Attend the Mufe, tho' low her numbers be, mourn, Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs along! For him the feather'd quires neglect their fong; For him the Limes their pleafing fhades deny; For him the Lillies hang their heads and die. Ye flow'rs that droop, forfaken by the fpring, Ye birds, that left by fummer, ceafe to fing, Ye trees that fade when autumn-heats remove, Say, is not abfence death to those who love? Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs away! Curs'd be the fields that cause my Thyrfis' stay : Fade ev'ry bloffom, wither ev'ry tree, Die ev'ry flow'r, and perish all, but he. What have I faid? ---where-e'er my Thyrfis flies, And liquid amber drop from ev'ry thorn. Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs along! The birds fhall cease to tune their ev'ning fong, The winds to breathe, the waving woods to move, And streams to murmur, e'er I ceafe to love. Not bubling fountains to the thirsty Swain, Not balmy fleep to lab'rers faint with pain, Not fhow'rs to Larks, or funshine to the Bee, Are half fo charming as thy fight to me. Go, gentle gales, and bear my fighs away! Come, Thyrfis, come, ah why this long delay ? Thro' rocks and caves the name of Thyrfis founds, Thyrfis, each cave and echoing rock rebounds. Ye pow'rs, what pleafing frenzy fooths my mind! Do lovers dream, or is my fhepherd kind? He comes, my shepherd comes! ---Now ceafe my lay, And ceafe, ye gales, to bear my fighs away! Next Ægon fung, while Windfor groves admir'd, Rehearse, ye Muses, what your felves infpir'd. Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful ftrain! Of perjur❜d Doris, dying I complain ! min. Here where the mountains, lefs'ning as they rife, Lose the low vales, and fteal into the skies. While lab'ring Oxen, fpent with toil and heat, In their loofe traces from the field retreat; While curling fmoaks from village-tops are seen, And the fleet shades glide o'er the dusky green. Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful lay! Beneath yon' Poplar oft' we paft the day: Oft' on the rind I carv'd her am'rous vows, While the with garlands grac❜d the bending boughs: The garlands fade, the vows are worn away; So dies her love, and fo my hopes decay. Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful strain! Now bright Ardurus glads the teeming grain, Now golden fruits on loaded branches fhine, And grateful clusters fwell with floods of wine; Now Now blushing berries paint the yellow grove; Refound, ye hills, refound my mournful strains! |