I

THE FIRST PASTORA L.

LOBBIN.

F we, O Dorfet, quit the city-throng,
To meditate in shades the rural fong,

By your command, be present: and, O bring
The Muse along! The Muse to you shall fing:
Her influence, Buckhurst, let me there obtain,
And I forgive the fam'd Sicilian Swain.

Begin. In unluxurious times of yore,
When flocks and herds were no inglorious ftore,
Lobbin, a fhepherd-boy, one evening fair,
As western winds had cool'd the fultry air,
His number'd sheep within the fold now pent,
Thus plain'd him of his dreary discontent;
Beneath a hoary poplar's whispering boughs,
He, folitary, fat to breathe his vows,
Venting the tender anguish of his heart,
As paffion taught, in accents free of art:
And little did he hope, while, night by night,

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His fighs were lavish'd thus on Lucy bright. "Ah, well-a-day! how long muft I endure "This pining pain? Or who shall speed my cure? 20 "Fond love no cure will have, feek no repose, "Delights in grief, nor any measure knows : "And now the moon begins in clouds to rise ; "The brightening ftars increase within the skies; B 4

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"The

"The winds are hush; the dews diftil; and fleep
"Hath clos'd the eyelids of my weary sheep:
"I only, with the prowling wolf, conftrain'd
"All night to wake: with hunger he is pain'd,
" And 1, with love. His hunger he may tame;
"But who can quench, O cruel Love, thy flame?
"Whilom did I, all as this poplar fair,

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Up-raife my heedlefs head, then void of care, 'Mong ruftic routs the chief for wanton game; Nor could they merry make, till Lobbin came. "Who better feen than I in fhepherds' arts, "To please the lads, and win the laffes' hearts! "How deftly, to mine oaten-reed so sweet, "Wont they, upon the green to shift their feet? "And, weary'd in the dance, how would they yearn "Some well-devised tale from me to learn ?

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"For many fongs and tales of mirth had I, "To chace the loitering fun adown the sky:

"But, ah! fince Lucy coy, deep-wrought her spight "Within my heart, unmindful of delight "The jolly grooms I fly, and, all alone,

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"To rocks and woods pour forth my fruitlefs moan. "Oh! quit thy wonted fcorn, relentless Fair!

"Ere, lingering long, I perish through defpair. "Had Rofalind been mistress of my mind,

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Though not fo fair, she would have prov'd more kind. "O think, unwitting maid, while yet is time,

"How flying years impair thy youthful prime ! "Thy virgin-bloom will not for ever ftay, "And flowers, though left ungather'd, will decay :

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"The

"The flowers, anew, returning feasons bring! "But beauty faded has no second spring.

My words are wind! She, deaf to all my cries,

"Takes pleasure in the mischief of her eyes.
"Like frisking heifer, loose in flowery meads,
"She gads where'er her roving fancy leads;
"Yet ftill from me. Ah me, the tirefome chace!
Shy as the fawn, fhe flies my fond embrace.
« She flies, indeed, but ever leaves behind,
Fly where she will, her likeness in my mind.
"No cruel purpose, in my speed, I bear;

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« "Tis only love; and love why should't thou fear? "What idle fears a maiden-breast alarm !

Stay, fimple girl: a lover cannot harm.

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"Two sportive kidlings, both fair-fleck'd, I rear; "Whose shooting horns like tender buds appear: “A lambkin too, of spotless fleece, I breed, "And teach the fondling from my hand to feed: 72 "Nor will I ceafe betimes to cull the fields

"Of every dewy fweet the morning yields : "From early spring to autumn late shalt thou "Receive gay girlonds, blooming o'er thy brow: 76 "And when,-But, why thefe unavailing pains? "The gifts, alike, and giver, she disdains : "And now, left heiress of the glen, she'll deem "Me, landlefs lad, unworthy her esteem: "Yet, was she born, like me, of shepherd-fire; " And I may fields and lowing herds acquire. "O! would my gifts but win her wanton heart, "Or could I half the warmth I feel impart,

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"How

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"How would I wander, every day, to find "The choice of wildings, blushing through the rind! "For gloffy plumbs how lightsome climb the tree, "How risk the vengeance of the thrifty bee! "Or if thou deign to live a fhepherdess, "Thou Lobbin's flock, and Lobbin, fhalt poffefs: "And, fair my flock, nor yet uncomely I, "If liquid fountains flatter not; and why "Should liquid fountains flatter us, yet show "The bordering flowers lefs beauteous than they grow? "O! come, my love; nor think th' employment mean, “The dams to milk, and little lambkins wean, "To drive a-field, by morn, the fattening ewes, "Ere the warm fun drink-up the cooly dews,

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While, with my pipe, and with my voice, I chear "Each hour, and through the day detain thine ear. 100 "How would the crook beseem thy lily-hand! "How would my younglings round thee gazing ftand! "Ah, witless younglings! gaze not on her eye : "Thence all my forrow; thence the death I die. "O, killing beauty! and O, fore defire! "Muft then my fufferings, but with life, expire ? Though bloffoms every year the trees adorn, "Spring after fpring I wither, nipt with fcorn: "Nor trow I when this bitter blaft will end,

"Or if yon ftars will e'er my vows befriend.

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Sleep, fleep, my flock; for happy ye may take

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"Sweet nightly reft, though ftill your mafter wake." 112 Now to the waning moon, the nightingale,

In flender warblings, tun'd her piteous tale,

The love-fick Shepherd, liftening, felt relief,
Pleas'd with so sweet a partner in his grief,
Till, by degrees, her notes and filent night
To flumbers foft his heavy heart invite.

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THE

SECOND PASTORAL.

THENOT, COLINET.

THENOT.

Is it not Colinet I lonefome fee,

Leaning with folded arms against the tree?
Or is it age of late bedims my fight?
'Tis Colinet, indeed, in woeful plight.
Thy cloudy look, why melting into tears,
Unfeemly, now the sky fo bright appears !
Why in this mournful manner art thou found,
Unthankful lad, when all things fmile around?
Or hear'ft not lark and linnet jointly fing,
Their notes blithe-warbling to falute the spring?

COLINET.

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Though blithe their notes, not fo my wayward fate;
Nor lark would fing, nor linnet, in my state.
Each creature, Thenot, to his task is born,
As they to mirth and music, I to mourn.
Waking, at midnight, I my woes renew,
My tears oft' mingling with the falling dew.

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THENOT.