A
Pastoral
BALLAD
,
in
Four
Parts
.
Written
1743.
By
the
Same
.
Arbusta
humilesque
myricae
.
VIRG.
I.
ABSENCE
.
I.
YE
shepherds
so
cheerful
and
gay
,
Whose
flocks
never
carelessly
roam
;
Should
Corydon's
happen
to
stray
,
Oh
!
call
the
poor
wanderers
home
.
Allow
me
to
muse
and
to
sigh
,
Nor
talk
of
the
change
that
ye
find
;
None
once
was
so
watchful
as
I
:
—
I
have
left
my
dear
Phyllis
behind
.
II
.
Now
I
know
what
it
is
,
to
have
strove
With
the
torture
of
doubt
and
desire
;
What
it
is
,
to
admire
and
to
love
,
And
to
leave
her
we
love
and
admire
.
Ah
lead
forth
my
flock
in
the
morn
,
And
the
damps
of
each
ev'ning
repell
;
Alas
!
I
am
faint
and
forlorn
:
—
I
have
bade
my
dear
Phyllis
farewell
.
III
.
Since
Phyllis
vouchsaf'd
me
a
look
,
I
never
once
dreamt
of
my
vine
;
May
I
lose
both
my
pipe
and
my
crook
,
If
I
knew
of
a
kid
that
was
mine
.
I
priz'd
every
hour
that
went
by
,
Beyond
all
that
had
pleas'd
me
before
;
But
now
they
are
past
,
and
I
sigh
;
And
I
grieve
that
I
priz'd
them
no
more
.
IV
.
But
why
do
I
languish
in
vain
?
Why
wander
thus
pensively
here
?
Oh
!
why
did
I
come
from
the
plain
,
Where
I
fed
on
the
smiles
of
my
dear
?
They
tell
me
,
my
favourite
maid
,
The
pride
of
that
valley
,
is
flown
;
Alas
!
where
with
her
I
have
stray'd
,
I
could
wander
with
pleasure
,
alone
.
V.
When
forc'd
the
fair
nymph
to
forego
,
What
anguish
I
felt
at
my
heart
!
Yet
I
thought
—
but
it
might
not
be
so
—
'Twas
with
pain
that
she
saw
me
depart
.
She
gaz'd
,
as
I
slowly
withdrew
;
My
path
I
could
hardly
discern
;
So
sweetly
she
bade
me
adieu
,
I
thought
that
she
bade
me
return
.
VI
.
The
pilgrim
that
journeys
all
day
To
visit
some
far-distant
shrine
,
If
he
bear
but
a
relique
away
,
Is
happy
,
nor
heard
to
repine
.
Thus
widely
remov'd
from
the
fair
,
Where
my
vows
,
my
devotion
,
I
owe
,
Soft
hope
is
the
relique
I
bear
,
And
my
solace
wherever
I
go
.
II
.
HOPE
.
I.
MY
banks
they
are
furnish'd
with
bees
,
Whose
murmur
invites
one
to
sleep
;
My
grottos
are
shaded
with
trees
,
And
my
hills
are
white-over
with
sheep
.
I
seldom
have
met
with
a
loss
,
Such
health
do
my
fountains
bestow
;
My
fountains
all
border'd
with
moss
,
Where
the
hare-bells
and
violets
grow
.
II
.
Not
a
pine
in
my
grove
is
there
seen
,
But
with
tendrils
of
woodbine
is
bound
:
Not
a
beech's
more
beautiful
green
,
But
a
sweet-briar
twines
it
around
.
Not
my
fields
,
in
the
prime
of
the
year
,
More
charms
than
my
cattle
unfold
:
Not
a
brook
that
is
limpid
and
clear
,
But
it
glitters
with
fishes
of
gold
.
III
.
One
would
think
she
might
like
to
retire
To
the
bow'r
I
have
labour'd
to
rear
;
Not
a
shrub
that
I
heard
her
admire
,
But
I
hasted
and
planted
it
there
.
O
how
sudden
the
jessamin
strove
With
the
lilac
to
render
it
gay
!
Already
it
calls
for
my
love
.
To
prune
the
wild
branches
away
.
IV
.
From
the
plains
,
from
the
woodlands
and
groves
,
What
strains
of
wild
melody
flow
?
How
the
nightingales
warble
their
loves
From
thickets
of
roses
that
blow
!
And
when
her
bright
form
shall
appear
,
Each
bird
shall
harmoniously
join
In
a
concert
so
soft
and
so
clear
,
As
—
she
may
not
be
fond
to
resign
.
V.
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
.
For
he
ne'er
could
be
true
,
she
aver'd
,
Who
could
rob
a
poor
bird
of
its
young
:
And
I
lov'd
her
the
more
,
when
I
heard
Such
tenderness
fall
from
her
tongue
.
VI
.
I
have
heard
her
with
sweetness
unfold
How
that
pity
was
due
to
—
a
dove
:
That
it
ever
attended
the
bold
,
And
she
call'd
it
the
sister
of
love
.
But
her
words
such
a
pleasure
convey
,
So
much
I
her
accents
adore
,
Let
her
speak
,
and
whatever
she
say
,
Methinks
I
should
love
her
the
more
.
VII
.
Can
a
bosom
so
gentle
remain
Unmov'd
,
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
stray'd
,
If
aught
,
in
her
absence
,
could
please
.
VIII
.
But
where
does
my
Phyllida
stray
?
And
where
are
her
grots
and
her
bow'rs
?
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
.
I.
WHY
will
you
my
passion
reprove
?
Why
term
it
a
folly
to
grieve
?
Ere
I
shew
you
the
charms
of
my
love
,
She
is
fairer
than
you
can
believe
.
With
her
mien
she
enamours
the
brave
;
With
her
wit
she
engages
the
free
;
With
her
modesty
pleases
the
grave
;
She
is
ev'ry
way
pleasing
to
me
.
II
.
O
you
that
have
been
of
her
train
,
Come
and
join
in
my
amorous
lays
;
I
could
lay
down
my
life
for
the
swain
That
will
sing
but
a
song
in
her
praise
.
When
he
sings
,
may
the
nymphs
of
the
town
Come
trooping
,
and
listen
the
while
;
Nay
on
Him
let
not
Phillida
frown
;
—
But
I
cannot
allow
her
to
smile
.
III
.
For
when
Paridel
tries
in
the
dance
Any
favour
with
Phyllis
to
find
,
O
how
,
with
one
trivial
glance
,
Might
she
ruin
the
peace
of
my
mind
!
In
ringlets
He
dresses
his
hair
,
And
his
crook
is
be-studded
around
;
And
his
pipe
—
oh
may
Phyllis
beware
Of
a
magic
there
is
in
the
sound
.
IV
.
'Tis
His
with
mock
passion
to
glow
;
'Tis
His
in
smooth
tales
to
unfold
,
"
How
her
face
is
as
bright
as
the
snow
,
"
And
her
bosom
,
be
sure
,
is
as
cold
;
"
How
the
nightingales
labour
the
strain
,
"
With
the
notes
of
his
charmer
to
vie
;
"
How
they
vary
their
accents
in
vain
,
"
Repine
at
her
triumphs
,
and
die
.
"
V.
To
the
grove
or
the
garden
he
strays
,
And
pillages
every
sweet
;
Then
,
suiting
the
wreath
to
his
lays
He
throws
it
at
Phyllis's
feet
.
"
O
Phyllis
,
he
whispers
,
more
fair
,
"
More
sweet
than
the
jessamin's
flow'r
!
"
What
are
pinks
,
in
a
morn
,
to
compare
?
"
What
is
eglantine
after
a
show'r
?
VI
.
"
Then
the
lily
no
longer
is
white
;
"
Then
the
rose
is
depriv'd
of
its
bloom
;
"
Then
the
violets
die
with
despight
,
"
And
the
wood-bines
give
up
their
perfume
.
"
Thus
glide
the
soft
numbers
along
,
And
he
fancies
no
shepherd
his
peer
;
—
Yet
I
never
should
envy
the
song
,
Were
not
Phyllis
to
lend
it
an
ear
.
VII
.
Let
his
crook
be
with
hyacinths
bound
,
So
Phyllis
the
trophy
despise
;
Let
his
forehead
with
laurels
be
crown'd
,
So
they
shine
not
in
Phillis's
eyes
.
The
language
that
flows
from
the
heart
Is
a
stranger
to
Paridel's
tongue
;
—
Yet
may
she
beware
of
his
art
,
Or
sure
I
must
envy
the
song
.
IV
.
DISAPPOINTMENT
.
I.
YE
shepherds
give
ear
to
my
lay
,
And
take
no
more
heed
of
my
sheep
:
They
have
nothing
to
do
,
but
to
stray
;
I
have
nothing
to
do
,
but
to
weep
.
Yet
do
not
my
folly
reprove
;
She
was
fair
—
and
my
passion
begun
;
She
smil'd
—
and
I
could
not
but
love
;
She
is
faithless
—
and
I
am
undone
.
II
.
Perhaps
I
was
void
of
all
thought
;
Perhaps
it
was
plain
to
foresee
,
That
a
nymph
so
compleat
would
be
sought
By
a
swain
more
engaging
than
me
.
Ah
!
love
ev'ry
hope
can
inspire
:
It
banishes
wisdom
the
while
;
And
the
lip
of
the
nymph
we
admire
Seems
for
ever
adorn'd
with
a
smile
.
III
.
She
is
faithless
,
and
I
am
undone
;
Ye
that
witness
the
woes
I
endure
,
Let
reason
instruct
you
to
shun
What
it
cannot
instruct
you
to
cure
.
Beware
how
ye
loiter
in
vain
Amid
nymphs
of
an
higher
degree
:
It
is
not
for
me
to
explain
How
fair
,
and
how
fickle
they
be
.
IV
.
Alas
!
from
the
day
that
we
met
,
What
hope
of
an
end
to
my
woes
?
When
I
cannot
endure
to
forget
The
glance
that
undid
my
repose
.
Yet
time
may
diminish
the
pain
:
The
flow'r
,
and
the
shrub
,
and
the
tree
,
Which
I
rear'd
for
her
pleasure
in
vain
,
In
time
may
have
comfort
for
me
.
V.
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
shewn
to
the
sight
,
But
we
are
not
to
find
them
our
own
;
Fate
never
bestow'd
such
delight
,
As
I
with
my
Phyllis
had
known
.
VI
.
O
ye
woods
,
spread
your
branches
apace
;
To
your
deepest
recesses
I
fly
;
I
would
hide
with
the
beasts
of
the
chace
;
I
would
vanish
from
every
eye
.
Yet
my
reed
shall
resound
thro'
the
grove
With
the
same
sad
complaint
it
begun
;
How
she
smil'd
,
and
I
could
not
but
love
;
Was
faithless
,
and
I
am
undone
!