A shepherd's boy (he seeks no better name)[3]
Led forth his flocks[4] along the silver Thame,[5]
Where dancing sun-beams on the waters played,[6]
And verdant alders formed a quiv'ring[7] shade;[8]
Soft as he mourned, the streams forgot to flow,[9] 5
The flocks around a dumb compassion show,[10]
The Naiads wept in ev'ry wat'ry bow'r,
And Jove consented in a silent show'r.[11]
Accept, O GARTH! the muse's early lays,
That adds this wreath of ivy to thy bays;[12] 10
Hear what from love unpractised hearts endure,
From love, the sole disease thou canst not cure.
Ye shady beeches, and ye cooling streams,
Defence from Phoebus', not from Cupid's beams,[13]
To you I mourn; nor to the deaf I sing,[14] 15
"The woods shall answer, and their echo ring."[15]
The hills and rocks attend my doleful lay,
Why art thou prouder and more hard than they?[16]
The bleating sheep with my complaints agree,
They parched with heat, and I inflamed by thee.[17] 20
The sultry Sirius burns the thirsty plains,[18]
While in thy heart eternal winter reigns.[19]
Where stray ye, muses, in what lawn or grove,[20]
While your Alexis pines in hopeless love?
In those fair fields where sacred Isis glides, 25
Or else where Cam his winding vales divides?[21]
As in the crystal stream I view my face,[22]
Fresh rising blushes paint the wat'ry glass;
But since those graces please thy eyes no more,
I shun the fountains which I sought before. 30
Once I was skilled in ev'ry herb that grew,
And ev'ry plant that drinks the morning dew;[23]
Ah wretched shepherd, what avails thy art,
To cure thy lambs, but not to heal thy heart![24]
Let other swains attend the rural care, 35
Feed fairer flocks, or richer fleeces shear:[25]
But nigh yon' mountain[26] let me tune my lays,
Embrace my love, and bind my brows with bays.[27]
That flute is mine which Colin's[28] tuneful breath
Inspired when living, and bequeathed in death:[29] 40
He said; Alexis, take this pipe,[30] the same
That taught the groves my Rosalinda's name:[31]
But now the reeds shall hang on yonder tree,[32]
For ever silent, since despised by thee.
Oh! were I made by some transforming pow'r 45
The captive bird that sings within thy bow'r![33]
Then might my voice thy list'ning ears employ,
And I those kisses he receives enjoy.
And yet my numbers please the rural throng,[34]
Rough satyrs dance, and Pan applauds the song:[35] 50
The nymphs, forsaking ev'ry cave and spring,[36]
Their early fruit, and milk-white turtles bring![37]
Each am'rous nymph prefers her gifts in vain,
On you their gifts are all bestowed again.[38]
For you the swains their fairest flow'rs 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.[39] 60
In woods bright Venus with Adonis strayed;
And chaste Diana haunts the forest-shade.
Come, lovely nymph, and bless the silent hours,
When swains from shearing seek their nightly bow'rs;
When weary reapers quit the sultry field,[40] 65
And crowned with corn their thanks to Ceres yield.
This harmless grove no lurking viper hides,[41]
But in my breast the serpent love abides.[42]
Here bees from blossoms sip the rosy dew,
But your Alexis knows no sweets but you. 70
O deign to visit our forsaken seats,
The mossy fountains, and the green retreats![43]
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 flow'rs shall rise,[44] 75
And all things flourish where you turn your eyes.[45]
O! how I long with you to pass my days,[46]
Invoke the muses, and resound your praise!
Your praise the birds shall chant in ev'ry grove,[47]
And winds shall waft it to the pow'rs above.[48] 80
But would you sing, and rival Orpheus' strain,[49]
The wond'ring forests soon should dance[50] again,
The moving mountains hear the pow'rful call,
And headlong streams hang list'ning in their fall.[51]
But see, the shepherds shun the noon-day heat, 85
The lowing herds to murm'ring brooks retreat,[52]
To closer shades the panting flocks remove;
Ye gods! and is there no relief for love?[53]
But soon the sun with milder rays descends
To the cool ocean, where his journey ends:[54] 90
On me love's fiercer flames for ever prey,[55]
By night he scorches, as he burns by day.[56]