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A PASTORAL. IN THE MODERN STYLE. PASTORA AND GALATEA, by                    
First Line: Beneath the umbrageous shadow of a shade
Last Line: "adieu, my goats; for never shall rural muse / your philosophic beards to stroke refuse"
Alternate Author Name(s): Worcester
Subject(s): Galatea


BENEATH the umbrageous shadow of a shade,
Where glowing foliage on the surface played,
And golden roses fanned the silver breeze,
In many a maze light-echoing through the trees,
Pastora tuned the sweetly-panting string,
And ruddy notes thus waked the flattering spring,
While from th' alternate margin of an oak,
A woodland Naiad thus meand'ring spoke.
Past. The reed disports upon the sounding thorn,
And Philomel salutes the noontide morn.
The buzzing bees, poetic from their hive,
In smooth alliteration seem alive:
But ah! my virgin swain is chaster far
Than Cupid's painted shafts or sparrows are,
Sparrows that perch, like Sappho's, on my lay,
Or hop in concert with the dancing day.
Gal. What sound was that, which dawned a bleating hue,
And blushed a sigh? Pastora, was it you?
Your notes, sweet maid, this proverb still shall foil:
'The pot that's watched was never known to boil'.
Past. Ah no! whate'er thou art, or sigh or word,
Or golden water famed, or talking bird;
Source of my joy, or genius of my notes,
Or ocean's landscape stamped with lyric boats,
Ah, no! far hence thy aromatic strains
Recoil, and beautify our vaulted plains.
Gal. Thy dazzling harmony affects me so,
In azure symmetry I sigh—ah, no!
'Ah, no! ah, no!', the woods irradiate sing,
'Ah, no! ah, no!', for joy the grottoes ring;
Ev'n Heraclitus' vocal tears would flow
To hear thee murmur thy melodious 'No'!
Thy voice, 'tis true, Pastora, gilds the sky,
But woods and grottoes flutter in my eye.
Past. When night pellucid warbles into day,
And morn sonorous floats upon the May,
With well-blown bugle through the wilds of air
I roam accordant, while the bounding hare
In covert claps her wings, to see me pass
Ethereal meadows of transparent grass.
Gal. Magnetic thunders now illume the air,
And fragrant music variegates the year.
Light trips the dolphin through cerulean woods,
And spotless tigers harmonise the floods.
Ev'n Thetis smooths her brow and laughs to see
Kind nature weep in symphony with me.
Past. This young conundrum let me first propose;
It puzzles half our dainty belles and beaux.
What makes my lays in blue-eyed order shine
So far superior, when compared with thine?
Gal. Expound me this, and I'll disclaim the prize,
Whose lustre blushes with Peruvian dyes.
When crowing foxes whistle in their dens,
Or radiant hornpipes dance to cocks and hens,
What makes sly Reynard and his cackling mate,
That saved the capitol, resign to fate?
Past. But see, Aquarius fills his ample vase,
And Taurus warbles to Vitruvian laws:
So, crab-like Cancer all her speed assumes,
And Virgo, still a maid, elastic blooms.
My rose-lipped ewes in mystic wonder stand
To hear me sing, and court my conscious hand.
Adieu, my goats; for ne'er shall rural muse
Your philosophic beards to stroke refuse.





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