Classic Poem

LOBBIN.

I F we, O D ORSET , quit the city-throng,
To meditate in shades the rural song,
By your command, be present: and, O bring
The Muse along! The Muse to You shall sing:
Her influence, Buckhurst , let me there obtain,
And I forgive the fam'd Sicilian Swain.
Begin. — In unluxurious times of yore,
When flocks and herds were no inglorious store,
Lobbin , a Shepherd-boy, one evening fair,
As western winds had cool'd the sultry air,
His numb'red sheep within the fold now pent,
Thus plain'd him of his dreery discontent;
Beneath a hoary poplar's whisp'ring boughs,
He, solitary, fat to breathe his vows,
Venting the tender anguish of his heart,
As passion taught, in accents free of art:
And little did he hope, while, night by night,
His sighs were lavish'd thus on Lucy bright.

" Ah, well-a-day! how long must I endure
" This pining pain? Or who shall speed my cure?
" Fond love no cure will have, seeks no repose,
" Delights in grief, nor any measure knows:
" And now the moon begins in clouds to rife;
" The brightening stars increase within the skies;
" The winds are hush; the dews distil; and sleep
" Hath clos'd the eyelids of my weary sheep:
" I only with the proling wolf constrain'd
" All night to wake: with hunger is he pain'd,
" And I, with love. His hunger he may tame;
" But who can quench, O cruel Love, thy flame?
" Whilom did I, all as this poplar fair,
" Up-raise my heedless head, then void of care,
" 'Mong rustick routs the chief for wanton game;
" Nor could they merry-make, 'till Lobbin came.
" Who better seen than I in shepherds' arts,
" To please the lads, and win the lasses' hearts?
" How deftly, to mine oaten reed so sweet,
" Wont they, upon the green, to shift their feet?
" And, wearyed in the dance, how would they yearn
" Some well devised tale from me to learn?
" For many songs and tales of mirth had I,
" To chase the loitering sun adown the sky:
" But, ah! since Lucy coy deep-wrought her spight
" Within my heart, unmindful of delight
" The jolly grooms I fly, and, all alone,
" To rocks and woods pour forth my fruitless moan.
" Oh! quit thy wonted scorn, relentless Fair!
" E're, ling'ring long, I perish through despair.
" Had Rosalind been mistress of my mind,
" Though not so fair, she would have prov'd more kind.
" O think, unwitting maid, while yet is time,
" How flying years impair the youthful prime!
" Thy virgin bloom will not for ever stay,
" And flowers, though left ungath'red, will decay:
" The flowers, anew, returning seasons bring!
" But beauty faded has no second spring.
" My words are wind! She, deaf to all my cries,
" Takes pleasure in the mischief of her eyes
" Like frisking heifer, loose in flowery meads,
" She gads where'er her roving fancy leads;
" Yet still from me. Ah me, the tiresome chace!
" Shy as the fawn, she flies my fond embrace.
" She flies, indeed, but ever leaves behind,
" Fly where she will, her likeness in my mind.
" No cruel purpose, in my speed, I bear;
" 'Tis only love; and love why should'st thou fear?
" What idle fears a maiden-breast alarm!
" Stay, simple girl: a lover cannot harm.
" Two sportive kidlings, both fair-fleck'd, I rear;
" Whose shooting horns like tender buds appear:
" A lambkin too, of spotless fleece, I breed,
" And teach the fondling from my hand to feed:
" Nor will I cease betimes to cull the fields
" Of every dewy sweet the morning yields:
" From early spring to autumn late shalt thou
" Receive gay girlonds, blooming o'er thy brow:
" And when, — But, why these unavailing pains?
" The gifts, alike, and giver, she disdains:
" And now, left heiress of the glen, she'll deem
" Me, londless lad, unworthy her esteem:
" Yet, was she born, like me, of shepherd-sire;
" And I may fields and lowing herds acquire.
" O! would my gifts but win her wanton heart,
" Or could I half the warmth I feel impart,
" How would I wander, every day, to find
" The choice of wildings, blushing through the rind!
" For glossy plumbs how lightsome climb the tree,
" How risque the vengeance of the thrifty Bee!
" O! if thou deign to live a shepherdess,
" Thou Lobbin 's flock, and Lobbin , shalt possess:
" And, fair my flock, nor yet uncomely I,
" If liquid fountains flatter not; and why
" Should liquid fountains flatter us, yet show
" The bordering flowers less beauteous than they grow?
" O! come, my love; nor think th' imployment mean,
" The dams to milk, and little lambkins wean,
" To drive a-field, by morn, the fattening ewes,
" E're the warm sun drink up the cooly dews,
" While, with my pipe, and with my voice, I chear
" Each hour, and through the day detain thine ear.
" How would the crook beseem thy lilly-hand!
" How would my younglings round thee gazing stand!
" Ah, witless younglings! gaze not on her eye:
" Thence all my sorrow; thence the death I dy.
" O, killing beauty! and O, fore desire!
" Must then my sufferings, but with life, expire?
" Though blossoms every year the trees adorn,
" Spring after spring I wither, nipt with scorn:
" Nor trow I when this bitter blast will end,
" Or if yon stars will e'er my vows befriend.
" Sleep, sleep, my flock; for happy ye may take
" Sweet nightly rest, though still your master wake.

Now, to the waning moon, the nightingale,
In slender warblings, tun'd her piteous tale,
The love-sick Shepherd, listening, felt relief,
Pleas'd with so sweet a partner in his grief,
'Till, by degrees, her notes and silent night
To slumbers soft his heavy heart invite.