22
FLORELIO.
When ev'ning gales attentive silence keep,
And heav'n its balmy dew begins to weep,
By the soft fall of ev'ry warbling stream
Sigh your sad airs, and bless the shepherd's name:
There to the tender lute attune your woe, 125
While hyacinths and myrtles round ye grow:
So may Sylvanus ever 'tend your bow'rs,
And Zephyr brush the mildew from the flow'rs!
Bid all the swans from Cam and Isis haste,
In the melodious choir to breathe their last. 130
O Colin, Colin! could I there complain
Like thee, when young Philisides was slain!
Thou sweet frequenter of the Musės' stream!
Why have I not thy voice or thou my theme?
Tho' weak my voice, tho' lowly be my lays, 135
They shall be sacred to the shepherd's praise:
To him my voice, to him my lays, belong,
And bright Myrtilla now must live unsung:
Ev'n she, whose artless beauty bless'd me more
Than ever swain was bless'd by nymph before; 140
While ev'ry tender sigh, to seal our bliss,
Brought a kind vow, and ev'ry vow a kiss:
Fair, chaste, and kind, yet now no more can move,
So much my grief is stronger than my love:
Now the dear youth has left the lonely plain, 145
And is the grief, who was the grace, of ev'ry British swain.
As when some cruel hind has borne away
The turtle's nest, and made the young his prey,
And heav'n its balmy dew begins to weep,
By the soft fall of ev'ry warbling stream
Sigh your sad airs, and bless the shepherd's name:
There to the tender lute attune your woe, 125
While hyacinths and myrtles round ye grow:
So may Sylvanus ever 'tend your bow'rs,
And Zephyr brush the mildew from the flow'rs!
Bid all the swans from Cam and Isis haste,
In the melodious choir to breathe their last. 130
O Colin, Colin! could I there complain
Like thee, when young Philisides was slain!
Thou sweet frequenter of the Musės' stream!
Why have I not thy voice or thou my theme?
Tho' weak my voice, tho' lowly be my lays, 135
They shall be sacred to the shepherd's praise:
To him my voice, to him my lays, belong,
And bright Myrtilla now must live unsung:
Ev'n she, whose artless beauty bless'd me more
Than ever swain was bless'd by nymph before; 140
While ev'ry tender sigh, to seal our bliss,
Brought a kind vow, and ev'ry vow a kiss:
Fair, chaste, and kind, yet now no more can move,
So much my grief is stronger than my love:
Now the dear youth has left the lonely plain, 145
And is the grief, who was the grace, of ev'ry British swain.
As when some cruel hind has borne away
The turtle's nest, and made the young his prey,
