'Come, gentle Sleep! relieve these wearied eyes, All sorrow in thy soft embraces dies: There, spite of all thy perjured vows, I find Faithless Alexis languishingly kind: Sometimes he leads me by the mazy stream, And pleasingly deludes me in my dream; Sometimes he guides me to the secret grove, Where all our looks, and all our talk, is love. Oh could I thus consume each tedious day, And in sweet slumbers dream my life away! But sleep, which now no more relieves these eyes, To my sad soul the dear deceit denies.
Why does the sun dart forth his cheerful rays? Why do the woods resound with warbling lays? Why does the rose her grateful fragrance yield, And yellow cowslips paint the smiling field? Why do the streams with murmuring music flow? And why do groves their friendly shade bestow? Let sable clouds the cheerful sun deface, Let mournful silence seize the feather'd race; No more, ye roses! grateful fragrance yield; Droop, droop, ye cowslips! in the blasted field; No more, ye streams! with murmuring music flow, And let not groves a friendly shade bestow: With sympathizing grief let Nature mourn, And never know the youthful Spring's return : And shall I never more Alexis see?
Then what is spring, or grove, or stream, to me? Why sport the skipping lambs on yonder plain? Why do the birds their tuneful voices strain.? Why frisk those heifers in the cooling grove? Their happier life is ignorant of love.
Oh! lead me to some melancholy cave, To lull my sorrows in a living grave;
From the dark rock where dashing waters fall,
And creeping ivy hangs the craggy wall,
Where I may waste in tears my hours away,
And never know the seasons or the day.
Die, die, Panthea! fly this hateful grove,
For what is life without the swain I love?
Now Phoebus rose, and with his early beams
Waked slumbering Delia from her pleasing dreams;
Her wishes by her fancy were supplied,
And in her sleep the nuptial knot was tied.
With secret joy she saw the morning ray
Chequer the floor, and through the curtains play;
The happy morn that shall her bliss complete,
And all her rivals' envious hopes defeat.
In haste she rose, forgetful of her prayers,
Flew to the glass, and practised o'er her airs;
Her new-set jewels round her robe are placed,
Some in a brilliant buckle bind her waist,
Some round her neck a circling light display,
Some in her hair diffuse a trembling ray;
The silver knot o'erlooks the Mechlin lace,
And adds becoming beauties to her face;
Brocaded flowers o'er the gay mantua shine,
And the rich stays her taper shape confine:
Thus all her dress exerts a graceful pride,
And sporting Loves surround the' expecting bride;
For Daphnis now attends the blushing maid,
Before the priest their solemn vows are paid;
This day, which ends at once all Delia's cares,
Shall swell a thousand eyes with secret tears.
Cease, Araminta! 'tis in vain to grieve,
Canst thou from Hymen's bonds the youth re
Disdain his perjuries, and no longer mourn;
Recall my love, and find a sure return.'
But still the wretched maid no comfort knows,
And with resentment cherishes her woes;
Alone she pines, and, in these mournful strains,
Of Daphnis' vows and her own fate complains:
Was it for this I sparkled at the play,
And loiter'd in the ring whole hours away?
When if thy chariot in the circle shone,
Our mutual passion by our looks was known;
Through the gay crowd my watchful glances flew,
Where'er I pass thy grateful eyes pursue.
Ah! faithless youth! too well you saw my pain,
For eyes the language of the soul explain.
• Think, Daphnis! think, that scarce five days are fled,
Since (O false tongue!) those treacherous things you said;
How did you praise my shape and graceful air!
And woman thinks all compliments sincere.
Didst thou not then in rapture speak thy flame,
And in soft sighs breathe Araminta's name?
Didst thou not then with oaths thy passion prove,
And with an awful trembling say-" I love?"
Ah! faithless youth! too well you saw my pain,
For eyes the language of the soul explain.
'How couldst thou thus, ungrateful youth! deceive?
How could I thus, unguarded maid! believe?
Sure thou canst well recall that fatal night,
When subtle love first enter'd at my sight:
When in the dance I was thy partner chose,
Gods! what a rapture in my bosom rose!
My trembling hand my sudden joy confess'd,
My glowing cheeks a wounded heart express'd;
My looks spoke love; while you, with answering
In killing glances made as kind replies.
Think, Daphnis! think what tender things you said,
Think what confusion all my soul betray'd.
You call'd my graceful presence Cynthia's air,
And when I sung, the syrens charm'd
your ear:
My flame, blown up by flattery, stronger grew,
A gale of love in every whisper flew.
Ah! faithless youth! too well you saw my pain,
For eyes the language of the soul explain.
'Whene'er I dress'd, my maid, who knew my flame,
Cherish'd my passion with thy lovely name;
Thy picture in her talk so lively grew,
That thy dear image rose before my view:
She dwelt whole hours upon thy shape and mien,
And wounded Delia's fame, to sooth my spleen :
When she beheld me at the name grow pale,
Straight to thy charms she changed her artful tale;
And when thy matchless charms were quite run o'er,
I bid her tell the pleasing tale once more.
Oh! Daphnis! from thy Araminta fled!
Oh! to my love for ever, ever dead!
Like death, his nuptials all my hope remove,
And ever part me from the man I love.
Ah! faithless youth! too well you saw my pain,
For eyes the language of the soul explain.
'O might I by my cruel fate be thrown
In some retreat, far from this hateful town!
Vain dress and glaring equipage, adieu!
Let happier nymphs those empty shows pursue.
Me let some melancholy shade surround,
Where not the print of human step is found.
In the gay dance my feet no more shall move,
But bear me faintly through the lonely grove;
No more these hands shall o'er the spinnet bound,
And from the sleeping strings call forth the sound:
Music! adieu; farewell, Italian airs!
The croaking raven now shall sooth my cares.
On some old ruin, lost in thought, I rest,
And think how Araminta once was bless'd;
There, o'er and o'er thy letters I peruse,
And all my grief in one kind sentence lose :
Some tender line by chance my woe beguiles,
And on my cheek a short-lived pleasure smiles.
Why is this dawn of joy! flow, tears, again;
Vain are these oaths, and all these vows are vain!
Daphnis, alas! the gordian knot has tied,
Nor force nor cunning can the band divide.
Ah! faithless youth! since eyes the soul explain,
Why knew I not that artful tongue could feign?'
SHOCK's fate I mourn; poor Shock is now no more:
Ye Muses! mourn; ye Chambermaids! deplore.
Unhappy Shock! yet more unhappy fair,
Doom'd to survive thy joy and only care.
Thy wretched fingers now no more shall deck,
And tie the favourite ribbond round his neck;
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