ALEXIS
:
A
PASTORAL
BALLAD
.
IN
TWO
PARTS
.
BY
A
LADY
.
ALEXIS
,
the
pride
of
the
plain
,
Beside
a
clear
brook
lay
reclin'd
,
His
complaint
was
fair
Daphne's
disdain
,
Who
had
prov'd
to
the
shepherd
unkind
:
His
flock
was
no
longer
his
care
,
His
pipe
now
no
longer
could
please
,
He
neglected
his
dress
and
his
hair
,
And
by
solitude
fed
his
disease
.
"
Poor
shepherd
!
he
wildly
exclaim'd
,
"
Alas
!
what
avails
all
thy
moan
?
"
The
joys
thy
fond
fancy
had
fram'd
,
"
With
Daphne
for
ever
are
flown
!
"
How
could
you
,
O
Daphne
,
deceive
"
A
swain
not
unworthy
your
love
?
"
Why
didst
thou
,
Alexis
,
believe
"
Such
a
maid
could
thy
passion
approve
?
"
Her
form
is
replete
with
each
grace
,
"
The
diamond
beams
forth
in
her
eye
,
"
The
lily
expands
o'er
her
face
,
"
And
the
rose-bud
imparts
its
soft
dye
.
"
No
warbler
can
rival
her
song
,
"
Philomela
with
envy
complains
,
"
The
streams
glide
in
silence
along
,
"
The
glad
Zephyrs
diffuse
her
soft
strains
.
"
When
Daphne
appear'd
in
the
mead
,
"
Her
presence
enliven'd
the
morn
,
"
Now
the
winds
roughly
blow
round
my
head
,
"
And
the
sun's
chearful
beams
are
withdrawn
.
"
No
longer
these
meadows
look
green
,
"
Now
the
warblers
abandon
the
grove
,
"
The
air
breathes
no
longer
serene
,
"
All
Summer
is
fled
with
my
love
.
"
Oh
!
Daphne
,
you
heard
my
fond
sighs
,
"
You
did
not
my
passion
disdain
,
"
When
I
gaz'd
with
delight
on
your
eyes
,
"
My
soft
glances
you
did
not
restrain
:
"
But
now
you
make
sport
of
my
woes
,
"
And
laugh
at
the
sufferings
I
feel
,
"
I
enjoy
not
the
sweets
of
repose
,
"
Nor
can
I
my
torments
conceal
!
"
Farewell
,
ye
sad
scenes
of
my
love
,
"
I
shall
never
revisit
you
more
!
"
Adieu
to
the
mead
an
he
grove
,
"
'Twas
here
I
first
learn'd
to
adore
!
"
I
will
banish
this
wretch
from
her
sight
,
"
I
know
not
what
fate
may
ensue
,
"
Never
more
can
I
taste
of
delight
,
"
To
every
enjoyment
adieu
.
"
PART
THE
SECOND
.
WITH
a
torrent
of
heart-bursting
grief
Alexis
continues
his
moan
,
Tears
gave
him
some
little
relief
,
Yet
he
ceas'd
not
to
sigh
and
to
groan
.
Pastora
by
chance
hasten'd
by
,
She
saw
the
poor
shepherd's
despair
,
Soft
pity
appear'd
in
her
eye
,
She
ask'd
him
the
source
of
his
care
.
"
What
cause
has
Alexis
to
weep
?
"
With
looks
of
compassion
,
she
said
;
"
Have
you
lost
e'er
a
lamb
or
a
sheep
?
"
Or
is
Tray
the
poor
favourite
dead
?
"
Or
,
perhaps
,
your
fair
Daphne's
unkind
,
"
Perhaps
for
her
coyness
you
grieve
,
"
Ah
!
'tis
jealousy
poisons
your
mind
!
"
But
appearances
often
deceive
.
"
The
shepherd
just
rais'd
up
his
head
,
He
thank'd
the
kind
maid
for
her
care
,
He
confess'd
that
all
comfort
was
fled
,
And
nothing
was
left
but
despair
.
Pastora
e'en
wept
at
the
tale
,
And
wish'd
she
could
ease
his
distress
;
Could
her
interest
with
Daphne
prevail
,
His
suffering
should
soon
find
redress
.
He
gaz'd
on
the
fair
with
surprize
,
And
admir'd
the
good-nature
she
shew'd
,
When
she
went
he
withdrew
not
his
eyes
,
But
with
pleasure
her
footsteps
pursu'd
.
Her
sweetness
,
her
beauty
,
and
truth
,
With
Daphne's
late
falshood
compar'd
,
So
charm'd
,
so
astonish'd
the
youth
,
That
his
heart
for
a
change
was
prepar'd
.
Yet
still
his
fond
wish
would
arise
,
"
Ah
!
was
but
my
Daphne
thus
kind
!
"
I
would
wipe
off
these
tears
from
my
eyes
,
"
And
give
up
my
sighs
to
the
wind
!
"
He
said
,
and
arose
from
the
ground
,
Then
instant
return'd
to
his
cot
,
Soon
in
sleep
every
suffering
was
drown'd
,
And
Daphne's
unkindness
forgot
.
With
the
sun
the
next
morn
he
arose
,
Pastora
he
sought
in
the
grove
,
He
repeated
the
tale
of
his
woes
,
And
mourn'd
the
sad
fate
of
his
love
!
Pastora
heard
every
complaint
;
Again
he
imparted
his
grief
,
He
talk'd
without
fear
or
constraint
,
And
found
from
her
converse
,
relief
.
The
friendship
he
felt
for
the
fair
,
Each
meeting
still
serv'd
to
improve
;
He
then
blest
his
late
cause
of
despair
,
And
became
a
true
votary
to
Love
.
'Twas
no
longer
for
beauty
he
sigh'd
,
He
no
longer
to
merit
was
blind
,
'Twas
his
joy
,
and
a
laudable
pride
,
That
he
valu'd
the
charms
of
the
mind
.
Pastora
with
blushes
confest
,
That
she
felt
all
the
force
of
true
love
;
But
that
reason
her
passion
supprest
,
Yet
that
now
she
must
own
and
approve
.
She
soon
gave
her
hand
to
the
swain
,
Who
proclaim'd
to
each
shepherd
this
truth
,
He
had
met
a
reward
for
his
pain
,
More
lasting
than
beauty
and
youth
.
When
Spring
decks
with
verdure
the
mead
,
Love
wafts
milder
fragrance
around
;
When
Summer
invites
to
the
shade
,
Love
strews
with
fresh
flowrets
the
ground
.
In
Autumn
thro'
corn-fields
they
rove
,
And
their
loves
as
in
Spring-time
appear
,
Tho'
Winter
disrobes
the
known
grove
,
Yet
their
love
varies
not
with
the
year
.
Ye
Nymphs
,
to
this
maxim
attend
,
Tho'
beauty
awhile
may
allure
,
Yet
to
fix
in
the
lover
the
friend
,
'Tis
virtue
alone
is
secure
!
Ye
Swains
,
who
are
caught
by
a
face
,
Know
,
that
beauty
will
quickly
decay
;
That
virtue
still
heightens
each
grace
,
And
imparts
more
than
Time
steals
away
!