I HEARD the mountain gods complain, Sweet Willy, thou neglects thy strain, And that thou wouldst not bless again Thy fellow swain. The sisters did bewail, That he whose notes did oft assail Apollo's skill, yea, did prevail, Their art disdains. What if some forward stub-chinn'd boy Takes up a reed, and does employ His artless lips, can this annoy Thy sweeter song? Could thy exactness brook a foil, Without disparagement; their soil Commends thy tongue more smooth than oil, Our sports among. Great Pan e'er since thou went'st away Has miss'd the glories of his day; No shepherd dares begin a lay To honour him. Behold how all our joys do turn To sadness, see hot sighs which burn Our breasts, look how our swoll'n eyes mourn And weep till dry. Our crooks are trail'd along the ground, Our pipes grow dumb, or sadly sound; No flow'ry chaplets e'er hath crown'd Since thine a brow. Each shepherdess, as in despair, Mean more to be proclaimed fair, Th' fit time to trim her fluent hair Doth scarce allow. Our lambs do leave to skip about, And ape their dams' sad pace throughout The hills with woes, as if they doubt Security. Now thou art absent, whose smooth reed Did in the wolves and tigers breed A nature tame, and thus them freed From cruelty. Each Muse, god, sheep, and shepherds all, Join in the art thy madrigal; For Pan's sake at thy festival Renew thy strains. Why should that spright which soar'd so high Above the ken of emulous eye, Ere Doridon be finish'd, die, And shun our plains? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MERLIN'S PROPHESY by WILLIAM BLAKE THE DESERTER['S MEDITATION] by JOHN PHILPOT CURRAN SILENCE SINGS by THOMAS STURGE MOORE JACK CREAMER [OCTOBER 25, 1812] by JAMES JEFFREY ROCHE KEEPING ENDLESS HOLIDAY by TITUS PETRONIUS NIGER |