Nymphs And Shepherds
Nymphs and shepherds, come away.
In this grove let's sport and play,
For this is Flora's holiday,
Sacred to ease and happy love,
To dancing, to music and to poetry;
Your flocks may now securely rest
Whilst you express your jollity.
Nymphs and shepherds, come away.
poem by Thomas Shadwell
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Related quotes
Alciphron and Leucippe
An ancient chestnut’s blossoms threw
Their heavy odour over two:
Leucippe, it is said, was one;
The other, then, was Alciphron.
‘Come, come! why should we stand beneath?’
This hollow tree’s unwholesome breath?’
Said Alciphron, ‘here’s not a blade
Of grass or moss, and scanty shade.
Come; it is just the hour to rove
In the lone dingle shepherds love;
There, straight and tall, the hazel twig
Divides the crookàed rock-held fig,
O’er the blue pebbles where the rill
In winter runs and may run still.
Come then, while fresh and calm the air,
And while the shepherds are not there.’
Leucippe. But I would rather go when they
Sit round about and sing and play.
Then why so hurry me? for you
Like play and song, and shepherds too.
Alciphron. I like the shepherds very well,
And song and play, as you can tell.
But there is play, I sadly fear,
And song I would not have you hear.
Leucippe. What can it be? What can it be?
Alciphron. To you may none of them repeat
The play that you have play’d with me,
The song that made your bosom beat.
Leucippe. Don’t keep your arm about my waist.
Alciphron. Might you not stumble?
Leucippe. Well then, do.
But why are we in all this haste?
Alciphron. To sing.
Leucippe. Alas! and not play too?
poem by Walter Savage Landor
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Sonnet: The Flocks Need More Shepherds
Shepherds are turning scarcer, day by day!
Fragmented flocks have lesser sheep in fold;
With many lost, many sheep go astray;
Devils on rampage trouble, young and old.
Meadows have lesser grass that's succulent;
More sheep want better grass, water to drink;
The climes these days are turning turbulent;
The few shepherds are old-aged, on death's brink!
Shepherdless stay some flocks for many days;
They do not know the shepherd or his call!
The shepherd does not know his sheep by face;
From wolves' attack, there is no staff to stall!
Yet, God will find the shepherds in strange ways;
All righteous find their way through earthly maze!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 15-07-12
poem by John Celes
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We are like ignorant shepherds living on a site where great civilizations once flourished. The shepherds play with the fragments that pop up to the surface, having no notion of the beautiful structures of which they were once a part.
quote by Allan Bloom
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Shepherds in Judea
Oh, the Shepherds in Judea,
They are pacing to and fro.
For the air grows chill at twilight
And the weanling lambs are slow!
Leave, O lambs, the dripping sedges, quit the bramble and the brier,
Leave the fields of barley stubble, for we light the watching fire;
Twinkling fires across the twilight, and a bitter watch to keep,
Lest the prowlers come a-thieving where the flocks unguarded sleep.
Oh, the Shepherds in Judea,
They are singing soft and low—
Song the blessed angels taught them
All the centuries ago!
There was never roof to hide them, there were never walls to bind;
Stark they lie beneath the star-beams, whom the blessed angels find,
With the huddled flocks upstarting, wondering if they hear aright.
While the Kings come riding, riding, solemn shadows in the night.
Oh, the Shepherds in Judea,
They are thinking, as they go,
Of the light that broke their watching
On the hillside in the snow!—
Scattered snow along the hillside, white as springtime fleeces are,
With the whiter wings above them and the glory-streaming star—
Guiding-star across the housetops; never fear the Shepherds felt
Till they found the Babe in manger where the kindly cattle knelt.
Oh, the Shepherds in Judea!—
Do you think the Shepherds know
How the whole round earth is brightened
In the ruddy Christmas glow?
How the sighs are lost in laughter, and the laughter brings the tears,
As the thoughts of men go seeking back across the darkling years
Till they find the wayside stable that the star-led Wise Men found,
With the Shepherds, mute, adoring, and the glory shining round!
poem by Mary Austin
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Shepherd's Wife's Song
Ah, what is love? It is a pretty thing,
As sweet unto a shepherd as a king,
And sweeter, too:
For kings have cares that wait upon a crown,
And cares can make the sweetest love to frown:
Ah then, ah then,
If country loves such sweet desires do gain,
What lady would not love a shepherd swain?
His flocks are folded; he comes home at night
As merry as a king in his delight,
And merrier, too:
For kings bethink them what the state require,
Where shepherds, careless, carol by the fire:
He kisseth first, then sits at blithe to eat
His cream and curds, as doth a king his meat,
And blither, too:
For kings have often fears when they do sup,
Where shepherds dread no poison in their cup:
To bed he goes, as wanton then, I ween,
As is a king in dalliance with a queen;
More wanton, too:
For kings have many griefs, affects to move,
Where shepherds have no greater grief than love:
Upon his couch of straw he sleeps as sound
As doth the king upon his bed of down;
More sounder, too:
For cares cause kings full oft their sleep to spill,
Where weary shepherds lie and snort their fill:
Thus, with his wife, he spends the year as blithe
As doth the king at every tide or sithe,
And blither, too:
For kings have wars and broils to take in hand,
Where shepherds laugh and love upon the land:
Ah then, ah then,
Since country loves such sweet desires do gain,
What lady would not love a shepherd swain?
poem by Robert Greene
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Aglaia: a Pastoral
Sylvan Muses, can ye sing
Of the beauty of the Spring?
Have ye seen on earth that sun
That a heavenly course hath run?
Have ye lived to see those eyes
Where the pride of beauty lies?
Have ye heard that heavenly voice
That may make Love's heart rejoice?
Have ye seen Aglaia, she
Whom the world may joy to see?
If ye have not seen all these,
Then ye do but labour leese;
While ye tune your pipes to play
But an idle roundelay;
And in sad Discomfort's den
Everyone go bite her pen;
That she cannot reach the skill
How to climb that blessed hill
Where Aglaia's fancies dwell,
Where exceedings do excell,
And in simple truth confess
She is that fair shepherdess
To whom fairest flocks a-field
Do their service duly yield:
On whom never Muse hath gazèd
But in musing is amazèd;
Where the honour is too much
For their highest thoughts to touch;
Thus confess, and get ye gone
To your places every one;
And in silence only speak
When ye find your speech too weak.
Blessèd be Aglaia yet,
Though the Muses die for it;
Come abroad, ye blessèd Muses,
Ye that Pallas chiefly chooses,
When she would command a creature
In the honour of Love's nature,
For the sweet Aglaia fair
All to sweeten all the air,
Is abroad this blessèd day;
Haste ye, therefore, come away:
And to kill Love's maladies
Meet her with your melodies.
Flora hath been all about,
And hath brought her wardrobe out;
With her fairest, sweetest flowers,
All to trim up all your bowers.
Bid the shepherds and their swains
See the beauty of their plains;
And command them with their flocks
To do reverence on the rocks;
Where they may so happy be
As her shadow but to see:
Bid the birds in every bush
Not a bird to be at hush:
But to sit, and chirp, and sing
To the beauty of the Spring:
Call the sylvan nymphs together,
Bid them bring their musicks hither.
Trees their barky silence break,
Crack yet, though they cannot speak
Bid the purest, whitest swan
Of her feathers make her fan;
Let the hound the hare go chase;
Lambs and rabbits run at base;
Flies be dancing in the sun,
While the silk-worm's webs are spun;
Hang a fish on every hook
As she goes along the brook;
So with all your sweetest powers
Entertain her in your bowers;
Where her ear may joy to hear
How ye make your sweetest quire;
And in all your sweetest vein
Still Aglaia strike her strain;
But when she her walk doth turn,
Then begin as fast to mourn;
All your flowers and garlands wither
Put up all your pipes together;
Never strike a pleasing strain
Till she come abroad again.
poem by Nicholas Breton
Submitted by anonym
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To a Lady who (though Married) could not endure Love should be made to any but her Self.
Say, jealous
Phillida
, what Humor's this?
No Shepherd can bestow a Smile or Kiss
On any Nymph, but you must pout and vex:
Would you Monopolize the Masc'line Sex?
Is not the sprightly
Damon's
heart Your Prize,
Securely bound by
Hymen's
(1) Sacred ties?
Strephon
and
Colon
, your Adorers are,
And bashful
Cleon
does your Fetters wear:
Young
Coridon
did by your Beauty fall;
Insatiate Nymph! would you engross them All?
Who doth not smile, to see what Pains you take
To watch our private Meetings, and to make
Our Amours public? and if your list'ning Ear
By chance soft Amorous Discourses hear,
Then raging Mad: with Jealousy and Pride,
You curse the Shepherds, and the Nymphs you chide.
But why thus Angry? if we entertain
The Heart and Love of some poor humble Swain,
Who never his cheap Thoughts so high durst lift,
As to present you with so mean a Gift;
What wrong have you? why should you break your Rest,
If they to us present a
Linnet's
(2) Nest,
A Wreath of Flowers, or a Bunch of Grapes,
Filberts, or Strawberries, or the Roots of Rapes?(3)
When Lambs and Kids, are daily offered you
By the great Swains, that for your favor sue;
If any Shepherdess so bold dare be,
T'invade thy Right, or proudly Rival thee,
Th'had'st Reason for thy Anger; but while we
Content with what you slight and scorn can be,
Why should you Envy, or disturb our Joys?
Let us possess in Peace these little Toys.
Close Your Eyes
[1933 standard written by Bernice Petkere. Arrangement baed on the Peggy Lee's 1963 recording]
Music play
Something dreamy for dancing
While we're here romancing
It's love's holiday
And Love will be our guide
Close your eyes
When you open them dear
I'll be right hear by your side
So...
Close your eyes
Rest your head on my shoulder and sleep
Close your eyes
And I will close mine
Close your eyes
Let's pretend that we're both counting sheep
Close your eyes
This is divine
Music play
Something dreamy for dancing
While were here romancing
It's love's holiday
And Love will be our guide
Close your eyes
When you open them dear
I'll be near by your side
So won't you close your eyes...
song performed by by Queen Latifah
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Stranger's Song
(As sung by Mr. Charles Charrington in the play of "The Three Wayfarers")
O MY trade it is the rarest one,
Simple shepherds all--
My trade is a sight to see;
For my customers I tie, and take 'em up on high,
And waft 'em to a far countree!
My tools are but common ones,
Simple shepherds all--
My tools are no sight to see:
A little hempen string, and a post whereon to swing,
Are implements enough for me!
To-morrow is my working day,
Simple shepherds all--
To-morrow is a working day for me:
For the farmer's sheep is slain, and the lad who did it ta'en,
And on his soul may God ha' mer-cy!
poem by Thomas Hardy
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The Despairing Shepherd
Alexis shun'd his Fellow Swains,
Their rural Sports, and jocund Strains:
(Heav'n guard us all from Cupid's Bow!)
He lost his Crook, He left his Flocks;
And wand'ring thro' the lonely Rocks,
He nourish'd endless Woe.
The Nymphs and Shepherds round Him came:
His Grief Some pity, Others blame:
The fatal Cause All kindly seek.
He mingled his Concern with Their's:
He gave 'em back their friendly Tears:
He sigh'd, but would not speak.
Clorinda came among the rest:
And She too kind Concern exprest,
And ask'd the Reason of his Woe:
She ask'd, but with an Air and Mein,
That made it easily foreseen,
She fear'd too much to know.
The Shepherd rais'd his mournful Head:
And will You pardon Me, He said,
While I the cruel Truth reveal?
Which nothing from my Breast should tear;
Which never should offend Your Ear;
But that You bid Me tell.
'Tis thus I rove, 'tis thus complain;
Since You appear'd upon the Plain:
You are the Cause of all my Care:
Your Eyes ten thousand Dangers dart:
Ten thousand Torments vex My Heart:
I love, and I despair.
Too much, Alexis, I have heard:
'Tis what I thought; 'tis what I fear'd:
And yet I pardon You, She cry'd:
But You shall promise ne'er again
To breath your Vows, or speak your Pain:
He bow'd, obey'd, and dy'd.
poem by Matthew Prior
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Red sky at night is a shepherds delight, red sky in the morning is a shepherds warning.
Creatures In My Home
Creatures in my home:
There’s a boogie man under my bed,
Skeletons and ghosts in the attic,
Trolls in the basement,
Pixies and fairy’s in the garden,
Tree nymphs in the trees,
And water nymphs and mermaids in the stream,
During the day they sleep but during the night they come out and play,
So when my teacher asks why I fall asleep in class I can say,
I was swapping stories with the boogie man under my bed,
Playing cards with the skeletons and ghosts in the attic,
He lost his head when I won but that’s another story,
Swapping stories with the trolls in the basement,
Danced with the fairy’s and pixies in the garden,
Played hid and go seek with the tree nymphs at the trees,
And went swimming with the water nymphs and mermaids at the stream,
After that I get a detention but I can still say I told the truth.
poem by Kevin MacDonald
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Song
Inviting the influence of a young lady upon the opening year
You wear the morning like your dress
And are with mastery crown’d;
When as you walk your loveliness
Goes shining all around:
Upon your secret, smiling way
Such new contents were found,
The Dancing Loves made holiday
On that delightful ground.
Then summon April forth, and send
Commandment through the flowers;
About our woods your grace extend,
A queen of careless hours.
For O! not Vera veil’d in rain,
Nor Dian’s sacred Ring,
With all her royal nymphs in train
Could so lead on the Spring.
poem by Hilaire Belloc
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To Phyllis
Phyllis! why should we delay
Pleasures shorter than the day?
Can we (which we never can)
Stretch our lives beyond their span,
Beauty like a shadow flies,
And our youth before us dies.
Or, would youth and beauty stay,
Love has wings, and will away.
Love has swifter wings than Time;
Change in love to heaven doth climb.
Gods, that never change their state,
Vary oft their love and hate.
Phyllis! to this truth we owe
All the love betwixt us two.
Let not you and I inquire
What has been our past desire;
On what shepherds you have smiled,
Or what nymphs I have beguiled;
Leave it to the planets too,
What we shall hereafter do;
For the joys we now may prove,
Take advice of present love.
poem by Edmund Waller
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The more shepherds there are, the worse the flocks are watched.
God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen
God rest ye, merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay,
Remember christ our savior was born on christmas day;
To save us all from satans power when we were gone astray.
O tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy;
O tidings of comfort and joy
From God our heavnly father a blessed angel came;
And unto certain shepherds brought tidings of the same;
How that in bethlehem was born the son of God by name.
Fear not, then, said the angel, let nothing you afright
This day is born a savior of a pure virgin bright,
To free all those who trust in him from satans power and might."
The shepherds at those tidings rejoiced much in mind,
And left their flocks a-feeding in tempest, storm and wind,
And went to bethlem straightaway this blessed babe to find.
But when to bethlehem they came whereat this infant lay,
They found him in a manger where oxen feed on hay;
His mother mary kneeling unto the lord did pray.
Now to the lord sing praises all you within this place,
And with true love and brotherhood each other now embrace;
This holy tide of christmas all others doth deface.
God bless the ruler of this house, and send him long to reign,
And many a merry christmas may live to see again;
Among your friends and kindred that live both far and near--
That God send you a happy new year, happy new year,
And God send you a happy new year.
song performed by by Cliff Richard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Pastoral Entertainment
While in heroic numbers some relate
The amazing turns of wise eternal fate;
Exploits of heroes in the dusty field,
That to their name immortal honour yield;
Grant me, ye powers, by the limpid spring
The harmless of the plain to sing,
A wreath of flowers cull'd from the
Is all the my humble muse demands.
Now blithsome shepherds, by the early dawn,
Their new shorn flocks drive to the dewy lawn;
While, in a bleating language, each salutes
The welcome morning and their fellow brutes:
Then all prepared for the rural feast,
And in their finest Sunday habits drest;
The crystal brook supplied the mirror's place,
They bathed and viewed their cleanly face,
And nymphs resorted to the fields
Pomp the country yields.
The place appointed was a spacious vale,
Fann'd always by a cooling western gale,
Which in soft breezes through the meadows stray,
And steals the ripened fragrancies away;
Here every shepherd might his flocks survey,
Securely roam and take his harmless play;
And here were flowers each shepherdess to grace,
On her fair bosom courting but a place.
How in this vale, beneath a grateful shade,
By twining boughs of spreading made,
On seats of homely turf themselves they place,
And cheerfully enjoyed the rural feast,
Consisting of the produce of the fields,
And all the luxury the country yields.
No maddening liquors spoil'd their harmless mirth,
But an untainted spring their thirst allayed,
Which in meadows through the valley strayed.
Thrice happy swains who spend your golden days
In pastime; and when night displays
Her sable shade, to peaceful huts retire;
Can any man a sweeter bliss desire?
In ancient times so pass'd the smiling hour,
When our first parents lived in Eden's bower,
E'er care and trouble were pronounced,
Or sin had blasted the creation.
poem by James Thomson
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Shepherds All And Maidens Fair
PIPE, shepherds, pipe, the summer's ripe;
So wreathe your crooks with flowers;
The world's in tune to Love and June,
The days are rich in hours,
In rosy hours, in golden hours--
Love's crown and fortune fair,
So gather gold for Love to hold,
And flowers for Love to wear!
Sing, maidens, sing! A dancing ring
Of pleasures speed your way;
Too harsh and dry is fierce July,
Too maiden-meek was May;
But Love and June their old sweet tune
Are singing at your ear:
So learn the song and troop along
To meet your shepherds dear!
Oh, Chloris fair, a rose to wear,
And gold to spend have I--
When all are gay on this June day
You would not bid me sigh?
You would not scorn a swain forlorn--
Each shepherd far and near
Hastes to his sweet, with flying feet,
As I towards my dear.
No maids there be in Arcady
But have their shepherds true;
Must you alone despise the one
Who only pipes for you?
You have no ear my pipe to hear
Though all for you it be;
And I no eyes for her who sighs
And only sings for me!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Poetry Time
forget work for a while
leave the paper piles as they are
let them grow
up to the sky
let reality be a mountain
before you
and let things work on
themselves
let them have hands
and feet
let them have wings
and fly away
it is poetry time
my heart is king and the rest
of these fantasies
are nymphs and fauns
come butterflies
come stars
let them know that there are wings
and light and fire and glitters and diamonds
comes the moon shining
this lady coming too early at noontime
dancing on my table
with fireflies and lies
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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What Child Is This?
What child is this, who laid to rest
on Mary's lap is sleeping?
whom angels greet with anthems sweet
while shepherds watch are keeping?
This, this is Christ the King
whom shepherds guard and angels sing
haste, haste to bring him laud
the babe, the son of Mary
Why lies He in such mean state
where ox and and ass are feeding?
good christian, fear for sinners here
the silent word is pleading
this, this is Christ the King
whom shepherds guard and angels sing
haste, haste to bring him laud
the babe, the son of Mary
Nails, spear, shall, pierce him through
the cross be bome, for me, for you
hail, hail, the world made flesh
the babe, the son of Mary
this, this is Christ the King
whom shepherds guard and angels sing
haste, haste to bring him laud
the babe, the son of Mary
So bring him incense, gold and myrrh
come peasant, King to own him
the King of Kings salvation brings
let loving hearts enthrone him
this, this is Christ the King
whom shepherds guard and angels sing
haste, haste to bring him laud
the babe, the son of Mary
Raise, raise, the song on high
the Virgin sings her llullaby
joy, joy for Christ is born
the babe, the son of Mary
this, this is Christ the King
whom shepherds guard and angels sing
haste, haste to bring him laud
the babe, the son of Mary
song performed by by Donna Summer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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