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The powers of language, harmony, and grace;
How Nature's felf with living luftre fhines,
How judgment ftrengthens, and how art refines;
How to grow bold with confcious sense of fame,
And force a pleasure which we dare not blame;
To charm us more through negligence than pains,
And give ev'n life and action to the ftrains:
Led by fome law, whofe powerful impulfe guides
Each happy ftroke, and in the foul prefides;
Some fairer image of perfection giv'n

T' inpire mankind, itfelf deriv'd from heaven.
O ever worthy, ever crown'd with praife,
Bleft in thy life, and bleft in all thy lays!
Add that the Sifters every thought refine,
Or ev❜n thy life be faultlefs as thy line;
Yet Envy ftill with fiercer rage pursues,
Obfcures the virtue, and defames the Mufe.
A foul like thine, in pains, in grief refign'd,
Views with vain fcorn the malice of mankind:
Not critics, but their planets, prove unjust;
And are they blam'd who fin because they muft?
Yet fure not fo muft all perufe thy lays:

I cannot rival-and yet dare to praise.
A thousand charms at once my thoughts engage;
Sappho's foft fweetnefs, Pindar's warmer rage,
Statius' free vigour, Virgil's studious care,
And Homer's force, and Ovid's cafer air.

So feems fome picture where exact defgn, And curious pains, and ftrength, and fweetnefs join;

Where the free thought its pleafing grace beftows, And each warm ftroke with living colour glows; Soft without weaknefs, without labour fair, Wrought up at once with happiness and care!

How bleft the man that from the world removes,

To joys that Mordaunt *, or his Pope, approves;
Whofe tafle exact each author can explore,
And live the present and paft ages o'er;
Who, free from pride, from penitence, or ftrife,
Moves calmly forward to the verge of life:
Such be my days, and fuch my fortunes be,
To live by reafon, and to write by thee!

* Earl of Peterborough, conqueror of Valencia, D

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Nor deem this verse, though humble, a difgrace:

:

All are not born the glory of their race
Yet all are born t' adore the great man's name,
And trace his footsteps in the paths to fame.
The Mufe, who now this early homage pays,
First learn'd from thee to animate her lays:
A Mufe as yet unhonour'd, but unstain’d,
Who prais'd no vices, no preferment gain'd;
Unbiafs'd or to cenfure or commend,
Who knows no envy, and who grieves no friend:
Perhaps too fond to make thofe virtues known,
And fix her fame immortal on thy own.

THE

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Hear how the birds, on every bloomy fpray, With joyous mufc wake the dawning day! Why it we mute, when early linnets fing, When warbling Philomel falutes the fpring?

TRIUMVIRATE OF POETS. Why ht we fad, when Phofphor fhines fo clear, And lavish Nature paints the purple year?

BY MRS. TOLLET*.

STREPHON.

Sing then, and Damon shall attend the strain,

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RITAIN with Greece and Rome contended While yon' flow oxen turn the furrow'd plain. 30

BRITAL

long

For lofty genius and poetic fong,

Till this Auguftan age with Three was bleft,
To fix the prize and finish the contest.
In Addifon, immortal Virgil reigns;
So pure his numbers, fo refin'd his, ftrains;
Of nature full with more impetuous heat
In Prior Horace fhines fublimely great,
Thy country, Homer! we difpute no more!
For Pope has fix'd it to his native shore.

SPRING.

THE

FIRST PASTORAL,

OR

DAMON.

TO SIR WILLIAM TRUMBULL.

Here the bright crocus and blue violet glow; Here western winds on breathing rofes blow. I'll stake yon lamb that near the fountain plays, And from the brink his dancing fhade furveys.

DAPHNIS.

And I this bowl, where wanton ivy twines, 35 And fwelling clusters bend the curling vines: Four figures rifing from the work appear, The various feasons of the rolling year? And what is that which binds the radiant fy, Where twelve fair figns in beauteous order lie? 40

DAMON.

Then fing by turns, by turns the Mufes fing; New hawthorns bloffem, now the dafes fpring, Now leaves the trees, and flowers adorn the ground;

Begin, the vales shall every note rebound.

STREPHON.

Infpire me, Thabus, in my Delia's praise, 45 With Waller's ftrains, or Granville's moving lays!

A milk-white bull shall at your altars ftand, That threats a fight, and fpurns the rifing fand.

DAPHNIS.

O Love! for Sylvia let me gain the prize,

FIRST in the flot try victorious limpar,

IRST in thefe fields I try the fylvan firains, And make my tongue victorious as her eyes; 50

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SUMMER.

THE

SECOND PASTORAL.

OR

ALEXIS.

TO DR. GARTH.

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A Shepherd's Boy (he fecks no better name)
Led forth his flocks along the filver Thame,
Where dancing fun-beams on the waters play'd,
And verdant Alders form'd a quivering fhade,
Soft as he mourn'd, the ftreams forgot to flow,' 5
The Hocks around a dumb compassion show,
The Naiads wept in every watery bower,
And Jove confented in a £lent shower.
Accept, O Garth the Mufe's early lays,
That adds this wreath of ivy to thy bays;
Hear what from Love unpractis'd hearts endure,
From Love, the fole difeafe thou canst not cure.

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Ye fhady beeches, and ye cooling streams, Defence from Phebus', not from Cupid beams, To you I mourn; nor to the deaf I fing, The woods fhall anfwer, and their echo ring. The hills and rocks attend my doleful lay, Why art thou prouder and more hard than they? The bleating feep with my complaints agree, They parch'd with heat, and Iinflam'd by thee. 20 The fultry Sirius burn the thirsty plains, While in thy heart eternal winter reigns.

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Where firay ye, Mufes, in what lawn or grove, While your Alexis pines in hopeless love? In thofe fair fields where facred Ilis glides, Or elfe where Cam his winding vales divides? As in the cryftal fpring I view my face, Fresh rifing blushes paint the watery glass ; But fince thofe graces pleafe thy eyes no more, I fhun the fountains which I fought before. Once I was skill'd in every herb that grew, And every plant that drinks the morning dew; Ah, wretched fhepherd, what avails thy art, To cure thy lambs, but not to heal thy heart! Let other fwains attend the rural care, Feed fairer flocks, or richer fleeces fheer : But nigh yon' mountain let me tune my lays, Embrace my Love, and bind my brows with bays. That flute is mine which Colin's tuneful breath Infpir'd when living, and bequeath'd in death: He faid; Alexis, t ke this pipe, the fame That taught the groves my Rofalinda's name : But row the reeds frall hang on yonder tree, For ever filent, Ence defpis'd by thee,

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O! were I made by fome transforming power 45 The captive bird that fings within thy bower! Then might my voice thy liftening ears employ, And I thofe kifles he receives enjoy.

And yet my numbers pleafe the rural throng, Rough Satyrs dance, and Pan applauds the fong: The Nymphs, forfaking every cave and fpring, Their early fruit and milk-white turtles bring! Q ૧ 2

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This harmless grove no lurking viper hides,
But in my breaft the ferpent Love abides.
Here bees from bloToms fip the rofy dew,
But your Alexis knows no iweets but you.
Oh deign to visit our forfaken feats,
The molly fountains, and the green retreats!
Where'er you walk, cool gales fall fan the glade;
Trees, where you fit, fhall croud into a frade:
Where'er you tread, the blushing flowers shall
rife,

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And all things Hourifh where you turn your eyes.
Oh! how I long with you to pafs my days,
Invoke the Mufes, and refound your praife!
Your praise the birds fhall chart in every grove,
And winds fall waft it to the powers above. 80
But would you fing, and rival Orpneus' ftrain,
The wondering forefts foon fhould dance again,
The moving mountains hear the powerful call,
And headlong ftreams hang liftening in their fall!
But fe, the hepherds fun the noon-day heat,
The lowing herds to murmuring brooks retreat,
To clofer fades the panting flocks remove;
Ye gods! and is there no relief for Love?
But foon the fun with milder rays defcends
To cool the ocean, where his journey ends:
On me Love's hercer fames for ever prey,
By night he fcorches, as he burns by day.

AUTUMN,

THE

THIRD PASTORAL,

OR

HYLAS AND EGON.

TO MR. WYCHERLY.

90

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Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs away! To Delia's car the tender notes convey. As fome fad Turtle his loft love deplores, And with deep murmurs fills the founding fhores;

Thus, far from Delia, to the winds I moura. Alike unheard, unpity'd, and forlorn.

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Go, gentle gales, and bear my 1 ghs along! For her, the father'd quires negle& their fong: For her the limes their pleafing ades deny; 25 For her the lilles hang their heads and die. Ye flowers that droop, forfaken by the fpring, Ye birds that, left by fummer, ceafe to ing, Ye trees that fade when a tumn heats remove, Say, is not abfence death to thofe who love? 30 Go, gentle gales, and bear my ghs away! Cu Curs'd be the elds that caufe my Delia's ftay; Fade very blo tom, wit er every tree, Die every Tower, and perifh all but fre. What have I faid? Where'er my Delia flies, 35 Let ring attend, and fudden "owers arife! Let oper ing roles knotted oaks adern, And liquid amber drop from every thorn. Go, gentle gales, and bear my fghs along! The birds fhall ceafe to tune their evening fong, The winds to breathe, the waving woods to

move,

Ard freams to murmur, ere I ceafe to love. Not bubbling fountains to the thirity fwain, Not balany fleep to labourers faint with pain, Not fhowers to larks, or fur-fhi, e to the bee, Are half fo charming as thy ght to me.

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Go, gentle gales, and bear my ghs away! Come, Delia, come; ah, why this long delay? Through rocas and caves the name of Delia founds; Delia, each cave and echoing rock rebounds, 5a Ye powers, what plea ng frenzy fooths my mind! Do lovers dream, or is my Delia kind? She comes, my Delia comes-Now ceafe my lay, And ceafe, ye gales, to bear my 1 ghs away!

Next #gon fung, while Windfor groves admir'd;

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Rehearfe, ye Mufes, what yourfelves infpir'd.
Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful strain;

BE
ENEATH the fhade a spreading beech dif- Of perjur’d Doris, dying I complain;

plays,

Hylas and Egon fung their rural lays:

This mourn'd a faithlefs, that an abfent love; And Delia's name and Doris' fill'd the grove.

Here, where the mountains, leflening as they rife, Lofe the low vales, and fteal into the kies; While labouring oxen, spent with toil and heat, In their loofe traces from the field retreat;

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While curling fmoaks from village tops are feen,
And the fleet fhades glide o'er the dulky green.
Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful lay!
Beneath yon' poplar oft we pafs'd the day:
Oft on the rind I carv'd her amerous vows,

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fmart,

While the with garlands hung the bending boughs:
The garlands fade, the boughs are worn away?
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Se dice her love, and fo my hopes decay.
Refound, ye hills, refourd my mournful ftrain!
Now bright Arcturus glads the teeming grain;
Now golden fruits on loaded branches fine,
And grateful clusters fwell with floods of wine;
Now blushing berries paint the yellow grove; 75
Juft Gods! fall all things yield returns but love!
Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful lay!
The thepherds ery, "Thy flocks are left a prey."
Ah! what avails it me, the flocks to keep,
Who loft my heart while I preferv'd fheep?
Pan caine, and atk'd, what magic caus'd my
Or what ill eyes malignant glances dart?
What eyes but hers, alas, have power to move!
And is there magic but what dwells in love? 84
Refound, ye hilis, refound my mournful ftrains!
I'll fly from thepherds, flocks, and flowery plains.
From fhepherds, flocks, and plains, I may remove,
Forfake mankind, and all the world-but love!
I know thee, Love! on foreign mountains bred,
Wolves gave thee fuck, and favage tigers fed.
Thou wert from #tna's burning entrails torn,
Got by fierce whirlwinds, and in thunder born!
Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful lay!
Farewell, ye woods, adieu the light of day!
One leap from yonder cliff shall end my pains;
No more, ye hills, no more refound my ftrains!
Thus fung the fhepherds till th' approach of night,
The kies yet blufhing with departing light,
When falling dews with fpangles deck'd the glade,
And the low fun had lengthen'd every fhade. 100

WINTER.

THE

FOURTH PASTORAL;

OR

DAPHNE.

To the Memory of Mrs. TEMPEST.

LYCIDAS.

THY
HYRSIS, the mufic of that murmuring fpring

Is not fo mournful as the strains you fing;
Nor rivers winding through the vales below,
So fweetly warble, or fo fmoothly flow.
Now fleeping flocks on their foft fleeces lie,
The moon, ferene in glory mounts the sky,
While filent birds forget their tuneful lay3⁄4,
Ofing of Daphne's fate, and Daphne's praise!

THYRSIS.

Thames heard the numbers, as he flow'd along,
And bade his willows learn the moving fong.

LYCIDAS.

So may kind rains their vital moisture yield, 15
And fwell the future harveft of the field.

Begin; this charge the dying Daphne gave,
And faid, "Ye fhepherds, fing around my grave!"
Sing, while befide the fhaded tomb I mourn,
And with fresh bays her rural farine adorn.

THYRSIS.

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Ye gentle Mufs, leave your cryftal spring, Let Nymphs and Sylvans cyprefs garlands brings Ye weeping Loves, the ftream with myrtles hide, And break your bows as when Adonis dy'd; And with your golden darts, now useless grown, 26 Infcribe a verfe on this relenting stone : "Let nature change, let heaven and earth de"plore,

"Fair Daphne's dead, and Love is now no more!"

'Tis done, and nature's various charms decay:
See gloomy clouds obfcure the chearful day! 50
Now hung with pearls the dropping trees appear,
Their faded honours fcatter'd on her tier.
See where, on earth, the flowery glories lie;
With her they flourish'd, and with her they die.
Ah, what avail the beauties nature wore?
Fair Daphine's dead, and Beauty is no more!

For her the flocks refuse their verdant food,
The thirfty heifers fhun the gliding flood;
The filver fwans her hapless fate bemoan,
In notes more fad than when they fing their own;
In hollow caves fweet Echo filent lies,
Silent, or only to her name replies;
Her name with pleasure once the taught the
fhore,

Now Daphne's dead, and pleafare is no more!

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Shall, liftening in mid air, fufpend their wings;
No more the birds fhall imitate her lays,
Or, hush'd with wonder, hearken from the sprays:
No more the ftreams their murmurs fhall forbear,
A fweeter mufic than their own to hear;
But tell the reeds, and tell the vocal shore,
Fair Daphne's dead, and Mufic is no more! 6o

Her fate is whifper'd by the gentle breeze,
And told in fighs to all the trembling trees;
The trembling trees, in every plain and wood,
5 Her fate remurmur to the filver flood:
The ilver flood, fo lately calm, appears
Swell'd with new paffion, and o'erflows with

Behold the groves that fine with filver froft,
Their beauty wither'd, and their verdure loft. 10
Here fhall I try the fweet, Alexis' ftraio,
That call d the liftening Dryads to the plain ?

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