Alexis
A PASTORAL .
Upon a bank with cowslips cover'd o'er,
Where Leven's waters break against the shore;
What time the village sires in circles talk,
And youths and maidens take their evening walk;
Among the yellow bloom Alexis lay,
And view'd the beauties of the setting day.
Full well you might observe some inward smart,
Some secret grief hung heavy at his heart.
While round the field his sportive lambkins play'd,
He rais'd his plaintive voice, and thus he said:
Begin, my pipe! a softly mournful strain.
The parting sun shines yellow on the plain;
The balmy west-wind breathes along the ground;
Their evening sweets the flow'rs dispense around;
The flocks stray bleating o'er the mountain's brow,
And from the plain the answ'ring cattle low;
Sweet chant the feather'd tribes on every tree,
And all things feel the joys of love, but me.
Begin, my pipe! begin the mournful strain.
Eumelia meets my kindness with disdain.
Oft have I tried her stubborn heart to move,
And in her icy bosom kindle love:
But all in vain — ere I my love declar'd,
With other youths her company I shar'd;
But now she shuns me hopeless and forlorn,
And pays my constant passion with her scorn.
Begin, my pipe! the sadly-soothing strain,
And bring the days of innocence again.
Well I remember, in the sunny scene
We ran, we play'd together on the green.
Fair in our youth, and wanton in our play,
We toy'd, we sported the long summer's day.
For her I spoil'd the gardens of the Spring,
And taught the goldfinch on her hand to sing.
We sat and sung beneath the lover's tree;
One was her look, and it was fix'd on me.
Begin, my pipe! a melancholy strain.
A holiday was kept on yonder plain;
The feast was spread upon the flow'ry mead,
And skilful Thyrsis tun'd his vocal reed;
Each for the dance selects the nymph he loves,
And every nymph with smiles her swain approves:
The setting sun beheld their mirthful glee,
And left all happy in their love, but me.
Begin, my pipe! a softly mournful strain.
O cruel nymph! O most unhappy swain!
To climb the steepy rock's tremendous height,
And crop its herbage is the goat's delight;
The flowery thyme delights the humming bees,
The blooming wilds the bleating lambkins please;
Daphnis courts Chloe under every tree:
Eumelia! you alone have joys for me!
Now cease, my pipe! now cease the mournful strain.
Lo, yonder comes Eumelia o'er the plain!
Till she approach, I'll lurk behind the shade,
Then try with all my art the stubborn maid:
Though to her lover cruel and unkind,
Yet time may change the purpose of her mind.
But vain these pleasing hopes! already see,
She hath observ'd, and now she flies from me!
Then cease, my pipe! the unavailing strain.
Apollo aids, the Nine inspire in vain:
You, cruel maid! refuse to lend an ear;
No more I sing, since you disdain to hear.
This pipe Amyntas gave, on which he play'd:
" Be thou its second lord, " the dying shepherd said.
No more I pray, now silent let it be;
Nor pipe, nor song, can e'er give joy to me.
Upon a bank with cowslips cover'd o'er,
Where Leven's waters break against the shore;
What time the village sires in circles talk,
And youths and maidens take their evening walk;
Among the yellow bloom Alexis lay,
And view'd the beauties of the setting day.
Full well you might observe some inward smart,
Some secret grief hung heavy at his heart.
While round the field his sportive lambkins play'd,
He rais'd his plaintive voice, and thus he said:
Begin, my pipe! a softly mournful strain.
The parting sun shines yellow on the plain;
The balmy west-wind breathes along the ground;
Their evening sweets the flow'rs dispense around;
The flocks stray bleating o'er the mountain's brow,
And from the plain the answ'ring cattle low;
Sweet chant the feather'd tribes on every tree,
And all things feel the joys of love, but me.
Begin, my pipe! begin the mournful strain.
Eumelia meets my kindness with disdain.
Oft have I tried her stubborn heart to move,
And in her icy bosom kindle love:
But all in vain — ere I my love declar'd,
With other youths her company I shar'd;
But now she shuns me hopeless and forlorn,
And pays my constant passion with her scorn.
Begin, my pipe! the sadly-soothing strain,
And bring the days of innocence again.
Well I remember, in the sunny scene
We ran, we play'd together on the green.
Fair in our youth, and wanton in our play,
We toy'd, we sported the long summer's day.
For her I spoil'd the gardens of the Spring,
And taught the goldfinch on her hand to sing.
We sat and sung beneath the lover's tree;
One was her look, and it was fix'd on me.
Begin, my pipe! a melancholy strain.
A holiday was kept on yonder plain;
The feast was spread upon the flow'ry mead,
And skilful Thyrsis tun'd his vocal reed;
Each for the dance selects the nymph he loves,
And every nymph with smiles her swain approves:
The setting sun beheld their mirthful glee,
And left all happy in their love, but me.
Begin, my pipe! a softly mournful strain.
O cruel nymph! O most unhappy swain!
To climb the steepy rock's tremendous height,
And crop its herbage is the goat's delight;
The flowery thyme delights the humming bees,
The blooming wilds the bleating lambkins please;
Daphnis courts Chloe under every tree:
Eumelia! you alone have joys for me!
Now cease, my pipe! now cease the mournful strain.
Lo, yonder comes Eumelia o'er the plain!
Till she approach, I'll lurk behind the shade,
Then try with all my art the stubborn maid:
Though to her lover cruel and unkind,
Yet time may change the purpose of her mind.
But vain these pleasing hopes! already see,
She hath observ'd, and now she flies from me!
Then cease, my pipe! the unavailing strain.
Apollo aids, the Nine inspire in vain:
You, cruel maid! refuse to lend an ear;
No more I sing, since you disdain to hear.
This pipe Amyntas gave, on which he play'd:
" Be thou its second lord, " the dying shepherd said.
No more I pray, now silent let it be;
Nor pipe, nor song, can e'er give joy to me.
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