A Collection of Poems in Four Volumes

III.

She is faithlefs, and I am undone !
Ye that witness the woes I endure,

What it cannot inftruct 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 fhrub, and the tree, Which I rear'd for her pleasure in vain, In time may have comfort for me.

The fweets of a dew-fprinkled rose,

The found of a murmuring ftream,
The peace which from folitude flows,
Henceforth fhall be Corydon's theme.
High tranfports are fhewn to the fight,
But we are not to find them our own;
Fate never beftow'd fuch 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 beafts of the chace;
I would vanish from every eye.

Yet my reed shall refound thro' the grove
With the fame fad complaint it begun;
How she fmil'd, and I could not but love;
Was faithlefs, and I am undone!