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ROBIN; A PASTORAL ELEGY, by                    
First Line: Down by the brook which glides through yonder vale
Last Line: If yours be wand'ring, quickly call it home.'
Subject(s): Love


DOWN by the brook which glides through yonder vale
His hair all matted, and his cheeks all pale,
Robin, sad swain, by love and sorrow pained,
Of slighted vows, and Susan, thus complained:
'Hear me, ye groves, who saw me blessed so late;
Echo, ye hills, my sad reverse of fate;
Ye winds, that bear my sighs, soft murmurs send;
Come pay me back, ye streams, the drops I lend.
And you, sweet Susan, source of all my smart,
Bestow some pity on a broken heart.
'Happy the times, by painful mem'ry blessed,
When you possessing, Robin all possessed.
Passed by your side, each day brought new delight,
And one sweet slumber shortened ev'ry night.
My play your service, for no toil seemed hard,
When your kind favour was the hoped reward.
I rose to milking, though 'twas ne'er so cool;
I called the cows up; I kept off the bull.
Home on my head I bore the pail upright;
The pail was heavy, but love made it light:
And when you spilt the milk, and 'gan to cry,
I took the blame, and simply said—'twas I.
'When by the haycock's side you sleeping lay,
Sent by good angels, there I chanced to stray,
Just as a loathsome adder reared his crest,
To dart his poison in your lily breast.
Straight with a stone I crushed the monster's head;
You waked, and fainted, though you found him dead.
Then, from the pond, I water brought apace,
My hat brimful and dashed it in your face:
Still, blue as bilberry, your cold lips did quake,
Till my warm kisses called the cherry back.
'When, looking through his worship's garden gate,
Ripe peaches tempted, and you longed to eat;
Though the grim mastiff growled, and sternly stalked,
Though guns were loaded, and old Madam walked,
Nor dogs, nor darkness, guns or ghosts could fright,
When Robin ventured for his Sue's delight.
Joyful of midnight, quick I post away,
Leap the high wall, and fearless pluck the prey;
Down in your lap a plenteous show'r they fall;
Glad you received them, and you ate them all.
'When fair-day came, I donned my Sunday suit,
Brushed the best pillion clean, and saddled Cut.
Then up we got; you clung about my waist;
Pleased to be hugged, I charged you clip me fast:
And when you loosed your hold, and backward slipped,
I held your petticoats, and never peeped.
The posied garters, and the top-knot fine,
The golden ginger-bread, and all was mine:
I paid the puppet-show, the cakes, the sack,
And, fraught with fairings, brought you laughing back.
'Susan but spoke, and each gay flow'r was there,
To dress her bough-pot, or adorn her hair;
For her the choicest of the woods I cull,
Sloes, hips, and strawberries, her belly full;
My hoard of apples I to her confessed:
My heart was hers, well might she have the rest.
'And Susan well approved her Robin's care;
Yes, you was pleased, at least you said you were.
In love's soft fire you seemed like me to burn,
And soothed my fondness with a kind return.
At our long table when we sat to dine,
You stretched your knees, and mingled feet with mine;
With fattest bacon you my trencher plied,
And sliced my pudding from the plumby side;
And well I wot, when our small-beer was stale,
You stole into the barn, and brought me ale.
'But oh, the soldier, blaster of my hopes!
(Curse on pretending kings, and papish popes):
He came from Flanders with the red-coat crew,
To fight with rebels, and he conquered you.
His dowlas ruffles, and his copper lace,
His brickdust stockings, and his brazen face,
These are the charms for which you slight my youth,
Charms much too potent for a maiden's truth!
Soon on the feathered fool you turned your eyes;
Eager you listened to the braggard's lies;
And, scorning me, your heart to him resign,
Your faithless heart, by vows and service mine.
'True, he is gone, by our brave Duke's command,
To humble Britain's foes in foreign land:
Ah, what is that? the spoiler bears away
The only thing for which 'twas worth to stay.
'But sorrow's dry—I'll slake it in the brook;
O well-a-day! how frightful pale I look!
Care's a consumer (so the saying speaks):
The saying's true, I read it in my cheeks.
Fie! I'll be cheerful, 'tis a fancied pain;
A flame so constant cannot meet disdain:
I'll wash my face, and shake off foul despair,
My love is kind; alas! I would she were.
'Well says our parson; and our parson said,
"True love and tithes should ever well be paid."
Susan, from you my heart shall never roam;
If yours be wand'ring, quickly call it home.'





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