A
PASTORAL
,
FROM
THE
SONG
of
SOLOMON
.
OH
!
tell
me
,
thou
who
all
my
Soul
inspires
,
Source
of
my
Joys
,
and
Partner
of
my
Fires
,
By
what
clear
Stream
,
or
nigh
what
flow'ry
Mead
Thy
tender
Flocks
with
wanton
Pleasure
feed
:
Where
does
my
Dear
,
my
lovely
Wand'rer
stray
;
Tell
me
,
and
guide
my
weary
Steps
that
Way
.
In
vain
I
trace
the
Plains
,
each
winding
Grove
;
No
Swain
directs
me
to
my
absent
Love
:
Close
in
the
Covert
of
some
Shade
he
lyes
;
Some
envious
Shade
conceals
him
from
my
Eyes
:
Bear
then
my
soft
Complainings
to
his
Ear
;
Ye
whis'pring
Winds
,
let
him
my
Accents
hear
;
The
well-known
Sounds
will
wake
the
ling'ring
Swain
,
And
bring
him
panting
to
my
Arms
again
.
Alas
!
not
yet
my
cruel
Love
returns
:
I
rave
;
my
Breast
with
jealous
Fury
burns
:
Cold
Tremblings
seize
on
ev'ry
vital
Part
;
The
Blood
runs
freezing
to
my
panting
Heart
;
Dim
Shadows
swim
before
my
closing
Sight
,
And
my
griev'd
Soul
prepares
to
take
its
Flight
.
Hark
;
what
sweet
Accents
breaks
the
ambient
Air
;
Sure
'tis
my
Love's
melodious
Voice
I
hear
:
Now
to
my
Arms
my
charming
Shepherd
flies
;
Heaven
to
my
Arms
,
and
Transport
to
my
Eyes
.
Oh
!
on
thy
panting
Breast
let
me
recline
,
And
let
thy
folding
Arms
around
me
twine
;
With
Vows
of
Love
my
anxious
Fears
controul
,
And
whisper
Ease
to
my
distracted
Soul
.
Arise
,
my
Love
,
the
dear
Enslaver
cries
.
My
beauteous
Maid
,
my
lovely
Fair
,
arise
;
For
lo
,
the
Rain
is
o'er
,
the
Winter's
past
,
And
balmy
Sweets
perfume
the
southern
Blast
,
Like
thee
,
all
Nature
smiles
;
the
Fields
around
,
Are
with
a
new
returning
Verdure
crown'd
:
Hark
what
sweet
Musick
fills
the
vocal
Grove
;
Each
feather'd
Songster
tunes
its
Notes
to
Love
:
What
Odours
do
these
op'ning
Buds
exhale
,
Yet
cannot
o'er
thy
greater
Sweets
prevail
,
Or
their
enchanting
Beauties
thine
excell
.
That
Lilly
shines
but
with
a
borrow'd
Grace
,
And
Roses
blush
to
emulate
thy
Face
;
Nor
can
the
Violet's
admired
Dye
Match
the
bright
Azure
of
thy
shining
Eye
;
See
where
you
tread
,
fresh
blooming
Flowers
arise
,
New
Charms
appear
where'er
you
turn
your
Eyes
;
For
thee
the
Streams
in
softer
Murmurs
flow
;
For
thee
sweet
Airs
the
whisp'ring
Zephirs
blow
;
For
thee
the
Cedars
form
a
grateful
Shade
,
And
brighter
Colours
paint
th'
enamell'd
Mead
:
Oh
!
come
then
thro'
these
sweet
Meanders
stray
;
Arise
,
my
Love
;
my
fair
One
,
come
away
.
Yes
,
dearest
Object
of
my
soft
Desire
,
Thou
sweet
Inspirer
of
my
endless
Fire
;
With
thee
I'll
trace
the
Groves
,
each
winding
Mead
,
And
follow
where
thy
charming
Footsteps
lead
:
Yet
let
me
view
thee
;
on
that
lovely
Face
Let
me
with
fond
extatic
Rapture
gaze
;
Let
thy
Voice
charm
me
with
its
Magick
Sound
,
And
my
fond
Soul
with
thrilling
Pleasure
wound
;
For
sweet's
thy
Beauties
to
my
ravish'd
Sight
,
And
thy
dear
Voice
my
list'ning
Ears
delight
.
See
on
that
Couch
,
with
Nature's
Bounties
spread
,
At
Ease
reclin'd
,
my
lovely
Shepherd's
laid
:
What
Beauties
in
that
smiling
Form
appear
;
How
soft
,
how
mild
,
how
more
than
heavenly
fair
.
Ye
tender
Virgins
,
awful
Silence
keep
;
Ye
sighing
Gales
prolong
his
balmy
Sleep
:
Thou
sleep'st
,
my
Love
;
but
still
thy
waking
Heart
Bears
in
my
soft
Inquietudes
a
Part
.
My
Image
ever
present
with
thee
seems
,
Haunts
all
thy
Slumbers
,
and
informs
thy
Dreams
,
In
ev'ry
Wish
,
in
ev'ry
Thought
I'm
thine
;
And
oh
!
be
thou
for
ever
,
ever
mine
.
Behold
,
he
wakes
,
and
here
with
Transport
flies
;
What
streaming
Glories
sparkle
from
his
Eyes
:
Oh
,
turn
them
from
me
,
hide
their
beauteous
Beams
;
The
Sun
with
less
refulgent
Brightness
gleams
:
Do
not
such
sweet
,
such
magick
Rays
dispence
,
Like
pow'rful
Sweets
they
overcome
my
Sense
;
Oh
,
set
me
,
as
a
Seal
upon
thy
Heart
,
Mark'd
for
my
own
,
I
claim
the
smallest
Part
;
Shou'dst
Thou
(
but
sure
the
wounding
Thought
is
vain
)
For
any
other
lovely
Maid
complain
;
Take
from
me
,
Heav'n
,
the
fleeting
Breath
you
gave
,
For
Love's
as
strong
as
Death
,
and
pow'rful
as
the
Grave
.