These and more, in courtly lays,
Many an aking heart shall praise.
Happy thrice, and thrice agen,
Happiest he of happy men,
Who, in courtship greatly sped,
Wins the damfel to his bed,
Bears the virgin-prize away,
Counting life one nuptial day!
For, the dark-brown dusk of hair,
Shadowing thick thy forehead fair,
Down the veiny temples growing,
O'er the floping shoulders flowing;
And the smoothly-pencil'd brow,
Mild to him in every vow;
And the fringed lid below,
Thin as thinnest bloffoms blow;
And the hazely-lucid eye,
Whence heart-winning glances fly;
And that cheek of health, o'erfpred
With foft-blended white and red;
And the witching fmiles, that break
Round thofe lips, which fweetly speak;
And thy gentleness of mind,
Gentle, from a gentle kind';

These endowments (heavenly dow'r!)
Brought him, in the promis'd hour,
Shall for ever bind him to thee,-
Shall renew him still to woo thee..

PASTORALS.

PASTORAL S.

Noftra nec erubuit filvas habitare Thalia.

Im

PREFACE.

VIRG. Ecl. 6.

Tis firange to think, in an age fo addicted to the mufes, how paftoral poetry comes to be never fo much as thought upon; confidering efpecially, that it has always been accounted the most confiderable of the smaller Poems: Virgil and Spencer made use of it as a prelude to heroick poetry. But I fear the innocency of the fubject makes it fo little inviting at prefent.

There is no fort of poetry, if well wrought, but gives delight. And the paftoral perhaps may boast of this in a peculiar manner. For as in painting, fo I believe, in poetry, the country affords the most entertaining fcenes, and most delightful profpects.

Gaffendus, I remember, tell us, that Peireskius was a great lover of mufick, efpecially that of birds; because their artless firains jeem to have lefs of paffion and violence, but more of a natural eafinefs, and therefore do the rather befriend contemplation. It is after the Jame manner that paftoral gives a fweet and gentle compofure to the mind; whereas the epick and tragick poem put the spirits in too great a ferment by the vehemence of their motions.

To fee a fiately, well built palace, ftrikes us indeed with admiration, and fwells the foul, as it were, with notions of grandeur. But when I view a little country dwelling, advantageously fituated amidst a beautiful variety of fields, woods, and rivers, I feel an unspeakable kind of fatisfaction, and cannot forbear wishing, that my good fortune would place me in fo feet a retirement.

Theo

Theocritus, Virgil, and Spencer, are the only writers, that feem to have hit upon the true nature of paftoral poems. So that it will be bonour fufficient for me, if I have not altogether failed in my attempt.

I

The First PASTORA L.

LOBBI N.

F we, O Dorfet, quit the city throng

To meditate in fhades the rural fong

By your commands; be prefent: and, O, bring
The mufe along! the muse to you shall fing.
Begin. A fhepherd boy, one ev'ning fair,
As western winds had cool'd the fultry air,
When as his sheep within their fold were pent,
Thus plain'd him of his dreary discontent ;
So pitiful, that all the ftarry throng
Attentive feem'd to hear his mournful fong.

Ah well a day! how long muft I endure
This pining pain? or who shall work my cure?
Fond love no cure will have; feeks no repose;
Delights in grief; nor any measure knows.
And now the moon begins in clouds to rise;
The twinkling ftars are lighted in the skies;
The winds are hush'd; the dews diftil; and fleep
With foft embrace has feiz'd my weary sheep.
I only, with the prouling wolf, conftrain'd
All night to wake. With hunger is he pain❜d,
And I with love. His hunger he may tame :
But who in love can stop the growing flame ?
Whilome did I, all as this poplar fair,
Up-raife my heedlefs head, devoid of care,
'Mong ruftick routs the chief for wanton game;
Nor could they merry make till Lobbin came.

Who

Who better feen than I in fhepherds arts,
To please the lads, and win the laffes hearts ?
How defty to mine oaten reed fo fweet,

Wont they upon the green to fhift their feet?
And when the dance was done, how would they yearn
Some well-devifed tale from me to learn ?
For many fongs and tales of mirth had I,
To chafe the lingring fun adown the sky.
But, ah! fince Lucy coy has wrought her spite
Within my heart, unmindful of delight,
The jolly grooms I fly; and all alone
To rocks and woods.

pour forth my

fruitless moan.

Oh quit thy wonted fcorn, relentless fair! Ere lingring long, I perifh thro' despair.

Had Rofalind been miftrefs of my mind,

Tho' not fo fair, fhe would have been more kind.
O think, unwitting maid, while yet is time,
How flying years impair our youthful prime !
Thy virgin bloom will not for ever stay;
And flow'rs, tho' left ungather'd, will decay.
The flow'rs anew returning feafons bring;
But beauty faded has no fecond spring.

My words are wind! she, deaf to all my cries,
Takes pleasure in the mischief of her eyes.
Like frisking heifers, loofe in flow'ry meads,
She gads where-e'er her roving fancy leads;
Yet ftill from me. Ah me, the tiresome chace
While, wing'd with fcorn, fhe flies my fond embrace,
She flies indeed: but ever leaves behind,

Fly where the will, her likenefs in my mind.

Ah turn thee then! unthinking damfel! why,

Thus from the youth, who loves thee, fhould't thou fly ?

No cruel purpofe in my fpeed I bear:

'Tis all but love; and love why should'st thou fear ? What idle fears a maiden breaft alarm.

Stay, fimple girl! a lover cannot harm.

Two

Two kidlings, fportive as thyself, I rear ;
Like tender buds their fhooting horns appear.
A lambkin too, pure white, I breed, as tame
As my fond heart could wish my. fcornful dame.
A garland, deck'd with all the pride of May,
Sweet as thy breath, and as thy beauty gay,
I'll weave.

But why these unavailing pains?
The gifts alike and giver fhe difdains.

O would my gifts but win her wanton heart!
Oh could I half the warmth I feel impart !
How would I wander ev'ry day to find
The ruddy wildings! were but Lucy kind,
For groffy plumbs I'd climb the knotty tree,
And of fresh honey rob the thrifty bee:
Or, if thou deign to live a fhepherdefs,
Thou Lobbin's flock, and Lobbin shall poffefs.
Fair is my flock; nor yet uncomely I,
If liquid fountains flatter not: and why
Should liquid fountains flatter us; yet show
The bord'ring flow'rs lefs beauteous than they grow.
O come, my love! nor think th' employment mean,
The dams to milk, and little lambkins wean ;
To drive a-field by morn the fatt'ning ewes,

Ere the warm fun drinks up the cooly dews.

How would the crook befeem the beauteous hand!
How would my younglins round thee gazing stand!
Ah witlefs younglins! gaze not on her eye,
Such heedlefs glances are the cause I die.
Nor trow I when this bitter blast will end ;

Or if kind love will ever me befriend.

Sleep, fleep, my flock; for happy you may take
Your reft, tho' nightly thus your master wake.

Now, to the waining moon, the nightingale
In doleful ditties told her piteous tale.
The love-fick fhepherd lift'ning found relief:
Pleas'd with fo.fweet a partner in his grief;

Til