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"Poor artless maid! to stain thy spotless name,
"School'd in the science of love's mazy wiles,
And, feigning, left her anxious and forlorn.
"Then, while the fancy'd rage alarm'd her care,
"To thee, my Damon, dare I paint the rest? Will yet thy love a candid ear incline? Assur'd that virtue, by misfortune prest,
Feels not the sharpness of a pang like mine.
"Nine envious moons matur'd her growing shame;
66 6 Henry,' she said, 'by thy dear form subdu'd, See the sad reliques of a nymph undone !
I find, I find this rising sob renew'd:
I sigh in shades, and sicken at the Sun.
"Amid the dreary gloom of night, I cry,
When will the morn's once pleasing scenes return? Yet what can morn's returning ray supply,
But foes that triumph, or but friends that mourn!
"Alas! no more that joyous morn appears
That led the tranquil hours of spotless fame; For I have steep'd a father's couch in tears, And ting'd a mother's glowing cheek with shame.
"The vocal birds that raise their matin strain,
The sportive lambs, increase my pensive moan; All seem to chase me from the cheerful plain, And talk of truth and innocence alone.
"If through the garden's flowery tribes I stray, Where bloom the jasmines that could once allure, Hope not to find delight in us, they say,
For we are spotless, Jessy; we are pure.
"Ye flowers! that well reproach a nymph so frail;
"Now the grave old alarm the gentler young; And all my fame's abhorr'd contagion flee; Trembles each lip, and faulters every tongue,
That bids the morn propitious smile on me. "Thus for your sake I shun each human eye; I bid the sweets of blooming youth adieu; To die I languish, but I dread to die,
Lest my sad fate should nourish pangs for you. "Raise me from earth; the pains of want remove, And let me silent seek some friendly shore : There only, banish'd from the form I love,
My weeping virtue shall relapse no more.
"Be but my friend; I ask no dearer name;
"Force not my tongue to ask its scanty bread;
66 6 Haply, when Age has silver'd o'er my hair, Malice may learn to scorn so mean a spoil; Envy may slight a face no longer fair;
And pity, welcome, to my native soil.'
"She spoke - -nor was I born of savage race; Nor could these hands a niggard boon assign; Grateful she clasp'd me in a last embrace,
And vow'd to waste her life in prayers for mine.
"I saw her foot the lofty bark ascend;
I saw her breast with every passion heave; I left her - torn from every earthly friend; Oh! my hard bosom, which could bear to leave!
Brief let me be; the fatal storm arose; The billows rag'd, the pilot's art was vain ; O'er the tall mast the circling surges close;
My Jessy-floats upon the watery plain!
"And see my youth's impetuous fires decay;
A PASTORAL BALLAD,
IN FOUR PARTS. 1743.
Arbusta humilesque myricæ. VIRG.
YE shepherds so cheerful and gay,
Oh! call the poor wanderers home.
Nor talk of the change that ye find; None once was so watchful as I;
I have left my dear Phyllis behind.
Now I know what it is, to have strove
With the torture of doubt and desire; What it is to admire and to love,
And to leave her we love and admire. Ah! lead forth my flock in the morn,
And the damps of each evening repel; Alas! I am faint and forlorn :
I have bade my dear Phyllis farewell.
Since Phyllis vouchsaf'd me a look,
Beyond all that had pleas'd me before; But now they are past, and I sigh;
And I grieve that I priz'd them no more.
But why do I languish in vain;
Why wander thus pensively here? Oh! why did I come from the plain, Where I fed on the smiles of my dear? They tell me, my favourite maid,
The pride of that valley, is flown; Alas! where with her I have stray'd,
I could wander with pleasure, alone.
When fore'd the fair nymph to forego,
My path I could hardly discern;
I thought that she bade me return.
The pilgrim that journeys all day
To visit some far distant shrine, If he bear but a relique away,
Is happy, nor heard to repine.
My banks they are furnish'd with bees,
And my hills are white over with sheep,