Classic Poem

YOUNG C ORYDON for fair A LEXIS pin'd,
But hope ne'er gladden'd his desponding mind;
Nor vows nor tears the scornful boy could move,
Distinguish'd by his wealthier master's love.
Oft to the beeche's deep-embowering shade
Pensive and sad this hapless shepherd stray'd;
There told in artless verse his tender pain.
To echoing hills and groves, but all in vain.

In vain the flute's complaining lays I try;
And am I doom'd, unpitying boy, to die?
Now to faint flocks the grove a shade supplies,
And in the thorny brake the lizard lies;
Now T HESTYLIS with herbs of savoury taste
Prepares the weary harvestman's repast;
And all is still, save where the buzzing sound
Of chirping grashoppers is heard around;
While I expos'd to all the rage of heat
Wander the wilds in search of thy retreat.

Was it not easier to support the pain
I felt from Amaryllis ' fierce disdain?
Easier M ENALCAS ' cold neglect to bear,
Black though he was, though thou art blooming fair?

Yet be relenting, nor too much presume,
O beauteous boy, on thy celestial bloom;
The sable violet yields a precious die,
While useless on the field the withering lillies lie.
Ah cruel boy! my love is all in vain,
No thoughts of thine regard thy wretched swain.
How rich my flock thou carest not to know,
Nor how my pails with generous milk o'erflow.
With bleat of thousand lambs my hills resound,
And all the year my milky stores abound.
Not A MPHION'S lays were sweeter than my song,
Those lays that led the listening herds along.
And if the face be true I lately view'd,
Where calm and clear th' uncurling ocean stood,
I lack not beauty, nor couldst thou deny,
That even with D APHNIS I may dare to vie.
O deign at last amid these lonely fields,
To taste the pleasures which the country yields;
With me to dwell in cottages resign'd,
To roam the woods, to shoot the bounding hind;
With me the weanling kids from home to guide
To the green mallows on the mountain-side;
With me in echoing groves the song to raise,
And emulate eyen P AN'S celestial lays.
P AN taught the jointed reed its tuneful strain,
P AN guards the tender flock, and shepherd swain.
Nor grudge, A LEXIS , that the rural pipe
So oft hath stain'd the roses of thy lip:
How did A MYNTAS strive thy skill to gain!
How grieve at last to find his labour vain!
Of seven unequal reeds a pipe I have,
The precious gift which good D AMOETAS gave;
Take this, the dying shepherd said, for none
Inherits all my skill but thou alone.
He said; A MYNTAS murmurs at my praise,
And with an envious eye the gift surveys.
Besides, as presents for my soul's delight
Two beauteous kids I keep bestreak'd with white,
Nourish'd with care, nor purchas'd without pain;
An ewe's full udder twice a day they drain.
These to obtain oft T HESTYLIS hath tried
Each winning art, while I her suit deny'd;
But I at last shall yield what she requests,
Since thy relentless pride my gifts detests.
Come, beauteous boy, and bless my rural bowers.
For thee the nymphs collect the choicest flowers:
Fair N AIS culls amid the bloomy dale
The drooping poppy, and the violet pale,
To marygolds the hyacinth applies,
Shading the glossy with the tawny dies:
Narcissus' flower with daffodil entwin'd,
And casia's breathing sweets to these are join'd,
With every bloom that paints the vernal grove,
And all to form a garland for my Love.
Myself with sweetest fruits will crown thy feast;
The luscious peach shall gratify thy taste,
And chesnut brown (once high in my regard,
For Amaryllis this to all prefer'd;
But if the blushing plum thy choice thou make,
The plum shall more be valued for thy sake.)
The myrtle wreath'd with laurel shall exhale
A blended fragrance to delight thy smell.
Ah C ORYDON ! thou rustic, simple swain!
Thyself, thy prayers, thy offers all are vain.
How few, compar'd with rich I OLAS store,
Thy boasted gifts, and all thy wealth how poor!
Wretch that I am! while thus I pine forlorn,
And all the live-long day inactive mourn,
The boars have laid my silver fountains waste,
My flowers are fading in the southern blast.—
Fly'st thou, ah foolish boy, the lonesome grove?
Yet Gods for this have left the realms above.
P ARIS with scorn the pomp of Troy survey'd,
And sought th' Idæan bowers and peaceful shade.
In her proud palaces let P ALLAS shine;
The lowly woods, and rural life be mine.
The lioness all dreadful in her course
Pursues the wolf, and he with headlong force
Flies at the wanton goat, that loves to climb
The cliff's steep side, and crop the flowering thyme;
Thee C ORYDON pursues, O beauteous boy:
Thus each is drawn along by some peculiar joy.
Now evening soft comes on; and homeward now
From field the weary oxen bear the plough.
The setting sun now beams more mildly bright,
The shadows lengthening with the level light.
While with love's flame my restless bosom glows,
For love no interval of ease allows.
Ah C ORYDON ! to weak complaints a prey!
What madness thus to waste the fleeting day!
Be rous'd at length; thy half-prun'd vines demand
The needful culture of thy curbing hand.
Haste, lingering swain, the flexile willows weave,
And with thy wonted care thy wants relieve,
Forget A LEXIS ' unrelenting scorn,
Another Love thy passion will return.