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In this Mr. Pope endeavour'd to imitate the Stile of Mr. Gay, but the last Line betrays him; his Arcadian Strain, which charmed him in his Youth, always was his Song, except as now, he by Force chang'd a Note or two: How different are his Verses in his fourth Pastoral, to the Memory of Mrs. Tempest:

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The trembling Trees, in ev'ry Plain and Wood,
Her Fate remurmur to the silver Flood;
The silver Flood, so lately calm, appears
Swell’d with new Paffion, and o'erflows with Tears;
The Winds and Trees and Floods her Death deplore,
Daphne, our Grief! our Glory now no more.

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Can we forget how ev'ry Creature moan'd,
And sympathizing Rocks in Eccho groan'd,
Presaging future Woe, when, for our Crimes,
We loft Albino, Pledge of peaceful Times ?
The Pride of Britain, and the darling Joy
Of all the Plains, and ev'ry Shepherd Boy.


No joyous Pipe was heard, no Flocks were feen,
Nor Shepherds found upon the graffy Green;
No Cattle graz’d the Field, nor drunk the Flood;
No Birds were heard to warble thro' the Wood.

In yonder gloomy Grove ftretch'd out he lay,
His beauteous Limbs upon the damping Clay ;
The Roses on his pallà Cheeks decay'd,
And o'er his Lips a livid Hue display'd :
Bleating around him lye his penfive Sheep,
And mourning Shepherds come in Crowds to weep;
The pious Mother comes, with Grief oppress'd;
Ye, conscious Trees and Fountains, can atteft.
With what fad Accents and what moving Cries
She filld the Grove, and importun'd the Skies,
And ev'ry Star upbraided with his Death,
When in her Widow'd Arms, devoid of Breath,
She clafpd her. Son. Nor did the Nymph for this
Place in her Dearling's Welfare all her Bliss,
And teach him young the Sylvan Crook to wield,
And rule the peaceful Empire of the Field.

As milk-white Swans on silver Streams do fhow, And filver Streams to gracé the Meadows flow; As Corn the Vales, and Trees the Hills adorn, So thou to thine an Ornament was born. Since thou, delicious Youth, didft quit the Plains, Th’ ungrateful Ground we till with fruitless Pains : In labour'd Furrows fow the Choice of Wheat, And over empty Sheaves in Harveft sweat: A thin Increase our woolly Substance yields, And Thorns and Thifles overspread the Fields.

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