He said:- 6
Alexis, take this pipe; the same, 41
That taught the groves my Rosalinda's name.'
But now the reeds shall hang on yonder tree,
For ever silent, since despised by thee.

O! were I made by some transforming power 45
The captive bird that sings within thy bower!
Then might my voice thy listening ears em-
ploy,

And I those kisses he receives enjoy.

And yet my numbers please the rural throng; Rough satyrs dance, and Pan applauds the

song:

50

The nymphs, forsaking every cave and spring,
Their early fruit and milk-white turtles bring:
Each amorous nymph prefers her gifts in vain;
On you their gifts are all bestow'd again :
For you the swains their fairest flowers design, 55
And in one garland all their beauties join.
Accept the wreath which you deserve alone,
In whom all beauties are comprised in one.

'See what delights in sylvan scenes appear!
Descending gods have found Elysium here.
In woods bright Venus with Adonis stray'd;
And chaste Diana haunts the forest-shade.

41 Alexis, take this pipe.

Est mihi disparibus septem.-Virg.

60

42 Rosalinda's. This is the lady with whom Spenser fell violently in love, as soon as he left Cambridge, and went into the north; it is uncertain into what family, and in what capacity. Warton.

The name is said to be an anagram.

60 Descending gods.

Habitarunt Di quoque sylvas.-Virg.

Come, lovely nymph, and bless the silent hours, When swains from shearing seek their nightly bowers;

When weary reapers quit the sultry field,

65

And crown'd with corn their thanks to Ceres

yield.

70

This harmless grove no lurking viper hides,
But in my breast the serpent love abides.
Here bees from blossoms sip the rosy dew,
But your Alexis knows no sweets but you.
O, deign to visit our forsaken seats,
The mossy fountains, and the green retreats!
Where'er you walk, cool gales shall fan the glade;
Trees, where you sit, shall crowd into a shade;
Where'er you tread, the blushing flowers shall
rise,

75

80

And all things florish where you turn your eyes.
O, how I long with you to pass my days,
Invoke the Muses, and resound your praise!
Your praise the birds shall chant in every grove,
And winds shall waft it to the powers above.
But would you sing, and rival Orpheus' strain,
The wondering forests soon should dance again,
The moving mountains hear the powerful call,
And headlong streams hang listening in their
fall!

79 Your praise the birds. Pope had first written the lines,Your praise the tuneful birds to heaven shall bear, And listening wolves grow milder as they hear : but he acknowleges this to have been an oversight; the author, young as he was, soon found the absurdity, which

' and

Spenser himself had overlooked, of introducing wolves into England.'

'But, see, the shepherds shun the noonday

heat; The lowing herds to murmuring brooks retreat; To closer shades the panting flocks remove: Ye gods! and is there no relief for love? But soon the sun with milder rays descends To the cool ocean, where his journey ends. On me love's fiercer flames for ever prey; By night he scorches, as he burns by day.'

85

90

90

AUTUMN:

THE THIRD PASTORAL,*

OR

HYLAS AND EGON.

TO MR. WYCHERLEY.

BENEATH the shade a spreading beech displays,
Hylas and Ægon sung their rural lays;

This mourn'd a faithless, that an absent love,
And Delia's name and Doris' fill'd the grove.
Ye Mantuan nymphs, your sacred succor bring:
Hylas' and Ægon's rural lays I sing.

6

Thou, whom the Nine with Plautus' wit inspire, The art of Terence, and Menander's fire;

* This pastoral consists of two parts, like the eighth of Virgil: the scene, a hill; the time, sunset.

8The art of Terence, and Menander's fire. Alluding,' says Warburton, 'to Cæsar's character of Terence, -O dimidiate Menander!' &c. a sufficiently qualified panegyric of the Roman comedian; but that any allusion was intended is by no means clear. It is curious to find modern criticism dilating on the comic power' of Terence, which the character so distinctly denies :

Lenibus atque utinam scriptis adjuncta foret vis
Comica.

Whose sense instructs us, and whose humor

charms,

Whose judgment sways us, and whose spirit

warms!

O, skill'd in nature! see the hearts of swains,
Their artless passions, and their tender pains.

10

Now setting Phoebus shone serenely bright, And fleecy clouds were streak'd with purple light;

15

When tuneful Hylas, with melodious moan, Taught rocks to weep, and made the mountains

groan.

'Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs away! To Delia's ear the tender notes convey.

As some sad turtle his lost love deplores,
And with deep murmurs fills the sounding shores;
Thus, far from Delia, to the winds I mourn,
Alike unheard, unpitied, and forlorn.

21

'Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs along! For her, the feather'd quires neglect their song; For her, the limes their pleasing shades deny; 25 For her, the lilies hang their heads and die. Ye flowers, that droop, forsaken by the spring; Ye birds, that, left by summer, cease to sing; Ye trees, that fade when autumn heats remove ;Say, is not absence death to those who love?

30

'Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs away! Cursed be the fields that cause my Delia's stay; Fade every blossom, wither every tree, Die every flower, and perish all, but she. What have I said? where'er my Delia flies, 35 Let spring attend, and sudden flowers arise;