ALBINO.HEN Virgil thought no shame the Dorick reedTo tune, and flocks on Mantuan plains to feed, With young Augustus' name he grac'd his song: And Spenser, when amid the rural throng 4He carol'd sweet, and graz'd along the flood Of gentle Thames, made every sounding wood With good Eliza's name to ring around; Eliza's name on every tree was found: 8Since then, through Anna's cares at ease we live, And see our cattle unmolested thrive, While from our Albion her victorious arms Drive wasteful warfare, loud in dire alarms, 12Like them will I my slender musick raise, And teach the vocal valleys Anna's praise.Mean-time, on oaten pipe a lowly lay, As my kids browse, obscure in shades I play: 16Yet, not obscure, while Dorset thinks no scornTo visit woods, and swains ignobly born.
Two valley swains, both musical, both young,Tn friendship mutual, and united long; 20Retire within a mossy cave, to shun The crowd of shepherds, and the noon-day sun.A gloom of sadness overcasts their mind:Revolving now, the solemn day they find, 24When yougAlbino died, His image dearBedews their cheeks with many a trickling tear:To tears they add the tribute of their verse;These Angelot, those Palin, did rehearse. 28
ANGELOT.Thus, yearly circling, by-past times return;And yearly, thus, Albino's death we mourn.Sent into life, alas! how short thy stay:How sweet the rose! how speedy to decay! 32Can we forget, Albino dear, thy knell,Sad-sounding wide from every village-bell?Can we forget how sorely Albion moan'd,That hills, and dales, and rocks, in echo groan'd, 36Presaging future woe, when, for our crimes,We lost Albino, pledge of peaceful times,Fair boast of this fair Island, darling joyOf Nobles high, and every shepherd-boy? 40No joyous pipe was hear'd, no flocks were seen,Nor shepherd found upon the grassy green,No cattle graz'd the field, nor drank the flood,No birds were hear'd to warble through the wood. 44In yonder gloomy grove out-stretch'd he lay,His lovely limbs upon the dampy clay;On his cold cheek the rosy hue decay'd, And, o'er his lips, the deadly blue display'd: 48Bleating around him ly his plaintive sheep;And mourning shepherds come, in crowds, to weep. Young Buckhurst comes: and, is there no redress?As if the grave regarded our distress! 52The tender virgins come, to tears yet new, And give, aloud, the lamentations due.The pious mother comes, with grief opprest:Ye trees, and conscious fountains, can attest 56With what sad accents, and what piercing cries,She fill'd the grove, and importun'd the skies,And every star upbraided with his death,When, in her widowed arms, devoid of breath, 60She clasp'd her son: nor did the Nymph, for this,Place in her dearling's welfare all her bliss,Him teaching, young, the harmless crook to wield, And rule the peaceful empire of the field. 64As milk-white swans on streams of silver show,And silvery streams to grace the meadows flow, As corn the vales, and trees the hills adorn,So thou, to thine, an ornament wast born. 68Since thou, delicious youth, didst quit the plains,Th' ungrateful ground we till with fruitless pains, In labour'd furrows sow the choice of wheat,And, over empty sheaves, in harvest sweat, 72A thin increase our fleecy cattle yield;And thorns, and thistles, overspread the field.How all our hope is fled, like morning-dew!And scarce did we thy dawn of manhood view. 76Who, now, shall teach the pointed spear to throw,To whirl the sling, and bend the stubborn bow,To toss the quoit with steady aim, and far,With sinewy force, to pitch the massy bar? 80Nor dost thou live to bless thy mother's days,To share her triumphs, and feel her praise,In foreign realms to purchase early fame,And add new glories to the British name: 84O, peaceful may thy gentle spirit, rest! The flowery turf ly, light upon thy breast; Nor shrieking owl, nor bat, thy tomb fly round, Nor midnight goblins revel o'er the ground, 88
PALIN.No more, mistaken Angelot, complain: Albino lives; and all our tears are vain: Albino lives, and will, for ever live With Myriads mixt, who never know to grieve, 92Who welcome every stranger-guest, nor fear Ever to mourn his absence with a tear, Where cold, nor heat, nor irksome toil annoy, Nor age, nor sickness, comes to damp their joy: 96And now the royal Nymph, who bore him, deigns The land to rule, and shield the simple swains, While, from above, propitious he looks down: For this, the welkin does no longer frown, 100Each planet shines, indulgent, from his sphere, And we renew our pastimes with the year. Hills, dales, and woods, with thrilling pipes resound; The boys and virgins dance, with chaplets crown'd, 104And hail Albino blest: the valleys ring Albino blest! O now, if ever, bringThe laurel green, the smelling eglantine,And tender branches from the mantling vine, 108The dewy cowslip, which in meadow grows, The fountain-violet, and the garden-rose, Marsh-lillies sweet, and tufts of daffadil, With what ye cull from wood, or verdant hill, 112Whether in open sun, or shade, they blow, More early some, and some unfolding flow, Bring, in heap'd canisters, of every kind, As if the summer had with spring combin'd, 116And nature, forward to assist your care, Did no profusion for Albino spare. Your hamlets strew, and every publick way; And consecrate to mirth Albino's day: 120Myself will lavish all my little store, And deal about the goblet flowing o'er: Old Moulin there shall harp, young Myco sing, And Cuddy dance the round amid the ring, 124And Hobbinol his antick gambols play: To thee these honours, yearly, will we pay; Nor fail to mention thee in all our chear, And teach our children the remembrance dear, 128When we or shearing-feast, or harvest, keep, To speed the plow, and bless our thriving sheep.While willow kids, and herbage lambs, pursue,While bees love thyme, and locusts sip the dew, 132While birds delight in woods their notes to strain, Thy name and sweet memorial shall remain.
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HEN Virgil thought no shame the Dorick reedTo tune, and flocks on Mantuan plains to feed, With young Augustus' name he grac'd his song: And Spenser, when amid the rural throng 4He carol'd sweet, and graz'd along the flood Of gentle Thames, made every sounding wood With good Eliza's name to ring around; Eliza's name on every tree was found: 8 Since then, through Anna's cares at ease we live, And see our cattle unmolested thrive, While from our Albion her victorious arms Drive wasteful warfare, loud in dire alarms, 12 Like them will I my slender musick raise, And teach the vocal valleys Anna's praise. Mean-time, on oaten pipe a lowly lay, As my kids browse, obscure in shades I play: 16Yet, not obscure, while Dorset thinks no scornTo visit woods, and swains ignobly born._-_Capital_W_type_3.png)
HEN Virgil thought no shame the Dorick reedTo tune, and flocks on Mantuan plains to feed, With young Augustus' name he grac'd his song: And Spenser, when amid the rural throng 4He carol'd sweet, and graz'd along the flood Of gentle Thames, made every sounding wood With good Eliza's name to ring around; Eliza's name on every tree was found: 8 Since then, through Anna's cares at ease we live, And see our cattle unmolested thrive, While from our Albion her victorious arms Drive wasteful warfare, loud in dire alarms, 12 Like them will I my slender musick raise, And teach the vocal valleys Anna's praise. Mean-time, on oaten pipe a lowly lay, As my kids browse, obscure in shades I play: 16Yet, not obscure, while Dorset thinks no scornTo visit woods, and swains ignobly born._p127_angel.png)