Classic Poem

As Thirsis and Daphne, upon the new hay
Were seated, surveying the plain;
No guilt in their bosoms their joys to allay,
Or give them a moment of pain.

Not Venus, but Virtue had made them her care,
She taught them her innocent skill;
The swain knew no art, but to pleasure the fair
That Nature had form'd to his will.

Inspired by love, on his pipe he did play;
O Virtue! how happy the swain!
While sweet Robin-red-breast that perch'd on the spray,
And Daphne was pleas'd with the strain.

How pleasing the prospect, how cooling the breeze;
The sun shone delightfully 'round;
And apples half ripe, grew so thick on the trees,
The boughs almost bent to the ground.

Thus happily seated, by sympathy bound,
How pleasing the mutual chain;
When either is absent, the prospects around
Display all their beauties in vain.

They sat till the mist that arose from the brook,
Inform'd them the ev'ning was nigh;
The swain shook his head with a languishing look,
And 'rose from his seat with a sigh.

His flute he disjointed, and silent a while
He gaz'd on his maid with delight;
Then gave her his hand, she arose with a smile,
He kiss'd her, and bid her good night.