Gay youths and frolic damsels round me throng,
And smiling say, " Why, shepherd, wilt thou write
Thy lays of love adventurous to recite
In unknown numbers and a foreign tongue? —
Shepherd, if Hope hath ever wrought thee wrong,
Afar from her and Fancy's fairy light
Retire" — So they to sport with me delight;
" And other shores, (they say,) and other streams
Thy presence wait; and sweetest flowers that blow,
Their ripening blooms reserve for thy fair brow,
Where glory soon shall bear her brightest beams;" —
Thus they, and yet their soothing little seems;
If she, for whom I breathe the tender vow,
Sing these soft lays, and ask the mutual song,
This is thy language, Love, and I to thee belong!