Not murmurs of the Rivulets and Springs, When thrô the glades they purling glide along And listen when the wondrous shepherd sings, Are half so sweet as is the Shepherds song. _Damon._ Not young _Diana_ in her eager chase When by her careless flying Robe betray’d, Discovering every charm and every Grace, Has more surprising Beauty than the brighter maid. _Aminta._ The gay young Monarch of the cheerful _May_ Adorn’d with all the Trophies he has won, Vain with the Homage of the joyful day Compar’d to _Lysidus_ wou’d be undone. _Damon._ _Aminta_, cease; and let me hast away, For while upon this Theam you dwell, You speak the noble youth so just, so well, I cou’d for ever listning stay. _Aminta._ And while _Clemena’s_ praise becoms thy choyce, My Ravisht soul is fixt upon thy voyce. _Damon._ But see the Nymphs and dancing swains Ascend the Hill from yonder Plains, With Wreathes and Garlands finely made, To crown the lovely Bride and Bridegrooms head, And I amongst the humbler throng My Sacrifice must bring A rural Hymeneal Song, _Alexis_ he shall pipe while I will sing. Had I been blest with Flocks or Herd A nobler Tribute I’d prepar’d, With darling Lambs the Altars I wou’d throng; But I, alas! can only offer song. Song too obscure, too humble verse For this days glory to reherse, But _Lysidus_, like Heav’n, is kind, And for the Sacrifice accepts the Humble mind. If he vouchsafe to listen to my Ode He makes me happyer than a fancy’d God. _On Desire._ _A Pindarick. By Mrs._ B. What Art thou, oh! thou new-found pain? From what infection dost thou spring? Tell me.--oh! tell me, thou inchanting thing, Thy nature, and thy name; Inform me by what subtil Art, What powerful Influence, You got such vast Dominion in a part Of my unheeded, and unguarded, heart, That fame and Honour cannot drive yee thence. Oh! mischievous usurper of my Peace; Oh! soft intruder on my solitude, Charming disturber of my ease, Thou hast my nobler fate persu’d, And all the Glorys of my life subdu’d. Thou haunt’st my inconvenient hours; The business of the Day, nor silence of the night, That shou’d to cares and sleep invite, Can bid defyance to thy conquering powers. Where hast thou been this live-long Age That from my Birth till now, Thou never could’st one thought engage, Or charm my soul with the uneasy rage That made it all its humble feebles know?