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When forc'd the fair nymph to forego,
My path I could hardly discern;
So fweetly the bade me adieu,
I thought that the bade me return.
The Pilgrim that journeys all day
If he bear but a relique away,
Is happy, nor heard to repine.
Soft hope is the relique I bear,
And my folace wherever I go.
Y banks they are furnish'd with bees,
My grottos are fhaded with trees,
And my hills are white over with sheep.
I feldom have met with a lofs,
Such health do my fountains beftow; My fountains all border'd with moss,
Where the hare-bells and violets grow.
Not a pine in my grove is there feen,
But a fweet-briar entwines it around.
One would think the might like to retire
To prune the wild branches away.
From the plains, from the woodlands and groves.
What strains of wild melody flow!
How the nightingales warble their loves
From thickets of rofes that blow !
I have found out a gift for my fair;
I have found where the wood-pigeons breed: But let me that plunder forbear,
She will fay 'twas a barbarous deed.
For he ne'er could be true, fhe aver'd,
Who could rob a poor bird of its young: And I lov'd her the more when I heard
Such tendernefs fall from her tongue.
I have heard her with fweetness unfold
And the call'd it the fifter of love.
Can a bofom fo gentle remain
Unmov'd, when her Corydon fighs!
Soft fcenes of contentment and eafe!
But where does my Phyllida ftray?
And where are her grots and her bowers?
And the face of the valleys as fine;
III. SOLICITUD E.
WHY will you my paffion reprove?
Why term it a folly to grieve?
Ere I fhew you the charms of my love,
Come and join in my amorous lays;
That will fing but a fong in her praise.
For when Paridel tries in the dance
And his crook is bestudded around; And his pipe-oh my Phillis beware
Of a magic there is in the found.
'Tis his with mock paffion to glow ;
'Tis his in fmooth tales to unfold,
To the grove or the garden he ftrays,
O Phyllis, he whispers, more fair,
Then the lily no longer is white;
Then the rofe is depriv'd of its bloom;
And the wood-bines give up their perfume."
And he fancies no fhepherd his peer;
-Yet I never fhould envy the fong,
Let his crook be with hyacinths bound,
So Phyllis the trophy despise:
So they fhine not in Phyllis's eyes.