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POPE

OPE, to whose reed beneath the beechen shade,
The Nymphs of Thames a pleas'd attention paid;

While
1 This noble author was born in the year 1709. He was the eldest
son of Sir Thomas Lyttelton, of Hagley in Worcestershire, and re-
ceived his education at Eton, where he was fo much diftinguished, that
Vor, II,
A

his

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PROGRESS of LOVE.

IN FOUR ECLOGUES. By GEORGE LORD LYTTELTON

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While yet thy Muse, content with hambler praise,
Warbled in Windsor's grove her sylvan lays ;
Though now sublimely borne on Homer's wing,
Of glorious wars, and godlike chiefs she fing:
Wilt thou with me re-visit once again
The crystal fountain, and the flow'ry plain!
Wilt thou, indulgent, hear my verse relate
The various changes of a lover's ftate;
And while each turn of passion I pursue,
Ask thy own heart if what I tell be true ?

To the green margin of a lonely wood,
Whose pendent shades o’erlook'd a silver flood,
Young Damon came, unknowing where he ftray'd,
Full of the image of his beauteous maid :
His flock far off, unfed, untended lay,
To every savage a defenceless prey;
No sense of intrest could their master move,
And every care seem'd triAing now but Love.

be

his exercises were recommended as models to his school-fellows. From Eton he went to Christ Church, Oxford, but said there only a short time. He then travelled through France and Italy, and, foon after his return to England, in 1735; obtained a seat in Parliament, where became a violent opposer of Sir Robert Walpole's adminis ration. In the year 1741, he married Miss Lucy Fortescue, the lady co whom several of the following Poems are addressed; and in 1744, was made one of the Lords of the Treasury. He frequently after this period was in place, and fupported the measures of the Court. In 1756, he was created a Peer; and died at Hagley, August 22, 2773, aged 64 years.

1

Awhile in pensive filence he remain'd,
But though his voice was mute, his looks complain'd;
At length the thoughts within his bosom pent,
Forc'd his unwilling tongue to give them vent.

Ye Nymphs, he cry'd, ye Dryads, who so long
Have favour'd Damon, and inspir'd his song ;
For whom, retir'd, I shun the gay resorts
Of sportful cities, and of pompous courts;
In vain I bid the restless world adieu,
To seek tranquillity and peace with you.
Though wild Ambition and destructive Rage
No factions here can form, no wars can wage ;
Though Envy frowns not on your humble thades,
Nor Calumny your innocence invades,
Yet cruel Love, that troubler of the breast,
Too often violates your boasted rest;
With inbred storms difturbs

your
And taints with bitterness each rural sweet.

Ah luckless day! when first with fond surprize
On Delia's face I fix'd my eager eyes;
Then i'n wild tumults all

my

foul was tost,
Then reason, liberty, at once were lost :
And every with, and thought, and care was gone,
But what my heart employ'd on her alone.
Then too she smild: can smiles our peace destroy,
Those lovely children of Content and Joy ?
How can foft pleasure and tormenting woe,
From the same spring at the same moment flow?

Unhappy

calm retreat,

A 2

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