ANOTHER. I Ye myrtles and woodbines so green, Your fragrance no longer beguile, Ye bow'rs that with rapture I've seen, When Damon did tenderly smile. When his heart beat with every look, His charmer did kindly bestow; When he left both his pipe and his crook, O'er the meadows with Delia to go. II Each hour he employ'd for his dear, In gathering fruit of the best, The sweet bryar, and violet did rear, To make poesies for Delia's breast. With roses, and hiacynths fair, With myrtle, and ever green bay, Sweet chaplets he wove for her hair, And her charms were the theme of his lay. III At noon's scorching heat we retir'd, To the grove at the foot of the hill, Or else to the wood he admir'd, By the side of a murmuring rill. With his song did the shepherd delight, His reed did resound through the grove, My steps did the charmer invite, And each accent was blended with love. IV But ah! to my sorrow I find, (What grieves my fond heart to relate;) That Damon is false as the wind, His passion is changed to hate. With scorn doth he slight all my charms, Such contempt ev'ry look doth impart, With hatred he flies from my arms, With disdain he rejects my soft heart. V The garland he wove for my hair, Of laurel, and ever green bay, The crook that he bought at the fair, He has given to Phillis the gay. The bow'r which for Delia he made, The lambkins he lov'd for my sake, Of the grot, and the silver cascade, No longer must Delia partake. VI My flocks can no longer delight, In vain do they frolick and play, For when Damon is out of my sight, No pleasure I feel through the day. No more do I sport on the plain, No comfort my bosom can prove, 'Till Damon doth pity my pain, For pity is sister to love.