Ne'er rouze the soul, by strokes of magic kind,
Just war to wage, or humanize mankind ;
With sweetest sounds the virgin's soul control,
Or in Elysium wrap the lover's soul ?

Fir'd with the thought, I court the Sylvan muse, Her magic influence o'er me to diffuse ; Whilst I aspire to wake the rural reed, And sing of swains, whose snowy lambkins feed On SCHUYLKILL’s banks, with shady walnuts crown’d, And bid the vales with music melt around.

Soon as the

rays that gild the orient dawn, Ting’d the blue hills, and pearld each dewy lawn, Two swains arose and spread their bleating train O'er the fresh verdure of a flow'ry plain ; Then fought a hill where purple violets bloom'd, And fragrant scents the downy air perfum’d; Close by whose side there stray'd a murm’ring brook, Where soft reclin'd, each fix'd his oaken crook; When


Menalcas the long silence broke, And pensive Daphnis, thus returning spoke.

M E N A L C A S,

See Nature's sweets profusely round display'd, Flow'rs paint the lawn, and green

bedecks the shade; The feather'd choir in carols hail the day, And new-blown hawthorns feel yon heav'nly ray;


Pomona spreads her dulcet charms around,
And buxom Pan o'erleaps the pregnant ground.
All but my Daphnis hail the rising morn;
Each face but his congenial smiles adorn.
When kindly nature thus invites to joy,
What irksome cares can Daphnis’ reft destroy ?
Have thy young lambs by wolves devouring bled,
Or some kind brother mingled with the dead ?
O say what grief involves the troubled swain,
That thus he flights the shepherd and his strain ?

D A P H N I S.

Nature, 'tis true, exults in verņal bloom, Each

grove is music, and each field perfume ; The fruitful trees their bloffom'd foliage rear, And jocund shepherds hail the golden year ; The groves,

the vales, the hills and ev'ry lawn, With sprightly echoes wake the blushing dawnBut lawns, and hills, and vales and groves around, Are nought to Daphnis but an empty sound; The linnet's songs no more entice my ear, Nor charm the beauties of the smiling year ; The day's refulgence now delights no more, Nor night's cool shade expanded to each shore !

But since my friend can fympathize with pain, Know then why this indifference to thy 'strain. B 2


On my young lambs no prowling wolves have fed, No brother-swain is number'd with the dead


; But cruel Delia has unfaithful prov'd, And flights the swain that oft she swore she lov'd. Say then, Menalcas ! has not Daphnis cause To break all Nature's and all Reason's laws; To plunge me headlong from yon mountain's brow, And end my sorrows in the waves below.

M E N A L C A S.

Can lovely Delia e'er unfaithful prove, Or flight the swain to whom she vow'd her love ? The rabid wolves may browse with harmless sheep, And forest-doves with tow'ring eagles keep ; The crabbed thorn with clustering grapes may bend, And humble willows to proud oaks ascend; The vales out-top the lofty mountain's browBut charming Delia cannot break her vow!

D A P H N I S. Cease shepherd, cease! for now no Delia charms, Nor more shall Daphnis wanton in her arms; The spreading boughs no more shall guard our love, Nor Delia's name be figur’d in each grove ! For me, my sheep run bleating o'er the plain, While I to woods and finty rocks complain !


Milder than Delia finty rocks are grown,
For in sad echoes they return my moan ;
But haughty Delia scorns my ardent Aame,
And bids her shepherd woo fome humbler dame!

M E N A L C A S. The sportful trouts may leave their wat'ry plains, To dwell in woods, and tune spontaneous strains ; The warbling linnets may in rivers glide, And dash the billows with the dolphin's pride ; Yon distant steers, that drag the heavy plough, May, like the squirrel, spring from bough to bough But heav'nly Delia cannot faithless prove, Nor barter for vile gain her promis'd love!

D A P. H N I S.

The breeze that shakes the spangld dew-drops

round, The swelling foods that burst the meadow's bound, Are not more wav'ring than the female mind! Wild as the waves, unstable as the wind!


With gentler manners treat the beauteous race, Nor say, if one's unfaithful, all are base ! Let thy sweet pipe beguile this ill-tim'd woe, While from my reed spontaneous notes shall flow.


Behold our flocks are scatt'ring o'er the plain,
Proceed we then to chaunt the Sylvan strain.



Come, then, Menalcas ! tuneful shepherd rise,
Thy song shall praise the SOVEREIGN of the skies;
Whilft I will join in that exalted theme,
Nor more repeat the faithless fair-one's name!

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