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Another shepherdess shall gain the prize.
O! Amaryllis, beauteous maid, observe, 5o
The nymphs themselves are willing thee to
See where large baskets full of flowers they
The sweet fair product of th' indulgent spring.
See there the pink, and the anemony,
The purple violet, rose, and jessamy.
See where they humbly lay their presents down,
To make a chaplet thy dear head to crown.
See where the beasts go trooping drove by
See how they answer one another's love:
See where the bull the heifer does pursue, 60
See where the mare the furious horse does woo :
Each female to her male is always kind,
And women, only cruel women blind,
Contradict that for which they were design'd.
So Corydon loves an ungrateful fair,
Who minds not oaths, nor cares for any prayer.
But see the sun his race has almost run,
And the laborious ox his work has done.
But I still love without the thought of ease,
No cure was ever found for that disease, 7o
But Corydon, what frenzy does thee seize.
Why dost thou lie in this dejected way ?
Why dost thou let thy sheep and oxen stray P
Thy tuneful pipe, why dost thou throw away.
Had you not better dispossess your mind
Of her who is so cruel and unkind;
Forget her guile, and calm those raging cares,
Take heart again, and follow your affairs,
For what altho' this nymph does cruel prove,
You'll find a thousand other maids will love.8o
#joAREWEL ye shady walks, and foun-
Sinking vallies, rising mountains:
Farewel ye crystal streams, that pass
Thro' fragrant meads of verdant grass:
Farewel ye flowers, sweet and fair,
That us'd to grace Dorinda's hair:
Farewel ye woods, who us’d to shade
The pressing youth, and yielding maid :
Farewel ye birds, whose morning song
Oft made us know we slept too long : io
Farewel dear bed, so often prest,
So often above others blest,
With the kind weight of all her charms,
When panting, dying, in my arms.
Dorinda's gone, gone far away,
She's gone and Strephon cannot stay :
By sympathetic ties I find
That to her sphere I am confin'd;
My motions still on her must wait,
And what she wills to me is fate, 2O
She's gone, O ! hear it all ye bowers, Ye walks, ye fountains, trees, and flowers, For whom you made your earliest show, For whom you took a pride to grow. She's gone, O ! hear, ye nightingales, Ye mountains ring it to the vales, And echo to the country round, The mournful, dismal, killing sound: Dorinda's gone, and Strephon goes, To find with her his lost repose. 3o
But ere I go, O ! let me see, That all things mourn her loss like me: Play, play, no more, ye spouting fountains, Rise ye vallies, sink ye mountains; Ye walks, in moss, neglected lie, Ye birds, be mute; ye streams, be dry. Fade, fade, ye flowers, and let the rose No more its blushing buds disclose: Ye spreading beach, and taper fir, Languish away in mourning her; 49 And never let your friendly shade, The stealth of other lovers aid. And thou, O ! dear, delightful bed, The altar where her maidenhead, With burning cheeks, and downcast eyes, With panting breasts, and kind replies,
And other due solemnity,
Was offer'd up to love and me.
Hereafter suffer no abuse,
Since consecrated to our use, 5o
As thou art sacred, don't profane
Thy self with any vulgar stain,
But to thy pride be still display'd,
The print her lovely limbs have made:
See, in a moment, all is chang'd,
The flowers shrunk up, the trees disrang'd,
And that which wore so sweet a face,
Become a horrid, desert place.
Nature her influence withdraws,
Th’ effect must follow still the cause, 6o
And where Dorinda will reside,
Nature must there all gay provide.
Decking that happy spot of earth.
Like Eden's garden at its birth,
To please her matchless, darling maid,
The wonder of her forming-trade;
Excelling all who e'er excell’d,
And as we ne'er the like beheld,
So neither is, nor e'er can be,
Her parallel, or second she. 70
ğ Fabsence so much racks my charmer's o heart, glo) Believe that Strephon's bears a eo double smart, So well he loves, and knows thy love so fine, That in his own distress he suffers thine: Yet, O forgive him, if his thoughts displease, He would not, cannot wish thee more at ease.
What need you bid me think of pleasures past? Was there one joy, whose image does not last P But that one; most ecstatic, most refin'd, Reigns fresh, and will for ever in my mind, Io With such a power of charms it storm'd my soul, That nothing ever can its strength controul, Not sleep, not age, not absence can avail, Reflection, ever young, must still prevail. What influence-divine did guide that hour, Which gave to minutes the Almighty power, To fix (whilst other joys are not a span) A pleasure lasting as the life of man.