PRIOR.

TO THE LADY DURSLEY.

WRITTEN ON HER MILTON.

WITH virtue strong as yours had Eve been arm'd,
In vain the fruit had blush'd, or serpent charm'd;
Nor had our bliss by penitence been bought;
Nor had frail Adam fall'n, nor Milton wrote.

A REASONABLE AFFLICTION.

On his death-bed poor Lubin lies;

His

spouse

is in despair:

With frequent sobs and mutual cries,
They both express their care.

A different cause, says parson Sly,

The same effect may give :

Poor Lubin fears that he shall die;

His wife, that he may live.

PRIOR.

A LADY DURSLEY.

IMPROMPTU ÉCRIT SUR UN VOLUME DE MILTON QU'ELLE LISAIT.

Si la jeune beauté, que le démon surprit,
Avait eu les vertus qui décorent votre âme,
Le serpent, sans succès, aurait tenté la femme,
Adam n'eût point péché, Milton n'eût point écrit.

L'AFFLICTION RAISONNABLE.

Lubin, tout près de rendre l'âme,
S'abandonnait à la douleur ;

'Aux pieds du lit, de tout son cœur,
Pleurait aussi sa jeune femme.

L'un a sa raison pour gémir,
Mais l'autre a bien aussi la sienne;
Car si l'époux craint de mourir,
La femme craint qu'il n'en revienne.

THE REASONABLE ANGER.

From her own native France as old Alison past,
She reproach'd english Nell with neglect or with malice:
That the slattern had left, in the hurry and haste,
Her lady's complexion and eye-brows at Calais.

THE DESPAIRING SHEPHERD.

Alexis shunn'd his fellow-swains,

Their rural sports, and jocund strains :

(Heaven guard us all from Cupid's bow!)

He lost his crook, he left his flocks;
And, wandering through the lonely rocks,
He nourish'd endless woe.

The nymphs and shepherds round him came:
His grief some pity, others blame;

The fatal cause all kindly seek :

He mingled his concern with theirs;
He
gave them back their friendly tears;

He sigh'd, but would not speak.

Clorinda came among the rest;
And she too kind concern exprest,
And ask'd the reason of his woe:

Le faquin n'a-t-il pas, dans l'auberge, à Calais,

Oublié les sourcils et le tein de madame?

LE BERGER DÉSESPÉRÉ.

Loin des bergers, loin du village,
Alexis, au printems de l'âge,

(Tendre amour, quelle est ta rigueur!)
Quittant pannetière et houlette,

Va, dans une sombre retraite,
Cacher et nourrir sa douleur.

Les nymphes, les bergers l'entendent;
Tous le plaignent, tous lui demandent
D'où vient ce mortel déplaisir.

Leurs bontés ont pour lui des charmes ;
Mais il leur dérobe ses larmes
Et leur répond par un soupir.

Clorinde, à la fois sage et tendre,
Le voit, s'approche, veut apprendre
La cause de son désespoir;

She ask'd, but with an air and mien,
That made it easily foreseen,

She fear'd too much to know.

The shepherd rais'd his mournful head; And « will you pardon me, he said, » While I the cruel truth reveal?

>> Which nothing from breast should tear,

my

» Which never should offend

>> But that you bid me tell.

your ear,

>> 'Tis thus I rove, 'tis thus complain, >> Since you appear'd upon the plain;

» You are the cause of all my care; >> Your eyes ten thousand dangers dart; >> Ten thousand torments vex my heart: » I love, and I despair.

>> Too much, Alexis, I have heard:

>> "Tis what I thought; 'tis what I fear'd:

» And yet I pardon you,

she cried :

>> But you shall promise ne'er again

>> To breathe your vows, or speak your pain. He bow'd, obey'd, and died.