PASTORAL.

AS a shepherdess stray'd with her sheep,
 I listen'd, and this was her song:
 Not from Phillis her swain would I keep,
 I would rather thus wander alone. 

To my friend let me try to return
 The swain — whom her fondness invites. 
Her crook with each flower I'll adorn,
 And teach her the song which he likes. 

Yet l'm pleas'd with the tale I despise;
 As he whispers my looks are so fair. 
When the water reflects back my eyes
 I find I'm not equal to her. 

By the brook! where the primroses grow,
 O could but those days now return! 
The sweetest she plac'd on my brow;
 Can I bear that my Phillis should mourn? 

How harmless my flock as they feed! 
'Tis time I were wearing them home;
 I long with my Phillis to meet,
 Since Corydon left her alone. 

Though the plains and the nights are yet cold,
 We shall rise with the sun in the morn;
 When Corydon's flocks are unfold,
 No more shall his nymph be forlorn. 

How they bleat! 'tis her lambkins I hear;
 As one of them stray'd from the rest,
 Unheeded she drops the soft tear,
 Unknowing her sorrow express'd. 

Are the hills and the valleys less green? 
The shrub, or the sweet-briar not sweet? 
Because they are none of them mine,
 Ah! why should a shepherdess weep?