132
Poems on
Florus.
But vain the Pleasure which the Season yields,
The laughing Vallies, or the painted Fields.
No more, ye Floods, in silver Mazes flow,
Smile not, ye Flow'rs, no more soft Breezes blow;
Far, Damon, far from these unhappy Groves,
The cruel, lovely Rosalinda roves.
But vain the Pleasure which the Season yields,
The laughing Vallies, or the painted Fields.
No more, ye Floods, in silver Mazes flow,
Smile not, ye Flow'rs, no more soft Breezes blow;
Far, Damon, far from these unhappy Groves,
The cruel, lovely Rosalinda roves.
Damon.
Ah! now I know why late the opening Buds
Clos'd up their Gems, and sicken'd in the Woods;
Why droop'd the Lilly in her snowy Pride,
And why the Rose withdrew her Sweets, and dy'd;
For thee, fair Rosalind, the opening Buds
Clos'd up their Gems, and sicken'd in the Woods;
For thee the Lilly shed her snowy Pride,
For thee the Rose withdrew her Sweets, and dy'd.
Ah! now I know why late the opening Buds
Clos'd up their Gems, and sicken'd in the Woods;
Why droop'd the Lilly in her snowy Pride,
And why the Rose withdrew her Sweets, and dy'd;
For thee, fair Rosalind, the opening Buds
Clos'd up their Gems, and sicken'd in the Woods;
For thee the Lilly shed her snowy Pride,
For thee the Rose withdrew her Sweets, and dy'd.
Flo-
