Possession. Eclogue IV

Cobham, to thee this rural lay I bring, Whose guiding judgment gives me skill to sing; Though far unequal to those polish'd strains, With which thy Congreve charm'd the list'ning plains, Yet shall its musick please thy partial ear, And sooth thy breast with thoughts that once were dear; Recall those years which time has thrown behind, When smiling Love with Honour shar'd thy mind. The sweet remembrance shall thy youth restore, Fancy again shall run past pleasures o'er, And while in Stowe's enchanting walks you stray, This theme may help to cheat the summer's day.

Beneath the covert of a myrtle wood, To Venus rais'd a rustick altar stood, To Venus and to Hymen, there combin'd, In friendly league to favour humankind. With wanton Cupids in that happy shade, The gentle Virtues, and mild Wisdom play'd. Nor there in sprightly Pleasure's genial train, Lurk'd sick Disgust, or late repenting Pain, Nor Force, nor Interest join'd unwilling hands, But Love consenting ty'd the blissful bands. Thither with glad devotion Damon came, To thank the Pow'rs who bless'd his faithful flame; Two milk-white doves he on their altar laid, And thus to both his grateful homage paid: Hail bounteous god, before whose hallow'd shrine My Delia vow'd to be for ever mine, While glowing in her cheeks, with tender love, Sweet virgin modesty reluctant strove: And hail to thee, fair queen of young desires: Long shall my heart preserve thy pleasing fires, Since Delia now can all its warmth return, As fondly languish, and as fiercely burn.

O the dear gloom of last propitious night! O shade more charming than the fairest light! Then in my arms I clasp'd the melting maid, Then all my pains one moment overpaid; Then first the sweet excess of bliss I prov'd, Which none can taste but who like me have lov'd. Thou too, bright goddess, once in Ida's grove, Didst not disdain to meet a shepherd's love, With him while frisking lambs around you play'd, Conceal'd you sported in the secret shade; Scarce cou'd Anchises' raptures equal mine, And Delia's beauties only yield to thine.

What are you now, my once most valued joys? Insipid trifles all, and childish toys— Friendship itself ne'er knew a charm like this; Nor Colin's talk cou'd please like Delia's kiss.

Ye muses, skill'd in every winning art, Teach me more deeply to engage her heart; Ye nymphs, to her your freshest roses bring, And crown her with the pride of all the spring: On all her days let health and peace attend; May she ne'er want, nor ever lose a friend; May some new pleasure every hour employ; But let her Damon be her highest joy.

With thee, my love, for ever will I stay, All night caress thee, and admire all day; In the same field our mingled flocks we'll feed, To the same spring our thirsty heifers lead, Together will we share the harvest toils, Together press the vine's autumnal spoils. Delightful state, where peace and love combine, To bid our tranquil days unclouded shine! Here limpid fountains roll through flow'ry meads, Here rising forests lift their verdant heads; Here let me wear my careless life away, And in thy arms insensibly decay.

When late old age our heads shall silver o'er, And our slow pulses dance with joy no more; When Time no longer will thy beauties spare, And only Damon's eye shall think thee fair; Then may the gentle hand of welcome death, At one soft stroke deprive us both of breath; May we beneath one common stone be laid, And the same cypress both our ashes shade. Perhaps some friendly muse, in tender verse, Shall deign our faithful passion to rehearse, And future ages with just envy mov'd, Be told how Damon and his Delia lov'd.