When such a day, blessed the Arcadian plain,
Warm without Sun, and shady without rain,
Fann’d by an air, that scarcely bent the flowers,
Or wav’d the woodbines, on the summer bowers,
The Nymphs disorder’d beauty could not fear,
Nor ruffling winds uncurld the Shepherd’s hair,
On the fresh grass, they trod their measures light,
And a long Evening made, from noon, to night.
Come then my Dafnis, from those cares descend
Which better may the winter season spend.
Come, and the pleasures of the fields, survey,
And through the groves, with your Ardelia stray.
Reading the softest Poetry, refuse,
To view the subjects of each rural muse;
Nor let the busy compasses go round,
When faery Circles better mark the ground.
Rich Colours on the Vellum cease to lay,
When ev’ry lawn much nobler can display,
When on the dazzling poppy may be seen
A glowing red, exceeding your carmine;
And for the blew that o’re the Sea is borne,
A brighter rises in our standing corn.
Come then, my Dafnis, and the fields survey,
And through the groves, with your Ardelia stray.
Come, and let Sansons World, no more engage,
Although he gives a Kingdom in a page;
O’re all the Universe his lines may go,
And not a clime, like temp’rate Britain show,
Come then, my Dafnis, and her fields survey,
And through the groves, with your Ardelia stray.
Nor plead that you’re immur’d, and cannot yield,
That mighty Bastions keep you from the field,
Think not tho’ lodg’d in Mons, or in Namur,
You’re from my dangerous attacks secure.
No, Louis shall his falling Conquests fear,
When by succeeding Couriers he shall hear
Apollo, and the Muses, are drawn down,
To storm each fort, and take in ev’ry Town.
Vauban, the Orphean Lyre, to mind shall call,
That drew the stones to the old Theban Wall,
And make no doubt, if itt against him play,
They, from his works, will fly as fast away,
Which to prevent, he shall to peace persuade,
Of strong, confederate Syllables, afraid.
Come then, my Dafnis, and the fields survey,
And through the Groves, with your Ardelia stray.
Come, and attend, how as we walk along,
Each cheerful bird, shall treat us with a song,
Not such as Fopps compose, where wit, nor art,
Nor plainer Nature, ever bear a part;
The Crystal springs, shall murmur as we pass,
But not like Courtiers, sinking to disgrace;
Nor, shall the louder Rivers, in their fall,
Like unpaid Saylers, or hoarse Pleaders brawl;
But all shall form a concert to delight,
And all to peace, and all to love invite.
Come then, my Dafnis, and the fields survey,
And through the Groves, with your Ardelia stray.
As Baucis and Philemon spent their lives,
Of husbands he, the happiest she, of wives,
When through the painted meads, their way they sought,
Harmlesse in act, and unperplext in thought,
Let us my Dafnis, rural joys persue,
And Courts, or Camps, not ev’n in fancy view.
So, let us through the Groves, my Dafnis stray,
And so, the pleasures of the fields, survey.
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