Page:The Works of Alexander Pope (1717).djvu/56

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PASTORALS.
As in the crystal spring I view my face,Fresh rising blushes paint the wat'ry glass;But since those graces please thy sight no more,I shun the fountains which I sought before.Once I was skill'd in ev'ry herb that grew,And ev'ry plant that drinks the morning dew;Ah wretched shepherd, what avails thy art,To cure thy lambs, but not to heal thy heart!Let other swains attend the rural care,Feed fairer flocks, or richer fleeces share;But nigh that mountain let me tune my lays,Embrace my Love, and bind my brows with bays.That flute is mine which Colin's tuneful breathInspir'd when living, and bequeath'd in death;He said; Alexis, take this pipe, the sameThat taught the groves my Rosalinda's name———But now the reeds shall hang on yonder Tree,For ever silent, since despis'd by thee.Oh! were I made by some transforming pow'rThe captive bird that sings within thy bow'r!

Then

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