A
PASTORAL
.
[
As
Thirsis
and
Daphne
,
upon
the
new
hay
]
As
Thirsis
and
Daphne
,
upon
the
new
hay
Were
seated
,
surveying
the
plain
;
No
guilt
in
their
bosoms
their
joys
to
allay
,
Or
give
them
a
moment
of
pain
.
Not
Venus
,
but
Virtue
had
made
them
her
care
,
She
taught
them
her
innocent
skill
;
The
swain
knew
no
art
,
but
to
pleasure
the
fair
That
Nature
had
form'd
to
his
will
.
Inspired
by
love
,
on
his
pipe
he
did
play
;
O
Virtue
!
how
happy
the
swain
!
While
sweet
Robin-red-breast
that
perch'd
on
the
spray
,
And
Daphne
was
pleas'd
with
the
strain
.
How
pleasing
the
prospect
,
how
cooling
the
breeze
;
The
sun
shone
delightfully
'
round
;
And
apples
half
ripe
,
grew
so
thick
on
the
trees
,
The
boughs
almost
bent
to
the
ground
.
Thus
happily
seated
,
by
sympathy
bound
,
How
pleasing
the
mutual
chain
;
When
either
is
absent
,
the
prospects
around
Display
all
their
beauties
in
vain
.
They
sat
till
the
mist
that
arose
from
the
brook
,
Inform'd
them
the
ev'ning
was
nigh
;
The
swain
shook
his
head
with
a
languishing
look
,
And
'
rose
from
his
seat
with
a
sigh
.
His
flute
he
disjointed
,
and
silent
a
while
He
gaz'd
on
his
maid
with
delight
;
Then
gave
her
his
hand
,
she
arose
with
a
smile
,
He
kiss'd
her
,
and
bid
her
good
night
.