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Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs along ! The birds shall cease to tune their ev’ning fong, 40 The winds to breathe, the waving woods to move, And streams to murmur, ere I cease to love. Not bubbling fountains to the thirsty swain, Not balmy sleep to lab’rers faint with pain, Not show’rs to larks, or fun-line to the bee, 45 Are half so charming as thy sight to me.

Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs away! Come, Delia, come; ah, why this long delay ? Thro' rocks and caves the name of Delia sounds, Delia, each cave and echoing rock rebounds. 50 Yepow’rs, what pleasing phrenzy soothsmy mind! Do lovers dream, or is my Delia kind? She comes, my Delia comes !--Now cease my lay, And cease, ye gales, to bear my sighs away!

Ver. 48. Originally thus in the MS.-

With him thro' Libya's burning plains I'll go,
On Alpine mountains tread th' eternal snow ;
Yet feel no heat but what our loves impart,
And dread no coldness but in Thyrsis' heart,

VER. 37:


Aurea dura
Mala ferant quercus; narcisso floreat alnus,
Pinguia corticibus fudent electra myricæ.

Virg. Ecl. viii. P. Ver. 43, etc.)

Quale sopor fessis in gramine, quale per æstum

Dulcis aquæ saliente sitim restinguere rivo. Ecl.v. P. VER. 52. An qui amant, ipfi fibi fomnia fingunt ?

Id. viii. P.

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Next Ægon sung, while Windsor

groves ad
Rehearse, ye Muses, what yourselves inspir'd. 56

Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful strażn!
Of perjur'd Doris, dying I complain :
Here where the mountains, less’ning as they rise,
Lose the low yales, and steal into the skies : 60
While lab'sing oxen, spent with toil and heat,
In their loose traces from the field retreat :
While curling smoaks from village-tops are seen,
And the fleet shades glide o'er the dusky green.

Resound, ye hiļls, resound my mournful lay! 65
Beneath yon' poplar oft we past the day:
Oft' on the rind I carv'd her am'rous vows,
While shę with garlands hung the bending

boughs ;
The garlands fade, the vows are worn away;
So dies her love, and so my hopes decay. 70
Resound, ye hills, resound


mournful strain! Now bright Arcturus glads the teeming grain, Now golden fruits on loaded branches shine, And grateful clutters swell with floods of wine; Now blushing berries paint the yellow grove; 75 Just Gods! shall all things yield returns but love?

REMARKS, VER. 74. And grateful clusters, etc.] The scene in Windfor-forest; so this image not lo cxact.


Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful lay! The shepherds cry, “Thy flocks are left a prey"-Ah! what avails it me, the flocks to keep, Who lost my heart while I preserv'd my sheep. 80 Pan came, andask'd, what magic caus'd my smart, Or what ill eyes malignant glances dart ? What

eyes but hers, alas, have pow'r to move! And is there magic but what dwells in love! 84

Resound, yehills, resound my mournful strains! I'll fly from shepherds, flocks, and flow'ry plains, From shepherds, flocks, and plains, I may remove, Forsake mankind, and all the world—but love! I know thee, Love! on foreign mountains bred, Wolves


thee suck, and savage tigers fed. 90 Thou wert from Ætna's burning entrails torn, Got by fierce whirlwinds, and in thunder born!

Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful lay! Farewell, ye woods, adieu the light of day! One leap from yonder cliff shall end my pains, 95 No more, ye hills, no more resound




Ver. 82. Or what ill eyes]

Nescio quis teneros oculus mihi fascinat agnos. P.
Ver. 89. Nunc scio quid fit Amor: duris in cotibu

illum, etc. P.


Thus sung the shepherds till th' approach of

night, The skies yet blushing with departing light, When falling dews with spangles deck'd the

glade, And the low sun had lengthen'd ev'ry shade. 100


VER.98. 100.] There is a little inaccuracy here; the firft line makes the time after sun-fet; the second before.


W I N T E R:





N E,

To the Memory of Mrs. T E M P E S T.

Hyrsis, the music of that murm’ring spring
Is not fo mournful as the strains

you sing. Nor rivers winding through the vales below, So sweetly warble, or so smoothly flow.


R E M A R K S.
WINTER.] This was the Poet's favourite Pastoral:

Mrs. Tempeft.] This Lady was of an ancient family in Yorkshire, and particularly admired by the Author's friend Mr. Walsh, who, having celebrated her in a Pastoral Elegy,

I MITA TIONS. Ver. 1. Thyrsis, the music, etc.] 'Adú ti, etc. Theocr. Id. i.

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