ANOTHER
.
I
Ye
myrtles
and
woodbines
so
green
,
Your
fragrance
no
longer
beguile
,
Ye
bow'rs
that
with
rapture
I've
seen
,
When
Damon
did
tenderly
smile
.
When
his
heart
beat
with
every
look
,
His
charmer
did
kindly
bestow
;
When
he
left
both
his
pipe
and
his
crook
,
O'er
the
meadows
with
Delia
to
go
.
II
Each
hour
he
employ'd
for
his
dear
,
In
gathering
fruit
of
the
best
,
The
sweet
bryar
,
and
violet
did
rear
,
To
make
poesies
for
Delia's
breast
.
With
roses
,
and
hiacynths
fair
,
With
myrtle
,
and
ever
green
bay
,
Sweet
chaplets
he
wove
for
her
hair
,
And
her
charms
were
the
theme
of
his
lay
.
III
At
noon's
scorching
heat
we
retir'd
,
To
the
grove
at
the
foot
of
the
hill
,
Or
else
to
the
wood
he
admir'd
,
By
the
side
of
a
murmuring
rill
.
With
his
song
did
the
shepherd
delight
,
His
reed
did
resound
through
the
grove
,
My
steps
did
the
charmer
invite
,
And
each
accent
was
blended
with
love
.
IV
But
ah
!
to
my
sorrow
I
find
,
(
What
grieves
my
fond
heart
to
relate
;
)
That
Damon
is
false
as
the
wind
,
His
passion
is
changed
to
hate
.
With
scorn
doth
he
slight
all
my
charms
,
Such
contempt
ev'ry
look
doth
impart
,
With
hatred
he
flies
from
my
arms
,
With
disdain
he
rejects
my
soft
heart
.
V
The
garland
he
wove
for
my
hair
,
Of
laurel
,
and
ever
green
bay
,
The
crook
that
he
bought
at
the
fair
,
He
has
given
to
Phillis
the
gay
.
The
bow'r
which
for
Delia
he
made
,
The
lambkins
he
lov'd
for
my
sake
,
Of
the
grot
,
and
the
silver
cascade
,
No
longer
must
Delia
partake
.
VI
My
flocks
can
no
longer
delight
,
In
vain
do
they
frolick
and
play
,
For
when
Damon
is
out
of
my
sight
,
No
pleasure
I
feel
through
the
day
.
No
more
do
I
sport
on
the
plain
,
No
comfort
my
bosom
can
prove
,
'Till
Damon
doth
pity
my
pain
,
For
pity
is
sister
to
love
.