Scarce from the world is calmly drawn away,
And clos'd the circle of his earthly day,

Than, shame to tell! the darling of his care,
The plant selected all his hopes to bear,

Shrinks from the tree round which it long had twin'd,
And turns apostate, to amuse* mankind.

SCARCE had the blushing harbinger of day,
Aurora, brighten'd on the silv'ry spray;

The larks as yet lay silent in the field,

And scarce a charm of nature was reveal'd,

When, wak'd by love, two youthful shepherds drove

Their fleecy care, and wander'd to the grove.

Say thou, in whom each science of the mind
To manly temper's eloquently join'd;
Whose breast the critic and the bard inform,
With truth to judge us, and with taste to warm;
Say, shall the muse, unfledg'd her tender wings,
Salute thee patron of the verse she sings?

*It is not uncommon, especially among upstart Noblemen, to hear a father, or a mother, made the object of a jest.

In bolder numbers she'll rehearse thy praise,
Her pinion strengthen'd, and adorn'd her lays.

Wide o'er the fields the sun had cast his heat, When thus, as love had taught them to repeat, The tuneful swains alternate numbers prov'd, And sung the praises of the maids they lov'd.

DAMON.

Strephon! behold the shadows melt away,
Fair looks the morn, the zephyrs gently play;
A broader beam is shot across the skies,
The vallies open, and the mountains rise;
The waying trees their honours shake in air;
Arcadia's nymphs and Pan himself are here;
And shall remembrance in our souls expire,
When beauty charms, and all the groves inspire?

STREPHON.

If thou a Sylvia like my Delia find, At once so lovely, and at once so kind, Aside this river let her charms be sung;

The nymphs will listen to the lover's tongue.

DAMON.

If thou a Delia like my Sylvia sing,
As autumn mild, and cheerful as the spring,
The beauteous object shall the contest yield,
And Delia triumph o'er the wond'ring field.

EGON.

No sweeter music could enchant the plains: Begin; this bowl may animate your strains.

DAMON.

Nor unrewarded shall my Strephon play,
If Ægon listen, and approve the lay:

I stake this lamb, the fairest of my breed,
The matchless beauty of the sylvan mead.

EGON.

Sing then, my swains! and as your fancies glow,
In rhymes alternate let your numbers flow:
And who his rival can in song subdue,
His be the prize, and his the laurel too.

STREPHON.

Descend, soft maids and virgins of the grove,
Where sighs are cherish'd with the breath of love
Descend, and teach me to repeat the name

Of gentle Delia with unrivall'd fame!
Nine wreaths of laurel and a crown of flow'rs,
If Strephon conquer, shall adorn your bow'rs.

DAMON.

O Love! propitious to my song attend!
Ye smiling Graces, and ye Nymphs, descend!

The

The tend'rest dictate of my bosom fire,

And touch my reed with what her eyes inspire:
Four milk-white doves shall flutter round your shrine,
In Sylvia's honour, if the prize be mine.

STREPHON.

Me Delia loves, and, hast'ning o'er the plain, Flies to the groves, and echoes to my strain: Surpris'd, and list'ning to the sound, I rise, Trace ev'ry step, and sighing meet her sighs.

DAMON.

Me Sylvia follows when I tune the lay,

And on the borders of Avona play.

What heav'nly raptures must that shepherd share, Whose strains are answer'd, and whose nymph's so fair!

STREPHON.

Beneath the trees as on Avona's side,

Last cooling eve I listen'd to the tide,
A beauteous image mov'd upon the wave;
My Delia redden'd at the kiss I gave.

DAMON.

As at the rising of the purple dawn

I led my sheep along the dewy lawn,

My sprightly nymph came smiling o'er the mead,
And kiss'd the garland that adorn'd my reed.

STREPHON.

STREPHON.

Late in the depth of waving woods I stray'd-
My flock reposing in yon beechen shade-
With active force the bloomy boughs I press'd,
And gather'd hawthorns for my Sylvia's breast.

DAMON.

A tuneful linnet in the groves I found,
Just fledg'd, and flutt'ring on the flow'ry ground;
I caught the infant warbler of the grove,
And made him subject to my gentle love.

STREPHON.

In Denham's numbers let majestic Thame
Swell with each tide, and gather endless fame;
On Avon's banks the tragic muse appears
In solemn anguish, and majestic tears.

DAMON.

Let Windsor triumph in thy polish'd strains, Harmonious Pope! and deck his subject plains; Fair Esham's matchless in her flow'ry vales, Her early blossoms, and her fragrant gales.

* The vale of Evesham (commonly pronounced Esham) in Worcestershire, remarkable for the beauty and fertility of its fields and meadows.

STREPHON,