But see, the shepherds shun the noonday heat, The lowing herds to murmuring brooks retreat, To closer shades the panting flocks remove; Ye gods! and is there no relief for love? But soon the sun with milder rays descends To the cool ocean, where his journey ends: 90 On me Love's fiercer flames for ever prey, By night he scorches, as he burns by day. * * * * * VARIATIONS. VER. 1-4 were thus printed in the first edition-- A faithful swain, whom Love had taught to sing, Bewail'd his fate beside a silver spring; Where gentle Thames his winding waters leads Through verdant forests, and through flowery meads. VER. 3, 4. Originally thus in the MS.-- There to the winds he plain'd his hapless love, And Amaryllis fill'd the vocal grove. VER. 27-29-- Oft in the crystal spring I cast a view, And equall'd Hylas, if the glass be true; But since those graces meet my eyes no more I shun, &c. VER. 79, 80-- Your praise the tuneful birds to heaven shall bear, And listening wolves grow milder as they hear. VER. 91-- Me love inflames, nor will his fires allay. AUTUMN. THE THIRD PASTORAL, Or HYLAS AND ÆGON. TO MR WYCHERLEY.[11] Beneath the shade a spreading beech displays, Hylas and Ægon sung their rural lays; This mourn'd a faithless, that an absent love. And Delia's name and Doris' fill'd the grove. Ye Mantuan nymphs, your sacred succour bring; Hylas and Ægon's rural lays I sing. Thou, whom the Nine with Plautus' wit inspire, The art of Terence, and Menander's fire; Whose sense instructs us, and whose humour charms, Whose judgment sways us, and whose spirit warms! 10 Oh, skill'd in Nature! see the hearts of swains, Their artless passions, and their tender pains. Now setting Phoebus shone serenely bright, And fleecy clouds were streak'd with purple light; When tuneful Hylas, with melodious moan, Taught rocks to weep, and made the mountains groan. Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs away! To Delia's ear the tender notes convey. As some sad turtle his lost love deplores, And with deep murmurs fills the sounding shores, 20 Thus, far from Delia, to the winds I mourn, Alike unheard, unpitied, and forlorn. Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs along! For her, the feather'd choirs neglect their song: For her, the limes their pleasing shades deny; For her, the lilies hang their heads and die. Ye flowers that droop, forsaken by the spring, Ye birds that, left by summer, cease to sing, Ye trees that fade when autumn-heats remove, Say, is not absence death to those who love? 30 Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs away! Cursed be the fields that cause my Delia's stay; Fade every blossom, wither every tree, Die every flower, and perish all but she. What have I said? Where'er my Delia flies, Let spring attend, and sudden flowers arise; Let opening roses knotted oaks adorn, And liquid amber drop from every thorn.