< Page:Pastorals Epistles Odes (1748).djvu
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PASTORALS.
"Ah, witless younglings! gaze not on her eye:
"Thence all my sorrow; thence the death I dy. 104
"O, killing beauty! and O, sore desire!
"Must then my fufferings, but with life, expire?
"Though blossoms every year the trees adorn,
"Spring after spring I wither, nipt with scorn: 108
"Nor trow I when this bitter blast will end,
"Or if yon stars will e'er my vows befriend.
"Sleep, sleep, my flock; for happy ye may take
"Sweet nightly rest, though still your master wake. 112
"Thence all my sorrow; thence the death I dy. 104
"O, killing beauty! and O, sore desire!
"Must then my fufferings, but with life, expire?
"Though blossoms every year the trees adorn,
"Spring after spring I wither, nipt with scorn: 108
"Nor trow I when this bitter blast will end,
"Or if yon stars will e'er my vows befriend.
"Sleep, sleep, my flock; for happy ye may take
"Sweet nightly rest, though still your master wake. 112
Now, to the waning moon, the nightingale,
In slender warblings, tun'd her piteous tale,
The love-sick shepherd, listening, felt relief,
Pleas'd with so sweet a partner in his grief, 116
'Till, by degrees, her notes and silent night
To slumbers soft his heavy heart invite.
In slender warblings, tun'd her piteous tale,
The love-sick shepherd, listening, felt relief,
Pleas'd with so sweet a partner in his grief, 116
'Till, by degrees, her notes and silent night
To slumbers soft his heavy heart invite.
THE
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