u see not
How all things are enamoured
Of this enamourer, rich with joy and health?
Observe that turtle-dove,
How, toying with his dulcet murmuring,
He kisses his companion. Hear that nightingale
Who goes from bough to bough
Singing with his loud heart, 'I love!' 'I love!'...

The very trees
Are loving. See with what affection there,
And in how many a clinging turn and twine,
The vine holds fast its husband. Fir loves fir,
The pine the pine, and ash and willow and beech
Each towards the other yearns, and sighs and trembles.
That oak tree which appears
So rustic and so rough,
Even that has something warm in its sound heart;
And hadst thou but a spirit and sense of love,
Thou hadst found out a meaning for its whispers.
Now tell me, would thou be
Less than the very plants and have no love?

One seems to hear Sakuntala and her friends talking, or Akontios
complaining. So, too, when the unhappy lover laments (Aminta):

In my lamentings I have found
A very pity in the pebbly waters,
And I have found the trees
Return them a kind voice:
But never have I found,
Nor ever hope to find,
Compassion in this hard and beautiful
What shall I call her?

Aminta describes to Tirsis how his love grew from boyhood up:

There grew by little and little in my heart,
I knew not from what root,
But just as the grass grows that sows itself,
An unknown something which continually
Made me feel anxious to be with her.

Sylvia kisses him:

Never did bee from flower
Suck sugar so divine
As was the honey that I gathered then
From those twin roses fresh.

In Act II. Scene 1, the rejected Satyr, like the rejected Polyphemus
or Amaryllis in Theocritus, complains in antitheses which recall
Longos:

The woods hide serpents, lions, and bears under their green
shade, and in your bosom hatred, disdain, and cruelty dwell....
Alas, when I bring the earliest flowers, you refuse them
obstinately, perhaps because lovelier ones bloom on your own
face; if I offer beautiful apples, you reject them angrily,
perhaps because your beautiful bosom swells with lovelier
ones.... and yet I am not to be despised, for I saw myself lately
in the clear water, when winds were still and there were no
waves.

This is the sentimental pastoral poetry of Hellenism reborn and
intensified.

So with the elegiac motive so love