The Works of Alexander Pope (1717)/Spring, the first Pastoral

by Alexander Pope

For other versions of this work, see Spring (Pope).

 

SPRING.

THE

FIRST PASTORAL.

TO

Sir WILLIAM TRUMBAL.

irst in these fields I try the sylvan strains,
Nor blush to sport on Windsor's blissful plains:
Fair Thames flow gently from thy sacred spring,
While on thy banks Sicilian Muses sing;
Let vernal airs thro' trembling osiers play,
And Albion's cliffs resound the rural lay.
 You, that too wise for pride, too good for pow'r,
Enjoy the glory to be great no more,
And carrying with you all the world can boast,
To all the world illustriously are lost!
O let my Muse her slender reed inspire,
Till in your native shades you tune the lyre:
So when the Nightingale to rest removes,
The Thrush may chant to the forsaken groves,
But, charm'd to silence, listens while she sings,
And all th' aerial audience clap their wings.
 Daphnis and Strephon to the shades retir'd,
Both warm'd by Love, and by the Muse inspir'd;
Fresh as the morn, and as the season fair,
In flow'ry vales they fed their fleecy care;
And while Aurora gilds the mountain's side,
Thus Daphnis spoke, and Strephon thus reply'd.

DAPHNIS.
 Hear how the birds, on ev'ry bloomy spray,
With joyous music wake the dawning day!
Why sit we mute when early Linnets sing,
When warbling Philomel salutes the spring?
Why sit we sad when Phosphor shines so clear,
And lavish nature paints the purple year?

STREPHON.
Sing then, and Damon shall attend the strain,
While yon' slow Oxen turn the furrow'd plain.
Here on green banks the blushing vi'lets glow;
Here western winds on breathing roses blow.
I'll stake my lamb that near the fountain plays,
And from the brink his dancing shade surveys.

DAPHNIS.
And I this bowl, where wanton ivy twines,
And swelling clusters bend the curling vines:
Four figures rising from the work appear,
The various Seasons of the rowling year;
And what is that, which binds the radiant sky,
Where twelve bright Signs in beauteous order lie?

DAMON.
Then sing by turns, by turns the Muses sing,
Now hawthorns blossom, now the daisies spring,
Now leaves the trees, and flow'rs adorn the ground;
Begin, the vales shall echo to the sound.

STREPHON.
Inspire me, Phœbus, in my Delia's praise
With Waller's strains, or Granville's moving lays!
A milk-white bull shall at your altars stand,
That threats a fight, and spurns the rising sand.

DAPHNIS.
O Love! for Sylvia let me gain the prize,
And make my tongue victorious as her eyes;
No lambs or sheep for victims I'll impart,
Thy victim, Love, shall be the shepherds heart.

STREPHON.
Me gentle Delia beckons from the plain,
Then hid in shades, eludes her eager swain;
But feigns a laugh, to see me search around,
And by that laugh the willing fair is found.

DAPHNIS.
The sprightly Sylvia trips along the green,
She runs, but hopes she does not run unseen;
While a kind glance at her pursuer flies,
How much at variance are her feet and eyes!

STREPHON.
O'er golden sands let rich Pactolus flow,
And trees weep amber on the banks of Po;
Blest Thames's shores the brightest beauties yield,
Feed here my lambs, I'll seek no distant field.

DAPHNIS.
Celestial Venus haunts Idalia's groves;
Diana Cynthus, Ceres Hybla loves;
If Windsor-shades delight the matchless maid.
Cynthus and Hybla yield to Windsor-shade.

STREPHON.
All nature mourns, the skies relent in show'rs,
Hush'd are the birds, and clos'd the drooping flow'rs;
If Delia smile, the flow'rs begin to spring,
The skies to brighten, and the birds to sing.

DAPHNIS.
All nature laughs, the groves fresh honours wear,
The Sun's mild lustre warms the vital air;
If Sylvia smiles, new glories gild the shore,
And vanquish'd nature seems to charm no more.

STREPHON.
In spring the fields, in autumn hills I love,
At morn the plains, at noon the shady grove,
But Delia always; forc'd from Delia's sight,
Nor plains at morn, nor groves at noon delight.

DAPHNIS.
Sylvia's like autumn ripe, yet mild as May,
More bright than noon, yet fresh as early day,
Ev'n spring displeases, when she shines not here,
But blest with her, 'tis spring throughout the year.

STREPHON.
Say, shepherd, say, in what glad soil appears
A wond'rous Tree that sacred Monarchs bears?
Tell me but this, and I'll disclaim the prize,
And give the conquest to thy Sylvia's eyes.

DAPHNIS.
Nay tell me first, in what more happy fields
The Thistle springs, to which the Lilly yields?
And then a nobler prize I will resign,
For Sylvia, charming Sylvia, shall be thine.

DAMON.
Cease to contend, for (Daphnis) I decree
The bowl to Strephon, and the lamb to thee:
Blest Swains, whose Nymphs in ev'ry grace excell,
Blest Nymphs, whose Swains those graces sing so well!
Now rise and haste to yonder woodbine bow'rs,
A soft retreat from sudden vernal show'rs;
The turf with rural dainties shall be crown'd,
While opening blooms diffuse their sweets around.
For see! the gath'ring flocks to shelter tend,
And from the Pleiads fruitful show'rs descend.