Poetry. Alexander Pope

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       Lament the ceasing of a sweeter breath; 50

       Th' industrious bees neglect their golden store;

       Fair Daphne's dead, and Sweetness is no more!

       No more the mounting larks, while Daphne sings,

       Shall, listening in mid air, suspend their wings;

       No more the birds shall imitate her lays,

       Or, hush'd with wonder, hearken from the sprays:

       No more the streams their murmurs shall forbear,

       A sweeter music than their own to hear;

       But tell the reeds, and tell the vocal shore,

       Fair Daphne's dead, and Music is no more! 60

       Her fate is whisper'd by the gentle breeze,

       And told in sighs to all the trembling trees;

       The trembling trees, in every plain and wood,

       Her fate remurmur to the silver flood;

       The silver flood, so lately calm, appears

       Swell'd with new passion, and o'erflows with tears;

       The winds and trees and floods her death deplore,

       Daphne, our grief, our glory now no more!

       But see! where Daphne wondering mounts on high

       Above the clouds, above the starry sky! 70

       Eternal beauties grace the shining scene,

       Fields ever fresh, and groves for ever green!

       There while you rest in amaranthine bowers,

       Or from those meads select unfading flowers,

       Behold us kindly, who your name implore,

       Daphne, our goddess, and our grief no more!

       LYCIDAS.

       How all things listen, while thy Muse complains!

       Such silence waits on Philomela's strains,

       In some still evening, when the whispering breeze

       Pants on the leaves, and dies upon the trees. 80

       To thee, bright goddess, oft a lamb shall bleed,

       If teeming ewes increase my fleecy breed.

       While plants their shade, or flowers their odours give,

       Thy name, thy honour, and thy praise shall live!

       THYRSIS.

       But see, Orion sheds unwholesome dews;

       Arise, the pines a noxious shade diffuse;

       Sharp Boreas blows, and Nature feels decay,

       Time conquers all, and we must Time obey.

       Adieu, ye vales, ye mountains, streams, and groves;

       Adieu, ye shepherds, rural lays, and loves; 90

       Adieu, my flocks; farewell, ye sylvan crew;

       Daphne, farewell; and all the world, adieu!

VARIATIONS.

       Table of Contents

      VER. 29, 30—Originally thus in the MS.—

       'Tis done, and Nature's changed since you are gone;

       Behold, the clouds have put their mourning on.

       VER. 83, 84. Originally thus in the MS.—

       While vapours rise, and driving snows descend,

       Thy honour, name, and praise shall never end.