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
How that pity was due to-a dove:
That it ever attended the bold;

And the call'd it the fifter of love.
But her words fuch a pleasure convey,
So much I her accents adore,
Let her fpeak, and whatever she say,
Methinks I fhould love her the more.

Can a bofom fo gentle remain

Unmov'd, when her Corydon fighs!
Will a nymph that is fond of the plain,
Thefe plains and this valley defpife?
Dear regions of filence and fhade!

Soft fcenes of contentment and eafe!
Where I could have pleasingly ftray'd,
If aught, in her abfence, could please.

But where does my Phyllida ftray?

And where are her grots and her bowers?
Are the groves and the valleys as gay,
And the fhepherds as gentle as ours?
The groves may perhaps be as fair,

And the face of the valleys as fine;
The fwains may in manners compare,
But their love is not equal to mine.

III. SO.

III. SOLICITUDE.

WHY will you my paffion reprove?

Why term it a folly to grieve?

Ere I fhew you the charms of my love,
She is fairer than you can believe.
With her mien fhe enamours the brave;
With her wit fhe engages the free;
With her modefty pleases the grave;
She is every way pleafing to me.

O you that have been of her train,
Come and join in my amorous lays;
I could lay down my life for the fwain,
That will fing but a fong in her praise.
When he fings, may the nymphs of the town
Come trooping, and liften the while;

Nay on him let not Phyllida frown;
-But I cannot allow her to fmile.

For when Paridel tries in the dance
Any favour with Phyllis to find,
O how, with one trivial glance,
Might the ruin the peace of my
In ringlets he dreffes his hair,

mind!

And his crook is beftudded around; And his pipe-oh my Phillis beware

Of a magic there is in the found.

"Tis

'Tis his with mock paffion to glow;

'Tis his in fmooth tales to unfold,
-"How her face is as bright as the fnow,
And her bofom, be fure, 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, fuiting the wreath to his lays
He throws it at Phyllis's feet.

O Phyllis, he whispers, more fair,
More fweet than the jeffamine'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 depriv'd of its bloom; Then the violets die with defpight,

And the wood-bines give up their perfume."

Thus glide the foft numbers along,
And he fancies no fhepherd his peer;

Yet I never fhould envy the fong,

Were not Phyllis to lend it an ear.

Let his crook be with hyacinths bound,
So Phyllis the trophy defpife:

Let his forehead with laurels be crown'd,

So they fhine not in Phyllis's eyes.

The

The language that flows from the heart

Is a stranger to Paridel's tongue; -Yet may the beware of his art, Or fure I must envy the song.

IV. DISAPPOINTMENT.

YE fhepherds, give ear to my lay,

And take no more heed of my sheep:
They have nothing to do but to ftray;
I have nothing to do but to weep.
Yet do not my folly reprove;

She was fair-and my passion begun;
She fmil'd-and I could not but love;
She is faithlefs-and I am undone.

Perhaps I was void of all thought:
Perhaps it was plain to forefee,
That a nymph fo compleat would be fought
By a fwain more engaging than me.
Ah! love every hope can inspire;
It banishes wisdom the while;
And the lip of the nymph we admire
Seems for ever adorn'd with a smile.

She is faithlefs, and I am undone;
Ye that witnefs the woes I endure;
Let reafon inftruct you to shun
What it cannot inftruct you to cure.

Beware

Beware how you loiter in vain

Amid nymphs of an higher degree: It is not for me to explain

How fair, and how fickle, they be.

Alas! from the day that we met,
What hope of an end to my woes?
When I cannot endure to forget

The glance that undid my repofe.
Yet time may diminish the pain :

The flower, and the fhrub, and the tree,
Which I rear'd for her pleasure in vain,
In time may have comfort for me.

The fweets of a dew-fprinkled rofe,

The found of a murmuring stream,
The peace which from folitude flows,
Henceforth fhall be Corydon's theme.
High tranfports are fhewn to the fight,
But we are not to find them our own;
Fate never beftow'd fuch delight,
As I with my Phyllis had known.

ye

woods, fpread your branches apace; To your deepest receffes I fly;

I would hide with the beasts of the chace;
I would vanish from every eye.

Yet my reed fhall refound through the grove
With the fame fad complaint it begun ;
How the fmil'd, and I could not but love;

Was faithlefs, and I am undone !

LEVI