A Song (On the Green Margin of the Brook)

On the green margin of the brook
Despairing Phyllida reclin'd,
Whilst ev'ry sigh and ev'ry look
Declar'd the anguish of her mind.

Am I less lovely then? (she cries,
And in the waves her form survey'd;)
Oh yes, I see my languid eyes,
My faded cheek, my colour fled:
These eyes no more like light'ning pierc'd,
These cheeks grew pale when Damon first
His Phyllida betray'd.

The rose he in his bosom wore,
How oft upon my breast was seen!
And when I kiss'd the drooping flow'r,
Behold, he cried, it blooms again!
The wreaths that bound my braided hair,
Himself next day was proud to wear
At church or on the green.

While thus sad Phyllida lamented,
Chance brought unlucky Thyrsis on;
Unwillingly the nymph consented,
But Damon first the cheat begun.
She wip'd the fall'n tears away,
Then sigh'd and blush'd, as who should say
Ah! Thyrsis, I am won.