ALEXIS: A PASTORAL BALLAD. Anonymous Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
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Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T116245 1136 K093079.003 Pearch, G. A collection of poems in four volumes. By several hands. Vol. III. [The second edition]. London printed for G. Pearch 1770 pp. 269-274. 4v. ; 8⁰.

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ALEXIS : A PASTORAL BALLAD . IN TWO PARTS . BY A LADY .
ALEXIS , the pride of the plain , Beside a clear brook lay reclin'd , His complaint was fair Daphne's disdain , Who had prov'd to the shepherd unkind : His flock was no longer his care , His pipe now no longer could please , He neglected his dress and his hair , And by solitude fed his disease . " Poor shepherd ! he wildly exclaim'd , " Alas ! what avails all thy moan ? " The joys thy fond fancy had fram'd , " With Daphne for ever are flown ! " How could you , O Daphne , deceive " A swain not unworthy your love ? " Why didst thou , Alexis , believe " Such a maid could thy passion approve ? " Her form is replete with each grace , " The diamond beams forth in her eye , " The lily expands o'er her face , " And the rose-bud imparts its soft dye . " No warbler can rival her song , " Philomela with envy complains , " The streams glide in silence along , " The glad Zephyrs diffuse her soft strains . " When Daphne appear'd in the mead , " Her presence enliven'd the morn , " Now the winds roughly blow round my head , " And the sun's chearful beams are withdrawn . " No longer these meadows look green , " Now the warblers abandon the grove , " The air breathes no longer serene , " All Summer is fled with my love . " Oh ! Daphne , you heard my fond sighs , " You did not my passion disdain , " When I gaz'd with delight on your eyes , " My soft glances you did not restrain : " But now you make sport of my woes , " And laugh at the sufferings I feel , " I enjoy not the sweets of repose , " Nor can I my torments conceal ! " Farewell , ye sad scenes of my love , " I shall never revisit you more ! " Adieu to the mead an he grove , " 'Twas here I first learn'd to adore ! " I will banish this wretch from her sight , " I know not what fate may ensue , " Never more can I taste of delight , " To every enjoyment adieu . "
PART THE SECOND . WITH a torrent of heart-bursting grief Alexis continues his moan , Tears gave him some little relief , Yet he ceas'd not to sigh and to groan . Pastora by chance hasten'd by , She saw the poor shepherd's despair , Soft pity appear'd in her eye , She ask'd him the source of his care . " What cause has Alexis to weep ? " With looks of compassion , she said ; " Have you lost e'er a lamb or a sheep ? " Or is Tray the poor favourite dead ? " Or , perhaps , your fair Daphne's unkind , " Perhaps for her coyness you grieve , " Ah ! 'tis jealousy poisons your mind ! " But appearances often deceive . " The shepherd just rais'd up his head , He thank'd the kind maid for her care , He confess'd that all comfort was fled , And nothing was left but despair . Pastora e'en wept at the tale , And wish'd she could ease his distress ; Could her interest with Daphne prevail , His suffering should soon find redress . He gaz'd on the fair with surprize , And admir'd the good-nature she shew'd , When she went he withdrew not his eyes , But with pleasure her footsteps pursu'd . Her sweetness , her beauty , and truth , With Daphne's late falshood compar'd , So charm'd , so astonish'd the youth , That his heart for a change was prepar'd . Yet still his fond wish would arise , " Ah ! was but my Daphne thus kind ! " I would wipe off these tears from my eyes , " And give up my sighs to the wind ! " He said , and arose from the ground , Then instant return'd to his cot , Soon in sleep every suffering was drown'd , And Daphne's unkindness forgot . With the sun the next morn he arose , Pastora he sought in the grove , He repeated the tale of his woes , And mourn'd the sad fate of his love ! Pastora heard every complaint ; Again he imparted his grief , He talk'd without fear or constraint , And found from her converse , relief . The friendship he felt for the fair , Each meeting still serv'd to improve ; He then blest his late cause of despair , And became a true votary to Love . 'Twas no longer for beauty he sigh'd , He no longer to merit was blind , 'Twas his joy , and a laudable pride , That he valu'd the charms of the mind . Pastora with blushes confest , That she felt all the force of true love ; But that reason her passion supprest , Yet that now she must own and approve . She soon gave her hand to the swain , Who proclaim'd to each shepherd this truth , He had met a reward for his pain , More lasting than beauty and youth . When Spring decks with verdure the mead , Love wafts milder fragrance around ; When Summer invites to the shade , Love strews with fresh flowrets the ground . In Autumn thro' corn-fields they rove , And their loves as in Spring-time appear , Tho' Winter disrobes the known grove , Yet their love varies not with the year . Ye Nymphs , to this maxim attend , Tho' beauty awhile may allure , Yet to fix in the lover the friend , 'Tis virtue alone is secure ! Ye Swains , who are caught by a face , Know , that beauty will quickly decay ; That virtue still heightens each grace , And imparts more than Time steals away !