A poem by Alexander Pope (1688-1744) , the greatest English poet of “Augustan” or Georgian period
Lycidas.
Thyrsis, the music of that murm’ring spring,
Is not so mournful as the strains you sing.
Nor rivers winding thro’ the vales below,
So sweetly warble, or so smoothly flow.
Now sleeping flocks on their soft fleeces lie,
The moon, serene in glory, mounts the sky,
Wile silent birds forget their tuneful lays,
Oh sing of Daphne’s fate, and Daphne’s praise!
Thyrsis.
Behold the groves that shine with silver frost,
Their beauty wither’d, and their verdure lost.
Here shall I try the sweet Alexis’ strain,
That call’d the list’ning Dryads to the plain?
Thames heard the numbers as he flow’d along,
And bade his willows learn the moving song.
Lycidas.
So may kind rains their vital moisture yield,
And swell the future harvest of the field.
Begin; this charge the dying Daphne gave,
And said; “Ye shepherds, sing around my grave!
Sing, while beside the shaded tomb I mourn,
And with fresh bays her rural shrine adorn.”
Thyrsis.
Ye gentle Muses, leave your crystal spring,
Let Nymphs and Sylvans cypress garlands bring;
Ye weeping Loves, the stream with myrtles hide,
And break your vows, as when Adonis died;
And with your golden darts, now useless grown,
Inscribe a verse on this relenting stone:
“Let nature change, let heav’n and earth deplore,
Fair Daphne’s dead, and love is now no more!”
‘Tis done, and nature’s various charms decay,
See gloomy clouds obscure the cheerful day!
Now hung with pearls the dropping trees appear,
Their faded honours scatter’d on her bier.
See, where on earth the flow’ry glories lie,
With her they flourish’d, and with her they die.
Ah what avail the beauties nature wore?
Fair Daphne’s dead, and beauty is no more!
For her the flocks refuse their verdant food,
Nor thirsty heifers seek the gliding flood.
The silver swans her hapless fate bemoan,
In notes more sad than when they sing their own;
In hollow caves sweet Echo silent lies,
Silent, or only to her name replies;
Her name with pleasure once she taught the shore,
Now Daphne’s dead, and pleasure is no more!
No grateful dews descend from ev’ning skies,
Nor morning odours from the flow’rs arise;
No rich perfumes refresh the fruitful field,
Nor fragrant herbs their native incense yield.
The balmy Zephyrs, silent since her death,
Lament the ceasing of a sweeter breath;
Th’ industrious bees neglect their golden store;
Fair Daphne’s dead, and sweetness is no more!
No more the mounting larks, while Daphne sings,
Shall list’ning in mid air suspend their wings;
No more the birds shall imitate her lays,
Or hush’d with wonder, hearken from the sprays;
No more the streams their murmur shall forbear,
A sweeter music than their own to hear,
But tell the reeds, and tell the vocal shore,
Fair Daphne’s dead, and music is no more!
Her fate is whisper’d by the gentle breeze,
And told in sighs to all the trembling trees;
The trembling trees, in ev’ry plain and wood,
Her fate remurmur to the silver flood;
The silver flood, so lately calm, appears
Swell’d with new passion, and o’erflows with tears;
The winds and trees and floods her death deplore,
Daphne, our grief! our glory now no more!
But see! where Daphne wond’ring mounts on high
Above the clouds, above the starry sky!
Eternal beauties grace the shining scene,
Fields ever fresh, and groves for ever green!
There while you rest in Amaranthine bow’rs,
Or from those meads select unfading flow’rs,
Behold us kindly, who your name implore,
Daphne, our Goddess, and our grief no more!
Lycidas.
How all things listen, while thy Muse complains!
Such silence waits on Philomela’s strains,
In some still ev’ning, when the whisp’ring breeze
Pants on the leaves, and dies upon the trees.
To thee, bright goddess, oft a lamb shall bleed,
If teeming ewes increase my fleecy breed.
While plants their shade, or flow’rs their odours give,
Thy name, thy honour, and thy praise shall live!
Thyrsis.
But see, Orion sheds unwholesome dews,
Arise, the pines a noxious shade diffuse;
Sharp Boreas blows, and Nature feels decay,
Time conquers all, and we must Time obey.
Adieu, ye vales, ye mountains, streams and groves,
Adieu, ye shepherd’s rural lays and loves;
Adieu, my flocks, farewell ye sylvan crew,
Daphne, farewell, and all the world adieu!
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- Their Frailty by Siegfried Sassoon
- The Choice by William Butler Yeats
- Владимир Корнилов – Отходная
- Sonnet 5: Those hours, that with gentle work did frame by William Shakespeare
- In Memoriam A. H. H.: 2. Old Yew, which graspest at the sto poem – Lord Alfred Tennyson poems
- A Little Tooth by Thomas Lux
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- In a Vale by Robert Frost
- Epistle to John Goldie, in Kilmarnock by Robert Burns
- Civilian and Soldier by Wole Soyinka
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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
- Николай Языков – Песня (Когда умру, смиренно совершите)
- Николай Языков – Песня (Дороже почестей и злата)
- Николай Языков – Песня (Всему человечеству)
- Николай Языков – Песни (Счастлив, кому судьбою дан)
- Николай Языков – Песни (Мы любим шумные пиры)
- Николай Языков – Песни (Душа героев и певцов)
- Николай Языков – Песнь баяна (Люблю смотреть на месяц ясной)
- Николай Языков – Переезд через приморские Альпы
- Николай Языков – П. В. Киреевскому (Ты крепкий, праведный стоятель)
- Николай Языков – П. Н. Шепелеву (Ты мой приятель задушевной)
- Николай Языков – Элегия (Поденщик, тяжело навьюченный дровами)
- Николай Языков – Элегия (Ночь безлунная звездами)
- Николай Языков – Элегия (Мне ль позабыть огонь и живость)
- Николай Языков – Элегия (Любовь, любовь! веселым днем)
- Николай Языков – Элегия (Есть много всяких мук – и много я их знаю)
- Николай Языков – Элегия (День ненастный, темный; тучи)
- Николай Языков – Элегии (Свободен я: уже не трачу)
- Николай Языков – Элегии (Скажи: когда)
- Николай Языков – Елагиной
- Николай Языков – Е. Н. Мандрыкиной (В младой груди моей о вас воспоминанья)
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Alexander Pope (1688 – 1744) was a a post-Restoration English poet and satirist. He is a poet of the (British) Augustan period and one of its greatest artistic exponents.