THE COMPLAINT.

A PASTORAL.

NEAR the heart of a fair spreading grove, Whose foliage shaded the green,

A shepherd, repining at love,

In anguish was heard to complain.

O Cupid! thou wanton young boy!
Since, with thy invisible dart,

Thou hast robb'd a fond youth of his joy,
In return grant the wish of his heart.

Send a shaft so severe from thy bow
(His pining, his sighs to remove,)
That STELLA, once wounded, may know
How keen are the arrows of love.

No swain once so happy as I,

Nor tun'd with more pleasure the reed; My breast never vented a sigh,

Till STELLA approach'd the gay mead.

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With mirth, with contentment endow'd,
My hours they flew wantonly by;
I sought no repose in the wood,

Nor from my few sheep would I fly.

Now my reed I have carelessly broke,
Its melody pleases no more;
I pay no regard to a flock

That seldom hath wander'd before.

O STELLA! whose beauty so fair
Excels the bright splendor of day,
Ah! have you no pity to share
With DAMON thus fall'n to decay?

For you have I quitted the plain,
Forsaken my sheep and my fold;
For you in dull languor and pain,
My tedious moments are told.

For you have my roses grown pale,
They have faded untimely away;
And will not such beauty bewail

A shepherd thus fall'n to decay?

Since your eyes still requite me with scorn, And kill with their merciless ray,

Like a star of the dawning of morn,
I fall to their lustre a prey.

Some swain who shall mournfully go
To whisper love's sigh to the shade,
Will hap❜ly some charity show,

And under the turf see me laid.

Would my love but in pity appear

On the spot where he moulds my cold grave, And bedew the green sod with a tear, "Tis all the remembrance I crave.

To the swaird then his visage he turn'd;
'Twas wan as the lilies in May;
Fair STELLA may see him inurn'd,
He hath sigh'd all his sorrows away.

THE DECAY OF FRIENDSHIP.

A PASTORAL ELEGY.

WHEN gold, man's sacred deity, did smile, My friends were plenty, and my sorrows few; Mirth, love, and bumpers did my hours beguile, And arrow'd Cupids round my slumbers flew.

What shepherd then could boast more happy days?

My lot was envied by each humbler swain ; Each bard in smooth eulogium sung my praise, And DAMON listen'd to the guileful strain.

FLATTERY, alluring as the Syren's lay,

And as deceitful thy inchanting tongue, How have you taught my wav'ring mind to stray,

Charm'd and attracted by the baneful song?

My pleasant cottage, shelter'd from the gale, Arose with moss, and rural ivy bound;

And scarce a flow'ret in my lowly vale,
But was with bees of various colours crown'd.

Free o'er my lands the neigb'ring flocks could

roam;

How welcome were the swains and flocks to me!

The shepherds kindly were invited home,
To chace the hours in merriment and glee.

To wake emotions in the youthful mind, Strephon with voice melodious tun'd the song;

Each sylvan youth the sounding chorus join'd, Fraught with contentment 'midst the festive throng.

My clust'ring grapes compens'd their magic skill,

The bowl capacious swell'd in purple tide; To shepherds, lib'ral as the chrystal rill, Spontaneous gurgling from the mountain's

side.

But ah! these youthful sportive hours are fled; These scenes of jocund mirth are now no

more;