LOBBIN. F we, O Dorset, quit the city throng, To meditate in shades the rural song, By your command, be present: and, O bring The Muse along! The Muse to You shall sing: 4 Her influence, Buckhurst, let me there obtain, And I forgive the fam'd Sicilian Swain.
Begin.———In unluxurious times of yore, When flocks and herds were no inglorious store, 8 Lobbin, a Shepherd-boy, one evening fair, As western winds had cool'd the sultry air, His numb'red sheep within the fold now pent, Thus plain'd him of his dreery discontent; 12 Beneath a hoary poplar's whisp'ring boughs, He, solitary, sat to breathe his vows, Venting the tender anguish of his heart, As passion taught, in accents free of art: 16 And little did he hope, while, night by night, His sighs were lavish'd thus on Lucy bright.
"Ah, well a day! how long must I endure "This pining pain? Or who shall speed my cure? 20 "Fond love no cure will have, seeks no repose, "Delights in grief, nor any measure knows: "And now the moon begins in clouds to rise; "The brightening stars increase within the skies; 24 "The winds are hush; the dews distil; and sleep "Hath clos'd the eyelids of my weary sheep: "I only with the proling wolf constrain'd "All night to wake: with hunger is he pain'd, 28 "And I, with love. His hunger he may tame; "But who can quench, O cruel Love, thy flame? "Whilom did I, all as this poplar fair, "Up-raise my heedless head, then void of care, 32 "'Mong rustick routs the chief for wanton game; "Nor could they merry-make, 'till Lobbin came. "Who better seen than I in shepherds' arts, "To please the lads, and win the lasses' hearts? 36 "How deftly, to mine oaten reed so sweet, "Wont they, upon the green, to shift their feet? "And, wearyed in the dance, how would they yearn "Some well devised tale from me to learn? 40 "For many songs and tales of mirth had I, "To chase the loitering sun adown the sky: "But, ah! since Lucy coy deep-wrought her spight "Within my heart, unmindful of delight 44 "The jolly grooms I fly, and, all alone, "To rocks and woods pour forth my fruitless moan. "Oh! quit thy wonted scorn, relentless Fair! "E're, ling'ring long, I perish through despair. 48 "Had Rosalind been mistress of my mind, "Though not so fair, she would have prov'd more kind. "O think, unwitting maid, while yet is time, "How flying years impair the youthful prime! 52 "Thy virgin bloom will not for ever stay, "And flowers, though left ungath'red, will decay: "The flowers, anew, returning seasons bring! "But beauty faded has no second spring. 56 "My words are wind! She, deaf to all my cries, "Takes pleasure in the mischief of her eyes. "Like frisking heifer, loose in flowery meads, "She gads where'er her roving fancy leads; 60 "Yet still from me. Ah me, the tiresome chace! "Shy as the fawn, she flies my fond embrace. "She flies, indeed, but ever leaves behind, "Fly where she will, her likeness in my mind. 64 "No cruel purpose, in my speed, I bear; "'Tis only love; and love why should'st thou fear? "What idle fears a maiden-breast alarm! "Stay, simple girl: a lover cannot harm. 68 "Two sportive kidlings, both fair-fleck'd, I rear; "Whose shooting horns like tender buds appear: "A lambkin too, of spotless fleece, I breed, "And teach the fondling from my hand to feed: 72 "Nor will I cease betimes to cull the fields "Of every dewy sweet the morning yields: "From early spring to autumn late shalt thou "Receive gay girlonds, blooming o'er thy brow: 76 "And when,——— But, why these unavailing pains? "The gifts, alike, and giver, the disdains: "And now, left heiress of the glen, she'll deem "Me, londless lad, unworthy her esteem: 80 "Yet, was th e born, like me, of shepherd-fire; "And I may fields and lowing herds acquire. "O! would my gifts but win her wanton heart, "Or could I half the warmth I feel impart, 84 "How would I wander, every day, to find "The choice of wildings, blushing through the rind! "For glossy plumbs how lightsome climb the tree, "How risque the vengeance of the thrifty Bee! 88 "O! if thou deign to live a shepherdess, "Thou Lobbin's flock, and Lobbin, shalt possess: "And, fair my flock, nor yet uncomely I, "If liquid fountains flatter not; and why 92 "Should liquid fountains flatter us, yet show "The bordering flowers less beauteous than they grow? "O! come, my love; nor think th' imployment mean, "The dams to milk, and little lambkins wean, 96 "To drive a-field, by morn, the fattening ewes, "'E're the warm Sun drink up the cooly dews, "While, with my pipe, and with my voice, I chear "Each hour, and through the day detain thine ear. 100 "How would the crook beseem thy lilly hand! "How would my younglings round thee gazing stand! "Ah, witless younglings! gaze not on her eye: "Thence all my sorrow; thence the death I dy. 104 "O, killing beauty! and O, sore desire! "Must then my fufferings, but with life, expire? "Though blossoms every year the trees adorn, "Spring after spring I wither, nipt with scorn: 108 "Nor trow I when this bitter blast will end, "Or if yon stars will e'er my vows befriend. "Sleep, sleep, my flock; for happy ye may take "Sweet nightly rest, though still your master wake. 112
Now, to the waning moon, the nightingale, In slender warblings, tun'd her piteous tale, The love-sick shepherd, listening, felt relief, Pleas'd with so sweet a partner in his grief, 116 'Till, by degrees, her notes and silent night To slumbers soft his heavy heart invite.
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