Hybernia hail! Hail happy Isle,
Be glad, and let all Nature smile.
Ye Meads and Plains send forth your Gayest Flowers;
Ye Groves and every Purling Spring,
Where Lovers sigh, and Birds do sing,
Be glad and gay, for Celladon is yours;
He comes, he comes to grace your Plains.
To Charm the Nymphs, and bless the Swains,
Ecchoes repeat his Glorious Name
To all the Neighbouring Woods and Hills;
Ye Feather'd Quire chant forth his Fame,
Ye Fountains, Brooks, and Wand'ring Rills,
That through the Meadows in Meanders run,
Tell all your Flowry Brinks, the generous Swain is come.
VI.
Divert him all ye pretty Solitudes,
And give his Life some softning Interludes:
That when his weari'd mind would be,
From Noise and Rigid Bus'ness free;
He may upon your Mossey Beds lye down,
Where all is Gloomy, all is Shade,
With some dear Shee, whom Nature made,
To be possest by him alone;
Where the soft tale of Love She breathes,
Mixt with the rushing of the wind-blown leaves,
The different Notes of Cheerful Birds,
And distant Bleating of the Herds:
Is Musick far more ravishing and sweet,
Then all the Artful Sounds that please the noisey Great.
VII.
Mix thus your Toiles of Life with Joyes,
And for the publick good, prolong your days:
Instruct the World, the great Example prove,
Of Honour, Friendship, Loyalty, and Love.
And when your busier hours are done,
And you with Damon sit alone;
Damon the honest, brave and young;
Whom we must Celebrate where you are sung,
For you (by Sacred Friendship ty'd,)
Love nor Fate can nere divide;
When your agreeing thoughts shall backward run,
Surveying all the Conquests you have won,
The Swaines you'ave left, the sighing Maids undone;
Try if you can a fatal prospect take,
Think if you can a soft Idea make:
Of what we are, now you are gone,
Of what we feel for Celladon.
VIII.
'Tis Celladon the witty and the gay,
That blest the Night, and cheer'd the world all Day:
'Tis Celladon, to whom our Vows belong,
And Celladon the Subject of our Song.
For whom the Nymphs would dress, the Swains rejoice,
The praise of these, of those the choice;
And if our Joyes were rais'd to this Excess,
Our Pleasures by thy presence made so great:
Some pittying God help thee to guess,
(What fancy cannot well Express.)
Our Languishments by thy Retreat;
Pitty our Swaines, pitty our Virgins more,
And let that pitty haste thee to our shore;
And whilst on happy distant Coasts you are,
Afford us all your sighs, and Cesar all your care.
On a Juniper-Tree, cut down to make Busks.
Whilst happy I Triumphant stood,
The Pride and Glory of the Wood;
My Aromatick Boughs and Fruit,
Did with all other Trees dispute.
Had right by Nature to excel,
In pleasing both the tast and smell:
But to the touch I must confess,
Bore an Ungrateful Sullenness.
My Wealth, like bashful Virgins, I
Yielded with some Reluctancy;
For which my vallue should be more,
Not giving easily my store.
My verdant Branches all the year }
Did an Eternal Beauty wear; }
Did ever young and gay appear. }
Nor needed any tribute pay,
For bounties from the God of Day:
Nor do I hold Supremacy,
(In all the Wood) o'er every Tree.
But even those too of my own Race,
That grow not in this happy place.
But that in which I glory most,
And do my self with Reason boast,
Beneath my shade the other day,
Young Philocles and Cloris lay,
Upon my Root she lean'd her head, }
And where I grew, he made their Bed: }
Whilst I the Canopy more largely spread. }
Their trembling Limbs did gently press,
The kind supporting yielding Grass:
Ne'er half so blest as now, to bear
A Swain so Young, a Nimph so fair:
My Grateful Shade I kindly lent,
And every aiding Bough I bent.
So low, as sometimes had the blisse,
To rob the Shepherd of a kiss,
Whilst he in Pleasures far above
The Sence of that degree of Love:
Permitted every stealth I made,
Unjealous of his Rival Shade.
I saw 'em kindle to desire,
Whilst with soft sighs they blew the fire;
Saw the approaches of their joy,
He growing more fierce, and she less Coy,
Saw how they mingled melting Rays,
Exchanging Love a thousand ways.
Kind was the force on every side, }
Her new desire she could not hide: }
Nor wou'd the Shepherd be deny'd. }
Impatient he waits no consent
But what she gave by Languishment,
The blessed Minute he pursu'd;
And now transported in his Arms,
Yeilds to the Conqueror all her Charmes,
His panting Breast, to hers now join'd,
They feast on Raptures unconfin'd;
Vast and Luxuriant, such as prove
The Immortality of Love.
For who but a Divinitie, }
Could mingle Souls to that Degree; }
And melt 'em into Extasie? }
Now like the Phenix, both Expire, }
While from the Ashes of their Fire, }
Sprung up a new, and soft desire. }
Like Charmers, thrice they did invoke,
The God! and thrice new vigor took.
Nor had the Mysterie ended there,
But Cloris reassum'd her fear,
And chid the Swain, for having prest,
What she alas wou'd not resist:
Whilst he in whom Loves sacred flame,
Before and after was the same,
Fondly implor'd she wou'd forget
A fault, which he wou'd yet repeat.
From Active Joyes with some they hast,
To a Reflexion on the past;
A thousand times my Covert bless,
That did secure their Happiness:
Their Gratitude to every Tree
They pay, but most to happy me;
The Shepherdess my Bark carest,
Whilst he my Root, Love's Pillow, kist;
And did with sighs, their fate deplore,
Since I must shelter them no more;
And if before my Joyes were such,
In having heard, and seen too much,
My Grief must be as great and high, }
When all abandon'd I shall be, }
Doom'd to a silent Destinie. }
No more the Charming strife to hear,
The Shepherds Vows, the Virgins fear:
No more a joyful looker on,
Whilst Loves soft Battel's lost and won.
With grief I bow'd my murmering Head,
And all my Christal Dew I shed.
Which did in Cloris Pity move,
(Cloris whose Soul is made of Love;)
She cut me down, and did translate,
My being to a happier state.
No Martyr for Religion di'd
With half that Unconsidering Pride;
My top was on that Altar laid.
Where Love his softest Offerings paid:
And was as fragrant Incense burn'd,
My body into Busks was turn'd:
Where I still guard the Sacred Store,
And of Loves Temple keep the Door.