Y ;

E shepherds fo chearful and gay,

Whose flocks never carelessly roam;
Should Corydon's happen to stray,

Oh! call the poor wanderers home.
Allow me to muse and to sigh,

Nor talk of the change that ye find;
None once was so watchful as I:

--I have left my dear Phyllis behind.

Now I know what it is, to have strove

With the torture of doubt and desire;
What it is, to admire and to love,

And to leave her we love and admire.
Ah lead forth my flock in the morn,

And the damps of each ev'ning repel;
Alas! I am faint and forlorn :

-I have bade my dear Phyllis farewel.

Since

*412 je Pafterat tongur

wirado

Justhose Evo much of Heir cavy unafteha niinlicit by the elaborats retorn df98?Phenylon's na? his frisodri at the snd off thri Bolumsit man he see how there beri

vine;

Since PHYLLIS vouchsaf'd me a look,
I never once dreamt of

my
May I lose both my pipe and my crook,

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 !
Yet I thought-but it might not be som

'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

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.

II. HOPE.

Y banks they are furnish'd with bees,

Whose murmur invites one to sleep;
My grottos are shaded with trees,
And
my

hills are white-over with sheep.
I seldom have met with a loss,
Such health do

my

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

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?
How the nightingales warble their loves

From thickets of roses that blow!
And when her bright form shall appear,

Each bird shall harmoniously join
In a concert so soft and so clear,

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

I have heard her with sweetness unfold

How that pity was due toma dove:
That it ever attended the bold,

And she call'd it the sister of love.
But her words such a pleasure convey,

So much I her accents adore,
Let her speak, and whatever she say,

Methinks I should love her the more.

Can a bofom so gentle remain

Unmov'd, when her CORYDON sighs !
Will a nymph that is fond of the plain,

These plains and this valley despise ?
Dear regions of silence and shade!

Soft scenes of contentment and ease!
Where I could have pleasingly stray’d,

If aught, in her absence, could please.

But where does my Phyllida stray ?

And where are her grots and her bow'rs?
Are the groves and the valleys as gay, ,

And the shepherds as gentle as ours ?
The

groves may perhaps be as fair,
And the face of the valleys as fine ;
The swains may in manners compare,

But their love is not equal to mir.e.