Spring – The First Pastoral ; or Damon poem – Alexander Pope

A poem by Alexander Pope (1688-1744) , the greatest English poet of “Augustan” or Georgian period

First in these fields I try the sylvan strains,

Nor blush to sport on Windsor’s blissful plains:

Fair Thames, flow gently from thy sacred spring,

While on thy banks Sicilian Muses sing;

Let vernal airs tho’ trembling osiers play,

And Albion’s cliffs resound the rural lay.

You, that too wise for pride, too good for pow’r,

Enjoy the glory to be great no more,

And carrying with you all the world can boast,

To all the world illustriously are lost!

O let my Muse her slender reed inspire,

Till in your native shades you tune the lyre:

So when the Nightingale to rest removes,

The Thrush may chant to the forsaken groves,

But, charm’d to silence, listens while she sings,

And all th’ aerial audience clap their wings.

Soon as the flocks shook off the nightly dews,

Two Swains, whom Love kept wakeful, and the Muse

Pour’d o’er the whitening vale their fleecy care,

Fresh as the morn, and as the season fair:

The dawn now blushing on the mountain’s side,

Thus Daphnis spoke, and Strephon thus reply’d.

Daphnis.

Hear how the birds, on ev’ry bloomy spray,

With joyous musick wake the dawning day!

Why sit we mute when early linnets sing,

When warbling Philomel salutes the spring?

Why sit we sad when Phosphor shines so clear,

And lavish nature paints the purple Year?

Strephon.

Sing, then, and Damon shall attend the strain,

While yon’ slow oxen turn the furrow’d Plain.

Here the bright crocus and blue vi’let glow;

Here western winds on breathing roses blow.

I’ll stake yon’ lamb, that near the fountain plays,

And from the brink his dancing shade surveys.

Daphnis.

And I this bowl, where wanton Ivy twines,

And swelling clusters bend the curling vines:

Four figures rising from the work appear,

The various seasons of the rolling year;

And what is that, which binds the radiant sky,

Where twelve fair Signs in beauteous order lie?

Damon.

Then sing by turns, by turns the Muses sing,

Now hawthorns blossom, now the daisies spring,

Now leaves the trees, and flow’rs adorn the ground,

Begin, the vales shall ev’ry note rebound.

Inspire me, Phoebus, in my Delia’s praise

With Waller’s strains, or Granville’s moving lays!

A milk-white bull shall at your altars stand,

That threats a fight, and spurns the rising sand.

Daphnis.

O Love! for Sylvia let me gain the prize,

And make my tongue victorious as her eyes;

No lambs or sheep for victims I’ll impart,

Thy victim, Love, shall be the shepherd’s heart.

Strephon.

Me gentle Delia beckons from the plain,

Then hid in shades, eludes her eager swain;

But feigns a laugh, to see me search around,

And by that laugh the willing fair is found.

Daphnis.

The sprightly Sylvia trips along the green,

She runs, but hopes she does not run unseen;

While a kind glance at her pursuer flies,

How much at variance are her feet and eyes!

Strephon.

O’er golden sands let rich Pactolus flow,

And trees weep amber on the banks of Po;

Blest Thames’s shores the brightest beauties yield,

Feed here my lambs, I’ll seek no distant field.

Daphnis.

Celestial Venus haunts Idalia’s groves;

Diana Cynthus, Ceres Hybla loves;

If Windsor-shades delight the matchless maid,

Cynthus and Hybla yield to Windsor-shade.

Strephon.

All nature mourns, the Skies relent in show’rs,

Hush’d are the birds, and clos’d the drooping flow’rs;

If Delia smile, the flow’rs begin to spring,

The skies to brighten, and the birds to sing.

Daphnis.

All nature laughs, the groves are fresh and fair,

The Sun’s mild lustre warms the vital air;

If Sylvia smiles, new glories gild the shore,

And vanquish’d nature seems to charm no more.

Strephon.

In spring the fields, in autumn hills I love,

At morn the plains, at noon the shady grove,

But Delia always; absent from her sight,

Nor plains at morn, nor groves at noon delight.

Daphnis.

Sylvia’s like autumn ripe, yet mild as May,

More bright than noon, yet fresh as early day;

Ev’n spring displeases, when she shines not here;

But blest with her, ’tis spring throughout the year.

Strephon.

Say, Daphnis, say, in what glad soil appears,

A wond’rous Tree that sacred Monarchs bears:

Tell me but this, and I’ll disclaim the prize,

And give the conquest to thy Sylvia’s eyes.

Daphnis.

Nay tell me first, in what more happy fields

The Thistle springs, to which the Lily yields:

And then a nobler prize I will resign;

For Sylvia, charming Sylvia, shall be thine.

Damon.

Cease to contend, for, Daphnis, I decree,

The bowl to Strephon, and the lamb to thee:

Blest Swains, whose Nymphs in ev’ry grace excel;

Blest Nymphs, whose Swains those graces sing so well!

Now rise, and haste to yonder woodbine bow’rs,

A soft retreat from sudden vernal show’rs,

The turf with rural dainties shall be crown’d,

While op’ning blooms diffuse their sweets around.

For see! the gath’ring flocks to shelter tend,

And from the Pleiads fruitful show’rs descend.

Poetry Monster – Home

A few random poems:

External links

Bat’s Poetry Page – more poetry by Fledermaus

Talking Writing Monster’s Page –

Batty Writing – the bat’s idle chatter, thoughts, ideas and observations, all original, all fresh

Poems in English 

• Sonnet 71: No longer mourn for me when I am dead by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 70: That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 6: Then let not winter’s ragged hand deface by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 69: Those parts of thee that the world’s eye doth view by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 68: Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 67: Ah, wherefore with infection should he live by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 66: Tired with all these, for restful death I cry by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 65: Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 64: When I have seen by Time’s fell hand defaced by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 63: Against my love shall be, as I am now by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 62: Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 61: Is it thy will thy image should keep open by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 60: Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 5: Those hours, that with gentle work did frame by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 59: If there be nothing new, but that which is by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 58: That god forbid, that made me first your slave by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 57: Being your slave, what should I do but tend by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 56: Sweet love, renew thy force, be it not said by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 55: Not marble, nor the gilded monuments by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 95: How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare

More external links (open in a new tab):

Russian Commerce Agency

Dealing Monster

Doska or the Board – write anything

Search engines:

Yandex – the best search engine for searches in Russian (and the best overall image search engine, in any language, anywhere)

Qwant – the best search engine for searches in French, German as well as Romance and Germanic languages.

Ecosia – a search engine that supposedly… plants trees

Duckduckgo – the real alternative and a search engine that actually works. Without much censorship or partisan politics.

Yahoo– yes, it’s still around, amazingly, miraculously, incredibly, but now it seems to be powered by Bing.

 

Parallel Translations of Poetry

Poems by Author and Category

The Poetry Repository – an online library of poems, poetry, verse and poetic works