stray ?
And where are her grots and her bow'rs?
And the shepherds as gentle as ours ?
groves may perhaps be as fair,
But their love is not equal to mir.e.