Can we forget, Albino dear, thy knell,
Sad-founding wide from every village-bell?,

Can we forget how forely Albion moan'd,

40.

That hills, and dales, and rocks, in echo groan'd, 36
Prefaging future woe, when, for our crimes,
We loft Albino, pledge of peaceful times,
Fair boast of this fair Ifland, darling joy
Of nobles high, and every fhepherd-boy?,
No joyous pipe was heard, no flocks were seen,
Nor fhepherd found upon the graffy green,
No cattle graz'd the field, nor drank the flood,
No birds were heard to warble through the wood. 44
In yonder gloomy grove out-ftretch'd he lay

His lovely limbs upon the dampy clay;

On his cold cheek the rofy hue decay'd,

And, o'er his lips, the deadly blue display'd:
Bleating around him lie his plaintive sheep,

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And mourning fhepherds come, in crowds, to weep.
Young Buckhurst comes: and, is there no redress?
As if the grave regarded our distress !

The tender virgins come, to tears yet new,
And give, aloud, the lamentations due.
The pious mother comes, with grief opprest:
Ye trees, and confcious fountains, can atteft
With what fad accents, and what piercing cries,
She fill'd the grove, and importun'd the skies,
And every ftar upbraided with his death,
When, in her widow'd arms, devoid of breath,
She clafp'd her fon: nor did the Nymph, for this,
Place in her darling's welfare all her blifs,

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Him teaching, young, the harmless crook to wield,
And rule the peaceful empire of the field.
As milk-white fwans on ftreams of filver show,
And filvery streams to grace the meadows flow,
As corn the vales, and trees the hills adorn,
So thou, to thine, an ornament was born.
Since thou, delicious youth, didft quit the plains,
Th' ungrateful ground we till with fruitless pains,
In labour'd furrows fow the choice of wheat,
And, over empty fheaves, in harvest sweat,
A thin increase our fleecy cattle yield;
And thorns, and thistles, overspread the field.
How all our hope is fled, like morning-dew!
And scarce did we thy dawn of manhood view.
Who, now, fhall teach the pointed spear to throw,
To whirl the fling, and bend the stubborn bow,
To tofs the quoit with steady aim, and far,
With finewy force, to pitch the massy bar?
Nor doit thou live to blefs thy mother's days,
To share her triumphs, and to feel her praise,
In foreign realms to purchase early fame,
And add new glories to the British name
O, peaceful may thy gentle fpirit rest!

The flowery turf lie light upon thy breaft;
Nor fhrieking owl, nor bat, thy tomb fly round,
Nor midnight goblins revel o'er the ground.

PALIN.

No more, mistaken Angelot, complain: Albino lives; and all our tears are vain :

X 3

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Albino

Albino lives, and will for ever live,

tear,

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With myriads mixt, who never know to grieve,
Who welcome every ftranger-gueft, nor fear
Ever to mourn his abfence with a
Where cold, nor heat, nor irksome toil annoy,
Nor age, nor fickness, comes to damp their joy:
And now the royal Nymph, who bore him, deigns.
The land to rule, and fhield the fimple fwains,
While, from above, propitious he looks down:
For this, the welkin does no longer frown,
Each planet fhines, indulgent, from his sphere,
And we renew our paftimes with the year.
Hills, dales, and woods, with thrilling pipes refound
The boys and virgins dance, with chaplets crown'd, 104
And hait Albino bleft: the valleys ring

Albino bleft! O now, if ever, bring

The laurel green, the finelling eglantine,

And tender branches from the mantling vine,
The dewy cowflip, which in meadow grows,
The fountain-violet, and the garden-rose,
Marth-lilies fweet, and tufts of daffodil,

With what ye cull from wood, or verdant hill,
Whether in open fun, or fhade, they blow,

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More early fome, and fome unfolding flow,
Bring, in heap'd canisters, of every kind,

As if the fummer had with fpring combin'd,

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And Nature, forward to affift your care,

Did not profufion for Albino fare.
Your hamlets frew, and every public way ;
And confecrate to mirth Albino's day:

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Myfelf

Myfelf will lavish all my little store,

And deal about the goblet flowing o'er :

Old Moulin there fhall harp, young Myco fing,
And Cuddy dance the round amid the ring,
And Hobbinol his antic gambols play:
To thee thefe honours, yearly, will we pay
Nor fail to mention thee in all our chear,
And teach our children the remembrance dear,
When we our shearing-feast, or harvest keep,
To fpeed the plow, and blefs our thriving sheep.
While willow kids, and herbage lambs pursue,
While bees love thyme, and locuft fip the dew,
While birds delight in woods their notes to ftrain,
Thy name and fweet memorial fhall remain.

THE

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FOURTH PASTORAL.

MY CO, ARGOL.

MY CO.

THIS place may feem for thepherd's leifure made,
So clofe thefe elins inweave their lofty shade;

The twining woodbine, how it climbs to breathe
Refreshing fweets around on all beneath;

The ground with grafs of chearful green befpread,
Through which the springing flower up-rears the head:
Lo, here the kingcup of a golden hue,

Medly'd with daifies white and endive blue,
And honeysuckles of a purple die,

Confufion gay! bright-waving to the eye.

X 4

Hark,

Hark, how they warble in that brambly bush,
The gaudy goldfinch, and the fpeckly thrush,
The linnet green, with others fram'd for skill,
And blackbird fluting through his yellow bill:
In fprightly concert how they all combine,
Us prompting in the various fongs to join :
Up, Argol, then, and to thy lip apply

Thy mellow pipe, or voice more founding try:
And fince our ewes have graz'd, what harms if they
Lie round and liften while the lambkins play?

ARGO L.

Well, Myco, can thy dainty wit exprefs
Fair Nature's bounties in the fairest drefs:
'Tis rapture all the place, the birds, the sky;
And rapture works the finger's fancy high.
Sweet breathe the fields, and now a gentle breeze
Moves every leaf, and trembles through the trees;
Ill fuch incitements fuit my rugged lay,

Befitting more the mufic thou canft play.

MY CO.

No fkill of mufic kon I, fimple fwain,
No fine device thine ear to entertain:

Albeit fome deal I pipe, rude though it be,
Sufficient to divert my fheep and me ;

Yet Colinet (and Colinet hath skill)

Oft guides my fingers on the tuneful quill,

And fain would teach me on what fqunds to dwell,

And where to fink a note, and where to fwell.

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ARCOL.