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And when her bright form shall appear,
Each bird shall harmoniously join In a concert so soft and so clear,
As she may not be fund to resign.
I have found out a gift for my fair;
I have found where the wood-pigeons brecd : But let me that plunder forbear,
She will say 'twas a barbarous deed For he ne'er could be true, she averr'd,
Who could rob a poor bird of its young: And I loved her the more when I heard
Such tenderness fall from her tongue.
I have heard her with sweetness unfold
How that pity was due to a dove; That it ever attended the bold,
And she call'd it the sister of love.
So much I her accents adore,
Methinks I should love her the more.
Can a bosom so gentle remain
Unmoved when her CORYDON sighs ? Will a nymph that is fond of the plain
These plains and this valley despise ?
Dear regions of silence and shade!
Soft scenes of contentment and ease! Where I could have pleasingly stray'd,
If aught, in her absence, could please.
But where does my PHYLLIDA stray ?
And where are her grots and her bowers? Are the groves and the valleys as gay,
And the shepherds as gentle, as ours ? The groves may perhaps be as fair,
And the face of the valleys as fine; The swaius may in manners compare,
But their love is not equal to mine.
WHY will you my passion reprove?
Why term it a folly to grieve?
She is fairer than you can believe.
With her wit she engages the free; With her modesty pleases the grave;
She is every way pleasing to me.
O you that have been of her train,
Come and join in my aniorous lags;
I could lay down my life for the swain 1]
That will sing but a song in her praise. When he sings, may the nymphs of the town
Come trooping, and listen the while; Nay on him let not PHYLLIDA frown-;
But I cannot allow her to smile.
For when PARIDEL tries in the dance
Any favour with PHYLLIS to find,
And his crook is bestuddud around;
Of a magic there is in the sound!
'Tis his with mock passion to glow;
"Tis his in smooth tales to unfold, llow her face is as bright as the snow, And her bosom, be sure,
is as cold :How the nightingales labour the strain,
With the notes of his charmer to vie; How they vary their accents in vain,
Repine at her triumphs, and die.
To the grove or the garden he strays,
And pillages every sweet;
Then, suiting the wreath to his lays,
1 He throws it at Puyllis's feet. O Payllis,” he whispers," more fair,
More sweet than the jessamine's flower! What are pinks, in a morn, to compare?
What is eglantine, after a shower?
“ Then the lily no longer is white;
Then the rose is deprived of its bloom ; Then the violets die with despite,
And the woodbines give up their perfume.” Thus glide the soft numbers along,
And he fancies no shepherd his peer ; Yet I never should envy the song,
Were not Payllis to lend it an ear.
Let his crook be with hyacinths bound,
So Phyllis the trophy despise ;
So they shine not in Phyllis's cyes.
she beware of his art !
Ye shepherds, give ear to my lay,
And take no more heed of my sheep : They have nothing to do, but to stray ;
I have nothing to do, but to weep. Yet do not my folly reprove :
She was fair, and my passion begun; She smiled, and I could not but love:
She is faithless, and I am undone.
Perhaps I was void of all thought ;
Perhaps it was plain to foresee That a nymph so complete would be songht
By a swain more engaging than me.
It banishes wisdom the while;
Seems for ever adorn'd with a smile.
She is faithless, and I am undone;
Ye that witness the woes I endure, Let reason instruct you to shun
What it cannot instruct you to cure. Beware how you loiter in vain
Amid nymphs of a higher degree : It is not for me to explain
Ilow fair and how fickle they be.