He carol'd sweet, and graz'd along the flood
Of gentle Thames, made every founding wood
With good Eliza's name to ring around;

Eliza's name on every tree was found:

Since then, through Anna's cares at ease we live,
And see our cattle unmolested thrive,

While from our Albion her victorious arms

8

Drive wasteful warfare, loud in dire alarms,
Like them will I my flender music raise,
And teach the vocal valleys Anna's praise.
Meantime, on oaten pipe a lowly lay,
As my kids browse, obfcure in fhades I play :
Yet, not obfcure, while Dorset thinks no fcorn
To vifit woods, and fwains ignobly born.

Two valley fwains, both mufical, both young,
In friendship mutual, and united long,
Retire within a moffy cave, to fhun

The crowd of fhepherds, and the noon-day fun.
A gloom of sadness overcafts their mind:
Revolving now, the folemn day they find,
When young Albino died. His image dear
Bedews their cheeks with many a trickling tear:
To tears they add the tribute of their verfe;
These Angelot, those Palin, did rehearse.

ANGELO T.

Thus, yearly circling, by-paft times return;
And yearly, thus, Albino's death we mourn.

Sent into life, alas! how fhort thy stay :
How sweet the rofe! how speedy to decay!

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Can

Can we forget, Albino dear, thy knell,
Sad-founding wide from every village bell?
Can we forget how forely Albion moan'd,

That hills, and dales, and rocks, in echo groan'd, 36
Prefaging future woe, when, for our crimes,
We loft Albino, pledge of peaceful times,
Fair boast of this fair Island, darling joy
Of nobles high, and every fhepherd-boy?
No joyous pipe was heard, no flocks were seen,
Nor fhepherd found upon the graffy green,
No cattle graz'd the field, nor drank the flood,
No birds were heard to warble through the wood.

In yonder gloomy grove out-ftretch'd he lay
His lovely limbs upon the dampy clay;
On his cold cheek the rofy hue decay'd,
And, o'er his lips, the deadly blue difplay'd:
Bleating around him lie his plaintive sheep,
And mourning fhepherds come, in crowds, to weep.
Young Buckhurft comes and, is there no redress ?
As if the grave regarded our diftrefs!

The tender virgins come, to tears yet new,
And give, aloud, the lamentations due.
The pious mother comes, with grief opprest:
Ye trees, and confcious fountains, can atteft
With what fad accents, and what piercing cries,
She fill'd the grove, and importun'd the skies,
And every star upbraided with his death,
When, in her widow'd arms, devoid of breath,
She clasp'd her fon: nor did the Nymph, for this,
Place in her darling's welfare all her bliss,

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Him teaching, young, the harmless crook to wield,
And rule the peaceful empire of the field.
As milk-white swans on streams of silver show,
And filvery streams to grace the meadows flow,
As corn the vales, and trees the hills adorn,
So thou, to thine, an ornament was born.
Since thou, delicious youth, didft quit the plains,
Th' ungrateful ground we till with fruitless pains,
In labour'd furrows fow the choice of wheat,
And, over empty fheaves, in harvest sweat,
A thin increase our fleecy cattle yield;

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And thorns, and thistles, overspread the field.
How all our hope is fled, like morning-dew!
And scarce did we thy dawn of manhood view.
Who, now, shall teach the pointed spear to throw,
To whirl the fling, and bend the stubborn bow,
To tofs the quoit with steady aim, and far,
With finewy force, to pitch the massy bar?
Nor doft thou live to bless thy mother's days,
To share her triumphs, and to feel her praise,
In foreign realms to purchase early fame,
And add new glories to the British name:
O, peaceful may thy gentle spirit rest!

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The flowery turf lie light upon thy breaft;
Nor fhrieking owl, nor bat, thy tomb fly round,
Nor midnight goblins revel o'er the ground,

PALIN.

No more, mistaken Angelot, complain: Albino lives; and all our tears are vain ;

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Albino lives, and will for ever live,

With myriads mixt, who never know to grieve,
Who welcome every ftranger-gueft, nor fear
Ever to mourn his abfence with a tear,

Where cold, nor heat, nor irkfome toil annoy,

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Nor age, nor fickness, comes to damp their joy: 96
And now the royal Nymph, who bore him, deigns
The land to rule, and shield the fimple fwains,
While, from above, propitious he looks down:
For this, the welkin does no longer frown.
Each planet fhines, indulgent, from his sphere,
And we renew our paftimes with the year.
Hills, dales, and woods, with fhrilling pipes refound:
The boys and virgins dance, with chaplets crown'd, 104
And hail Albino bleft: the valleys ring
Albino bleft! O now, if ever, bring

The laurel green, the fmelling eglantine,

And tender branches from the mantling vine,
The dewy cowflip, which in meadow grows,
The fountain-violet, and the garden-rofe,
Marfh-lilies fweet, and tufts of daffodil,

With what ye cull from wood, or verdant hill,
Whether in open fun, or shade, they blow,
More early fome, and fome unfolding flow,
Bring, in heap'd canisters, of every kind,
As if the fummer had with fpring combin'd,
And Nature, forward to affift your care,
Did not profufion for Albino fpare.
Your hamlets ftrew, and every public way;
And confecrate to mirth Albino's day :

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Myfelf

Myself will lavish all my little ftore,
And deal about the goblet flowing o'er:

Old Moulin there fhall harp, young Myco fing,
And Cuddy dance the round amid the ring,
And Hobbinol his antic gambols play:
To thee thefe honours, yearly, will we pay :
Nor fail to mention thee in all our chear,
And teach our children the remembrance dear,
When we our fhearing-feaft, or harvest keep,
To fpeed the plow, and blefs our thriving sheep.
While willow kids, and herbage lambs pursue,
While bees love thyme, and locuft fip the dew,
While birds delight in woods their notes to strain,
Thy name and fweet memorial fhall remain.

THE

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FOURTH PASTORAL.

MY CO, ARGOL.

MY CO.

HIS place may feem for fhepherd's leifure made,

THI

So close these elms inweave their lofty fhade; The twining woodbine, how it climbs; to breathe Refreshing sweets around on all beneath;

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The ground with grafs of chearful green befpread,
Through which the fpringing flower up-rears the head:
Lo, here the kingcup of a golden hue,
Medly'd with daifies white and endive blue,

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And honeysuckles of a purple die,

Confufion gay! bright waving to the eye.

C 3

Hark,