A PASTORAL ELEGY. I Ye nymphs, ah! give ear to my lay, Your pastime I prithe' give o'er, For Damon the youthful and gay, Is gone, — and our joys are no more. That Shepherd so blithsome and fair, Whose truth was the pride of the plains, Has left us alas! in despair, For no such a Shepherd remains. II His life was a compound of joy, Pure innocence guided each thought, No envy his bliss cou'd annoy, For with virtue his bosom was fraught. He scorn'd to deceive or betray, Fair truth ever dwelt in his sight, He always was blithsome and gay, And to please was his only delight. III In the shade when reclin'd on his crook, To hear his melodious strains, My flocks I have often forsook, To wander alone on the plains. Each bird did attend on the spray, The zephers did play on the trees, Sweet harmony join'd the soft lay, And whisper'd his praise in each breeze. IV My lambkins are straying far wide, The lilly reclines her fair head, My crook is with scorn thrown aside, For alas! my sweet Shepherd is dead. I will riffle the jessamin bow'rs, To deck the green turf on his breast, With myrtle and sweet scented flow'rs, My Damon's cold grave shall be dress'd. V While Eglantine sheds a perfume, Or peace is Pastora's desire, While the cowslip continues to bloom, Or the rose is adorn'd with a brier. While the lambkins shall graze on the plain, Or the nightingale warble its lay, As long as old time shall remain, His memory ne'er shall decay. VI But alas! the lov'd youth is no more, Each stream shall repeat the sad sound, Each Shepherd the loss shall deplore, And his fate thro' the grove shall resound. Since truth like my Damon's must yield, To death, that invincible foe, Ye swains, ah! make virtue your shield, Nor tremble to meet the dire blow.