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Where'er you tread, the blushing flow'rs shall

rise, And all things flourish where you turn your eyes. Oh! how I long with you to pass my days, Invoke the Muses, and resound your praise ! Your praise the birds shall chant in ev'ry grove, And winds shall waft it to the pow'rs above. 80 But would you sing, and rival Orpheus' strain, The wond'ring forests soon should dance again, The moving mountains hear the pow'rful call, And headlong streams hang list’ning in their fall! But see, the shepherds fhun the noon-day

heat, The lowing herds to murm’ring brooks retreat, To closer shades the panting flocks remove; Ye Gods! and is there no relief for Love?



Your praise the tuneful birds to heav'n shall bear,

And list’ning wolves grow milder as they hear. So the verses were originally written. But the author, young as he was, soon found the absurdity which Spenser himself overlooked, of introducing wolves into England. P.

VER. 80. And winds Mall waft, etc.]
Partem aliquam, venti, divům referatis ad aures !

Virg. P.
VER 88. re Gods, etc.]
Me tamen urit amor, quis enim modus adsit amori?

Idem, P.

But foon the sun with milder rays descends
To the cool ocean, where his journey ends : 90
On me love's fiercer flames for ever prey,
By night he scorches, as he burns by day.

ER, 91. Me love inflames, nor will his fires allay. P.





H Y LAS and Æ GON.



Eneath the shade a spreading Beech displays,

and Ægon sung their rural lays ; This mourn'd a faithless, that an absent Love, And Delia's name and Doris' fill'd the Grove. Ye Mantuan nymphs, your sacred succour bring; 5 Hylas and Ægon's rural lays I sing. Thou, whom the Nine, with Plautus' wit

inspire, The art of Terence, and Menander's fire ;

REMĄ R K S. This Pastoral consists of two parts, like the viïith of Virgil : The Scene, a Hill; the Time at Sun-set. P.

VER. 7. Tbars, wbom the Nine,] Mr. Wycherley, a famous

Whose sense instructs us, and whose humour

charms, Whosejudgmentsways us, and whosespiritwarms! Oh, skill'd in Nature! see the hearts of Swains, 11 Their artless passions, and their tender pains. Now setting Phæbus shone serenely bright, And fleecy clouds were streak’d with purplelight;

R E M A R K S.

author of Comedies; of which the most celebrated were the Plain-Dealer and Country-Wife. He was a writer of infinite spirit, satire, and wit. The only objection made to him was that he had too much. However, he was followed in the . same way by Mr. Congreve; tho' with a little more correctDess. P.

Ver. 8. The art of Terence, and Menander's fire ;] This line alludes to that famous character given of Terence, by Cæsar :

Tu quoque, tu in fummis, ô dimidiate Menander,
Poneris, et merito, puri fermonis amator :
Lenibus atque utinam fcriptis adjuncta foret vis

Comica. So that the judicious critic fees he should have faid-with Menander's fire. For what the Poet meant, was, that his friend had join'd to Terence's art, what Cæsar thought wanting in Terence, namely, the vis comica of Menander. Besides, -and Menander's fire, is making that the Characteristic of Menander which was not. He was distinguished for having art and comic spirit in conjunction, and Terence have ing only the first part, is called the half of Menander.

Ver. 9. Whose sense instructs us,l' He was always very careful in his encomiums not to fall into ridicule, the trap which weak and prostitute flatterers rarely escape. For sense, he would willingly have said, moral; propriety required it. But this dramatic poet's moral was remarkably faulty. His plays are all laamefully profligate both in the Dialogue and Action.

When tuñefal Hylas with melodious moan, iš Taught rocks to weep and made the mountains

groan. Go, gentle gates, and bear mý fighs away! To Delia's ear the tender notes convey. As fome fåd Turtle his lost love deplores, And with deep murmurs fills the founding Thores;

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

Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs along ! For her, the feather'd quires néglect their fong: For her, the limes their pleasing shades deny; 25 For her the lilies hang their heads and die. Ye flow'rs that droop, forsaken by the spring, Ye birds that, left by summer, cease to fing, Ye trees that fade'when autumn-heats remove; Say, is not absence death to those who love?

Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs away! Curs'di be the fields that cause my Delia's stays, Fade ev'ry blossom, wither ev'ry tree, Die ev'ry flow'r, and perish all, but she. What have I said? where'er my Delia flies, 35 Let spring attend, and sudden flow'rs arise ; Let op'ning roses knotted oaks adorn, And liquid amber drop from ev'ry thorn.



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