Classic Poem

Argument. Lavinia and Amanda meet in the evening and agree to
drive their flocks together early the next morning to a very retired
grove, where they might without interruption talk over the several
occurrences that had happened in their neighbourhood during the
absence of Amanda —

Lavinia. —
Come my Amanda, leave thy downy bed;
Hast thou so soon forgot the promise made?
That we this morning e'er the GOD of day
With his bright steeds had left the briny sea
Should lead our flocks to Selma's fragrant groves,
And there unhear'd by swains should tell our loves.
But see the sprightly lark forsakes her nest,
And Phebus gallops flaming to the west:
The lowing heifers round the hamlet stand,
And patient wait the ruddy milk-maids hand
Our flocks reproach us with the want of care
And fill with bleating all the ambient air.

Amanda.
I stand reprov'd my dear Lavinia now,
Make all th'allowance that a friend can do;
For most supinely wrap'd in balmy sleep
I dream'd of Strephon and forgot my sheep:
But quick I'll lace my bodice on, and rove
With you to feed our flocks in Selma grove.

Lavinia.
How cool this grove's impenetrable shade!
In vain the dog-star does our sky invade:
We'll sit secure here in the highest noon,
Nor feel the heat of this most scorching moon.
My scrip with fruits and chesnuts doth abound,
Which we will spread on this enamel'd ground.
My lambs in gambols gay will mix with thine
And sephyrs fan us, while we sit and dine:
Nor shall we want a princely serenade,
For hear that mock-bird in the silent glade —
The Robin, Linnet, all the tuneful throng,
Hover around and welcome us in song.
Such scenes as these attune my soul to rest,
Nor envy I the monarchs of the East.

Amanda —
Your taste Lavinia for the muses' lore,
Gives you improvement in each vacant hour,
While I that hate a book must saunter where
My lambkins feed or braid with flow'rs my hair.

Lavinia.
Books are my silent friends, I keep them near,
And taught by them, with fortitude I bear
The various changes of this mortal state
And unrepining still submit to fate.

Amanda.
What swain was that last monday at the wake? —
Who made the nymphs their former swains forsake? —
So tall, so neat, so chatty, gay and free;
They listen'd to him with a mighty glee.

Lavinia.
Your question would seem odd, but that I know
Your absence from these plains some moons ago
To find fresh pasture for your fleecy care,
Along the banks of winding Delaware;
About the time this youth did first appear,
Makes you a stranger to the doings here,
But I can tell you all; a spayman old
The village secrets doth to me unfold.

Amanda —
Come then, begin: I long to know the truth,
My heart feels strangely since I saw this youth:
But much I fear his love is not to seek
You saw the nymphs, when he began to speak,
In fix'd attention hang on every word,
Sure he's no swain, but is the village lord.

Lavinia
His birth to us a secret yet remains
With Morven's nymphs upon these verdant plains,
Day after day a shep'herd he appear'd
And seem'd by them a person much rever'd;
But we do think he is of high degree,
His manners shew it, you may plainly see.
Pan guards his flock, arcadian nymphs his face,
And he's surrounded with superior grace;
Tho' when we teaze the girls to tell his tale,
They laugh and call him Johnny of the vale.
But be he what he will, all other swains,
May break their reeds and tell the trees their pains.
For Becky & Fanny and Susan the grave
Do turn their cups for him on holiday eve.
And dove-eye'd Maria has often confess'd
Of all the gay lads, she lik'd him the best,
And Sue, on whose judgment we always depend
Says he's the prince of the swains and calls him her friend.

Amanda.
This is the lad that haunted me in sleep,
For whom this morning I forgot my sheep.
I call'd him Strephon my dear fav'rite name,
I thought he answer'd but it was a dream.
He's lost to me my heart foretold aright,
I'll burn my crook and break my lute to night;
And you so lavish in his praises grown
You paint their passion and describe your own.

Lavinia.
No, no: Amanda, twenty moons are gone,
Since Lucius and my self by vows were one;
All other swains like nymphs to me appear,
And his dear image lives forever here:
Here safely lock'd within my faithful heart,
And only death can tear us two apart.
But I can joke the girls and teaze the swains,
And make me pastime, when I feel their pains,
Yet why so peevish should you turn on me,
As you're in love, you have my sympathy.
And were it also my unhappy case,
From such a friend, I should expect no less:
For both to you and me, t'would be the same,
His love's on other plains and Helen is her name;
From all the girls she bears the prize away
And triumphs o'er them with a mighty sway

Amanda.
Helen ! who's she? pray tell me whence she came,
Is she like her who set old troy in flame?
Oh! I can hear no more, too much I have been told.
But see the sun is set, and we must pen the fold.