DAMON.

Teach me, O Pan! to tune the slender reed, No favourite ram shall at thine altars bleed; Each breathing morn thy woodland verse I'll sing,

And hollow dens shall with the numbers ring,

ALEXIS.

Apollo! lend me thy celestial lyre,

The woods in concert join at thy desire:
At morn, at noon, at night, I'll tune the lay,
And bid fleet Echo bear the sound away,

DAMON.

Sweet are the breezes, when cool eve returns, To lowing herds, when raging Syrius burns: Not half so sweetly winds the breeze along, As does the murmur of your pleasing song.

ALEXIS.

To hear your strains the cattle spurn their food; The feathered songsters leave their tender brood; Around your seat the silent lambs advance; And scrambling he-goats on the mountains dance,

DAMON.

But haste, Alexis, reach yon leafy shade, Which mantling ivy round the oaks hath made ;

There we'll retire, and list the warbling note That flows melodious from the black bird's

throat;

Your easy numbers shall his songs inspire,
And every warbler join the general choir.

PASTORAL II.-Noon.

CORYDON-TIMANTHES.

CORYDON.

THE sun the summit of his orb hath gained;
No fleckered clouds his azure path hath stained;
Our pregnant ewes around us cease to graze,
Stung with the keenness of his sultry rays;
The
weary bullock from the yoke is led,

And youthful shepherds from the plains are fled
To dusky shades, where scarce a glimmering

ray

Can dart its lustre thro' the leafy spray.

Yon cooling rivulet where the waters gleam, Where springing flowers adorn the limpid stream,

Invites us where the drooping willow grows, To guide our flocks, and take a cool repose.

TIMANTHES.

To thy advice a grateful ear I'll lend;

The shades I'll court where slender osiers bend;
Our weanlings young shall crop the rising flower,
While we retire to yonder twining bower;
The woods shall echo back thy cheerful strains,
Admired by all our Caledonian swains.

CORYDON.

There have I oft with gentle Delia strayed,
Amidst th' embowering solitary shade,
Before the gods to thwart my wishes strove,
By blasting every pleasing glimpse of love:
For Delia wanders o'er the Anglian plains,
Where civil Discord and sedition reigns.
There Scotia's sons in odious light appear,
Tho' we for them have waved the hostile spear.
For them my sire, enwrapped in curdled gore,
Breathed his last moments on a foreign shore.

TIMANTHES.

Six lunar months, my friend, will soon expire,
And she return to crown your fond desire.
For her, oh rack not your desponding mind!
In Delia's breast a generous flame's confined,
That burns for Corydon, whose piping lay
Has caused the tedious moments steal away;

Whosestrains melodious moved the falling floods To whisper Delia to the rising woods.

Oh! if your sighs could aid the floating gales, That favourable swell their lofty sails,

Ne'er should your sobs their rapid flight give o'er,

Till Delia's presence graced our northern shore!

CORYDON.

Tho' Delia greet my love, I sigh in vain
Such joy unbounded can I ne'er obtain.
Her sire a thousand fleeces numbers o'er,
And grassy hills increase the milky store;
While the weak fences of a scanty fold
Will all my sheep and fattening lambkins hold.

TIMANTHES.

Ah, hapless youth! altho' the early Muse
Painted her semblance on thy youthful brows ;
Tho' she with laurels twined thy temples round,
And in thy ear distilled the magic sound;
A cheerless poverty attends thy woes;
Your song melodious unrewarded flows.

CORYDON.

Think not, Timanthes, that for wealth I pine, Tho' all the fates to make me poor combine: Tay, bounding o'er its banks with awful sway, Bore all my corns and all my flocks away.

Of Jove's dread precepts did I e'er complain?
E'er curse the rapid flood, or dashing rain ?
Ev'n now I sigh not for my former store,
But wish the gods had destined Delia poor.

TIMANTHES.

"Tis joy, my friend, to think I can repay The loss you bore by Autumn's rigid sway. Yon fertile meadow where the daisies spring, Shall yearly pasture to your heifers bring: Your flock with mine shall on yon mountain feed,

Cheered by the warbling of your tuneful reed: No more shall Delia's ever-fretful sire

Against your hopes and ardent love conspire. Roused by her smiles, you'll tune the happy lay, While hills responsive waft your songs away.

CORYDON.

May plenteous crops your irksome labour

crown;

May hoodwinked Fortune cease her envious frown;

May riches still increase with growing years; Your flocks be numerous as your silver hairs.

TIMANTHES.

But, lo! the heats invite us at our ease,
To court the twining shades and cooling breeze;