PASTORALS.
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11
Resound, ye Hills, resound my mournful lay!
Beneath yon' poplar oft' we pass'd the day:
Oft' on the rind I carv'd her am'rous vows,
While she with garlands hung the bending boughs:
The garlands fade, the vows are worn away;
So dies her love, and so my hopes decay.
Resound, ye Hills, resound my mournful strain!
Now bright Arcturus glads the teeming grain;
Now golden fruits on loaded branches shine,
And graceful clusters swell with floods of wine;
Now blushing berries paint the yellow grove:
Just Gods! shall all things yield returns but love?
Resound, ye Hills, resound my mournful lay!
The shepherds cry, "Thy flocks are left a prey."—
Ah! what avails it me the flocks to keep,
Who lost my heart while I preserv'd my sheep?
Pan came and ask'd, What magic caus'd my smart,
Or what ill eyes malignant glances dart?
What eyes but her's, alas, have pow'r to move!
And is there magic but what dwells in love!
Resound, ye Hills, resound my mournful strains!
I'll fly from shepherds, flocks, and flow'ry plains;
From shepherds, flocks, and plains, I may remove,
Forsake mankind, and all the world,—but Love!
I know thee, Love! on foreign mountains bred,
Wolves gave thee suck, and savage tygers fed,
Thou wert from Ætna's burning entrails torn,
Got by fierce whirlwinds, and in thunder born!
Resound, ye Hills, resound my mournful lay!
Farewell, ye Woods, adieu the light of day!
One leap from yonder cliff shall end my pains,
No more, ye Hills, no more resound my strains!
Thus sung the shepherds till th'approach of night,
The skies yet blushing with departing light,
When falling dews with spangles deck'd the glade,
And the low sun had lengthen'd ev'ry shade.
Beneath yon' poplar oft' we pass'd the day:
Oft' on the rind I carv'd her am'rous vows,
While she with garlands hung the bending boughs:
The garlands fade, the vows are worn away;
So dies her love, and so my hopes decay.
Resound, ye Hills, resound my mournful strain!
Now bright Arcturus glads the teeming grain;
Now golden fruits on loaded branches shine,
And graceful clusters swell with floods of wine;
Now blushing berries paint the yellow grove:
Just Gods! shall all things yield returns but love?
Resound, ye Hills, resound my mournful lay!
The shepherds cry, "Thy flocks are left a prey."—
Ah! what avails it me the flocks to keep,
Who lost my heart while I preserv'd my sheep?
Pan came and ask'd, What magic caus'd my smart,
Or what ill eyes malignant glances dart?
What eyes but her's, alas, have pow'r to move!
And is there magic but what dwells in love!
Resound, ye Hills, resound my mournful strains!
I'll fly from shepherds, flocks, and flow'ry plains;
From shepherds, flocks, and plains, I may remove,
Forsake mankind, and all the world,—but Love!
I know thee, Love! on foreign mountains bred,
Wolves gave thee suck, and savage tygers fed,
Thou wert from Ætna's burning entrails torn,
Got by fierce whirlwinds, and in thunder born!
Resound, ye Hills, resound my mournful lay!
Farewell, ye Woods, adieu the light of day!
One leap from yonder cliff shall end my pains,
No more, ye Hills, no more resound my strains!
Thus sung the shepherds till th'approach of night,
The skies yet blushing with departing light,
When falling dews with spangles deck'd the glade,
And the low sun had lengthen'd ev'ry shade.
