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O’er golden sands let rich Pactolus flow,
And trees 'weep amber on the banks of Po;
Blest Thames's shores the brightest beauties yield,
Feed here my lambs, I'll seek no distant field.

Celestial Venus haunts Idalia's groves ;
Diana Cynthus, Ceres Hybla loves :
If Windsor shades delight the matchless maid,
Cynthus and Hybla yield to Windfor-shade.



All nature mourns, the skies relent in showers, Hush'd are the birds, and clos’d the drooping flowers ; If Delia smile, the flowers begin to spring,

71 The skies to brighten, and the birds to fing.



Ver. 61. It stood thus at first :

Let rich Iberia golden fleeces boaft,
Her purple wool the proud Assyrian coast,

Blest Thames's shores, &c.
Ver. 61. Originally thus in the MS.

Go, flowery wreath, and let my Sylvia know,
Compar'd to thine how bright her beauties show:
Then die; and dying, teach the lovely maid
How soon the brightest beauties are decay’d.


Go, tuneful bird, that pleas'd the woods so long,
Of Amaryllis learn a sweeter song:
To Heav'n arising then her notes convey,
For Heav'n alone is worthy such a lay.


All nature laughs, the groves are fresh and fair,
The sun's mild lustre warms the vital air;
If Sylvia smiles, new glories gild the shore,
And vanquish'd nature seems to charm no more.

In spring the fields, in autumn hills I love,
At morn the plains, at noon the shady grove,
But Delia always; absent from her fight,
Nor plains at morn, nor groves at noon delight.

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Sylvia's like autumn ripe, yet mild as May, More bright than noon, yet fresh as early day; E’en spring displeases, when she shines not here; But, bless'd with her, 'tis spring throughout the year.

STREPHON. Say, Daphnis, say, in what glad foil appears, 85 A wondrous Tree that facred Monarchs bears : Tell me but this, and I'll disclaim the prize, And give the conquest to thy Sylvia's eyes.


Nay, tell me first, in what more happy fields The Thistle springs, to which the Lily yields :

90 And


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Ver. 69. &c. These verses were thus at first:

All nature mourns, the birds their songs deny,
Nor wasted brooks the thirsty flowers fupply:
If Delia smile, the flowers begin to spring,
The brooks to murmur, and the birds to fing,

1:16:46 3 rubler prize I will refign; na, charming Syivia, shall be thine.


Ceale to contend ; for, Dainis, I decree, The bowl to Strephen, and the lamb to thee. Bieit Swaias, whose Nymphs in every grace excell; 95 I left Nymphs, whos Swains thcie graces sing so well Now rise, and haste to yonder woodbine bowers, A soft retreat from sudden vernal showers; The turf with rural dainties shall be crown'd, While opening blooms diffuse their sweets around. 100 For fee! the gathering flocks to shelter tend, And from the Pleiads fruitful showers descend.


Ver. 99. was originally,

The turf with country dainties shall be spread,
And trees with twining branches fhade your head.

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A Shepherd's Boy (he Seeks no better name)

Led forth his flocks along the silver Tham, Where dancing fun-beams on the waters play'd, And verdant alders form’d a quivering ihade. Soft as he mourn'd, the streams forgot to flow, 5 The flocks around a dumb compassion fhow, The Naiads wept in every watery bower, And Jove confented in a silent shower. Accept, O Garth, the Muse's early lays, That adds this wreath of ivy to thy bays;




Ver. 1, 2, 3, 4. were thus printed in the first edition

A faithful swain, whom Love had taught to ling
Bewail'd his fate beside a silver spring;
Where gentle Thames his winding waters leads

Thro' verdant forests, and thro’ flowery meads.
Ver. 3. Originally thus in the MS.

There to the winds he plain’d his hapless love,
And Amaryllis fill'd the vocal grove.



Hear what from Love unpractis'd hearts endure,
Fron Love, the sole disease thou canst not cure.

Ye shady beeches, and ye cooling streams,
Defence from Phæbus', not from Cupid's beams,
To you I mourn, nor to the deaf I fing,
The woods shall answer, and their echo ring.
The hills and rocks attend my doleful lay,
Why art thou prouder and more hard than they?
The bleating sheep with my complaints agree,
They parch'd with heat, and I inflam’d by thee.
The fultry Sirius burns the thirsty plains,
While in thy heart eternal winter reigns.

Where stray ye, Muses, in what lawn or grove,
While your Alexis pines in hopeless love ?
In those fair fields where sacred Isis glides,
Or else where Cam his winding vales divides ?
As in the crystal spring I view
Fresh rising blushes paint the watery glass ;
But since those graces please thy eyes no more,
Isun the fountains which I sought before.
Oce I was skill'd in every herb that grew,

every plant that drinks the morning dew; Al wretched shepherd, what avails thy art, Tocure thy lambs, but not to heal thy heart !


my face,





Of in the crystal spring I cast a view,
And equal'd Hylas, if the glass be true;
Butrince those graces meet my eyes no more,
I thin, &c.

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