Page:Virgil's Pastorals, Georgics and Aeneis - Dryden (1709) - volume 1.pdf/200

58 Sylvanus came: his Brows a Country Crown Of Fennel, and of nodding Lillies, drown. Great Pan arriv'd; and we beheld him too, His Cheeks and Temples of Vermilion Hue. Why, Gallus, this immod'rate Grief, he cry'd: Think'st thou that Love with Tears is satisfy'd? The Meads are sooner drunk with Morning Dews; The Bees with flow'ry Shrubs, the Goats with Brouze. Unmov'd, and with dejected Eyes, he mourn'd: He paus'd, and then these broken Words return'd. 'Tis past; and Pity gives me no Relief: But you, Arcadian Swains, shall sing my Grief: And on your Hills, my last Complaints renew; So sad a Song is only worthy you. How light wou'd lye the Turf upon my Breast, If you my Suff'rings in your Songs exprest? Ah! that your Birth and Bus'ness had been mine; To penn the Sheep, and press the swelling Vine! Had Phyllis or Amyntas caus'd my Pain, Or any Nymph, or Shepherd on the Plain, Tho' Phyllis brown, tho' black Amyntas were, Are Violets not sweet, because not fair? Beneath the Sallows, and the shady Vine, My Loves had mix'd their pliant Limbs with mine; Phyllis with Myrtle Wreaths had crown'd my Hair, And soft Amyntas sung away my Care. Come, see what Pleasures in our Plains abound; The Woods, the Fountains, and the flow'ry ground.