ELEGY
II
.
BY
THE
SAME
.
NOW
Delia
breathes
in
woods
the
fragrant
air
,
Dull
are
the
hearts
that
still
in
town
remain
,
Venus
herself
attends
on
Delia
there
,
And
Cupid
sports
amid
the
sylvan
train
.
O
with
what
joy
my
Delia
to
behold
,
I'd
press
the
spade
,
or
wield
the
weighty
prong
,
Guide
the
slow
plough-share
thro'
the
stubborn
mold
,
And
patient
goad
the
loitering
ox
along
:
The
scorching
heats
I'd
carelessly
despise
,
Nor
heed
the
blisters
on
my
tender
hand
;
The
great
Apollo
wore
the
same
disguise
,
Like
me
subdued
to
Love's
supreme
command
.
No
healing
herbs
could
soothe
their
master's
pain
,
The
art
of
physic
lost
and
useless
lay
,
To
Peneus'
stream
,
and
Tempe's
shady
plain
,
He
drove
his
herds
beneath
the
noon-tide
ray
:
Oft
with
a
bleating
lamb
in
either
arm
,
His
blushing
Sister
The
Goddess
Diana
.
saw
him
pace
along
;
Oft
would
his
voice
the
silent
valley
charm
,
Till
lowing
oxen
broke
the
tender
song
.
Where
are
his
triumphs
?
where
his
warlike
toil
?
Where
by
his
darts
the
crested
Python
slain
?
Where
are
his
Delphi
?
his
delightful
isle
?
The
God
himself
is
grown
a
cottage
swain
.
O
Ceres
,
in
your
golden
fields
no
more
With
Harvest's
chearful
pomp
my
fair
detain
,
—
Think
what
for
lost
Proserpina
The
daughter
of
Ceres
,
taken
from
her
by
Pluto
.
you
bore
,
And
in
a
mother's
anguish
feel
my
pain
.
Our
wiser
fathers
left
their
fields
unsown
,
Their
food
was
acorns
,
Love
their
sole
employ
,
They
met
,
they
lik'd
,
they
stay'd
but
till
alone
,
And
in
each
valley
snatch'd
the
honest
joy
.
No
wakeful
guard
,
no
doors
to
stop
desire
,
Thrice
happy
times
!
—
but
O
I
fondly
rave
,
Lead
me
to
Delia
,
all
her
eyes
inspire
I'll
do
,
—
I'll
plough
or
dig
as
Delia's
slave
.