Not a shrub that I heard her admire, To prune the wild branches away. From the plains, from the woodlands and groves, I have found out a gift for my fair; I have found where the wood-pigeons breed: But let me that plunder forbear, She will say 'twas a barbarous deed. Such tenderness fall from her tongue. I have heard her with sweetness unfold And she called it the sister of love. Can a bosom so gentle remain Unmoved when her Corydon sighs? Will a nymph that is fond of the plain, These plains and this valley despise ? Dear regions of silence and shade! Soft scenes of contentment and ease; Where I could have pleasingly strayed, If aught, in her absence, could please. But where does my Phyllida stray? And where are her grots and her bowers? Are the groves and the valleys as gay, And the shepherds as gentle as ours? The groves may perhaps be as fair, And the face of the valleys as fine; The swains may in manners compare, But their love is not equal to mine. III. SOLICITUDE. Why will you my passion reprove? O you that have been of her train, For when Paridel tries in the dance Might she ruin the peace of my mind! In ringlets he dresses his hair, And his crook is bestudded around; "Tis his with mock passion to glow, How they vary their accents in vain, To the grove or the garden he strays, "Then the lily no longer is white; The rose is deprived of its bloom; Then the violets die with despite, And the woodbines give up their perfume." Thus glide the soft numbers along, And he fancies no shepherd his peer ;— Yet I never should envy the song, Let his crook be with hyacinths bound, Yet may she beware of his art, IV. DISAPPOINTMENT. Ye shepherds, give ear to my lay, She was fair-and my passion begun ; Perhaps I was void of all thought: That a nymph so complete would be sought Ah! love every hope can inspire ; She is faithless, and I am undone; How fair, and how fickle they be. Alas! from the day that we met, The glance that undid my repose. The flower, the shrub, and the tree, Which I reared for her pleasure in vain, In time may have comfort for me. The sweets of a dew-sprinkled rose, The sound of a murmuring stream, The peace which from solitude flows, Henceforth shall be Corydon's theme. High transports are shown to the sight, But we're not to find them our own; Fate never bestowed such delight, As I with my Phyllis had known. O ye woods, spread your branches apace; I would hide with the beasts of the chase; Yet my reed shall resound through the grove With the same sad complaint it begun : How she smiled-and I could not but love; Was faithless-and I am undone ! 333 LYRIC POETRY. THE TWENTY-THIRD PSALM.-KING DAVID. He maketh me The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. KINDRED HEARTS.-MRS. HEMANS. Oh! ask not, hope thou not too much Few are the hearts whence one same touch Forbidden here to meet Such ties would make this life of ours It may be that thy brother's eye A rapture o'er thy soul can bring— The tune that speaks of other times- The melody of distant chimes, The sound of waves by night; |