Classic Poem

I

A Trend, ye coy Maidens! of Love is my Song,
And Phaebe the cruel, reform'd in a Dream,
As in a sweet Slumber she lay all along
In the midst of her Flock by a murmuring Stream

II.

Now by Chance or Design arch Cupid was nigh,
And pleas'd, a sad, desperate Lover to save,
His Dart at this barbarous Beauty let fly
In Favour of Damon , her amorous Slave.

III.

" Soft Dreams , cry'd the God , come, and melt her hard Breast,
" And may the fond Shepherd , poor Damon succeed,
" Who watches, all Night, by her Rigour opprest,
" And tends, all the Day, on her Herd in the Mead!

IV.

Soft Dreams in a Moment croud into her Head,
She fancy'd rude Colin , that ugly, old Swain ,
Caress'd her so long on a Violet Bed,
That she woke with the Pleasure , yet blush'd with Disdain .

V.

Then, stretching, she cry'd, yet o'ercome with the Joy ,
If Colin , in Dreams , can so gladden my Heart,
Farewel to my Frowns, I'll no longer be coy,
What Bliss , while I wake, must young Damon impart?