represent Julius Cæsar. Mopsus laments his death; Menalcas proclaims his divinity; the whole eclogue consisting of an elegy and an apotheosis.
SINCE on the downs our flocks together feed, And since my voice can match your tuneful reed, Why sit we not beneath the grateful shade, Which hazels, intermix'd with elms, have made?
Whether you please that sylvan scene to take, Where whistling winds uncertain shadows make;
Or will you to the cooler cave succeed, [spread? Whose mouth the curling vines have over
Your merit and your years command the choice: Amyntas only rivals you in voice.
What will not that presuming shepherd dare, Who thinks his voice with Phoebus may compare ?
Begin you first: if either Alcon's praise,
Or dying Phillis, have inspir'd your lays :
If her you mourn, or Codrus you commend,
Begin; and Tityrus your flocks shall tend.
Or shall I rather the sad verse repeat,
Which on the beech's bark I lately writ?
I writ, and sung betwixt. Now bring the swain
Whose voice you boast, and let him try the
strain.
Such as the shrub to the tall olive shows,
Or the pale sallow of the blushing rose;
Such is his voice, if I can judge aright,
Compar'd to thine in sweetness and in height.
No more, but sit, and hear the promis'd lay: The gloomy grotto makes a doubtful day. The nymphs about the breathless body wait Of Daphnis, and lament his cruel fate.
The trees and floods were witness to their
At length the rumour reach'd his mother's ears. The wretched parent, with a pious haste, Came running, and his lifeless limbs embrac❜d. She sigh'd, she sobb'd; and furious with despair,
She rent her garments, and she tore her hair, Accusing all the gods, and ev'ry star. [brink The swains forgot their sheep, nor near the Of running waters brought their herds to drink. The thirsty cattle, of themselves, abstain'd From water, and their grassy fare disdain'd. The death of Daphnis woods and hills deplore; They cast the sound to Libya's desert shore;
The Libyan lions hear, and hearing roar.
Fierce tigers Daphnis taught the yoke to bear,
And first with curling ivy dress'd the spear.
Daphnis did rites to Bacchus first ordain,
And holy revels for his reeling train.
As vines the trees, as grapes the vines adorn,
As bulls the herds, and fields the yellow corn;
So bright a splendour, so divine a grace,
The glorious Daphnis cast on his illustrious
When envious Fate the godlike Daphnis took,
Our guardian gods the fields and plains forsook:
Pales no longer swell'd the teeming grain,
Nor Phoebus fed his oxen on the plain:
No fruitful crop the sickly fields return;
But oats and darnel choke the rising corn.
And where the vales with violets once were
crown'd
Now knotty burns and thorns disgrace the ground.
Come, shepherds, come, and strew with leaves the plain;
Such fun'ral rites your Daphnis did ordain.
With cypress boughs the crystal fountains hide,
And softly let the running waters glide.
A lasting monument to Daphnis raise,
With this inscription to record his praise;
"Daphnis, the fields' delight, the shepherds'
love,
Renown'd on earth, and deifi'd above;
Whose flock excell'd the fairest on the plains,
But less than he himself surpass'd the swains."
O heav'nly poet! such thy verse appears,
So sweet, so charming to my ravish'd ears,
As to the weary swain with cares opprest,
Beneath the sylvan shade, refreshing rest;
As to the fev'rish traveller, when first
He finds a crystal stream to quench his thirst.
In singing, as in piping, you excel;
And scarce your master could perform so well.
O fortunate young man! at least your lays
Are next to his, and claim the second praise.
Such as they are, my rural songs I join,
To raise our Daphnis to the pow'rs divine;
For Daphnis was so good, to love whate'er was
mine.
How is my soul with such a promise rais'd!
For both the boy was worthy to be prais'd,
And Stimicon has often made me long
To hear, like him, so soft, so sweet a song.
Daphnis, the guest of heaven, with wond'ring eyes
Views, in the milky way, the starry skies, And far beneath him, from the shining sphere, Beholds the moving clouds, and rolling year.
For this with cheerful cries the woods resound,
The purple spring arrays the varied ground,
The nymphs and shepherds dance, and Pan
himself is crown'd.
The wolf no longer prowls for nightly spoils,
Nor birds the springes fear, nor stags the toils;
For Daphnis reigns above, and deals from
thence
His mother's milder beams, and peaceful in-
fluence.
The mountain-tops unshorn, the rocks rejoice;
The lowly shrubs partake of human voice.
Assenting Nature, with a gracious nod,
Proclaims him, and salutes the new-admitted
god.
Be still propitions, every good be thine!
Behold! four hallow'd altars we design;
And two to thee, and two to Phœbus rise;
On both is offer'd annual sacrifice.
The holy priests, at each returning year,
Two bowls of milk and two of oil shall bear ;
And I myself the guests with friendly bowls will
cheer.
Two goblets will I crown with sparkling wine,
The gen'rous vintage of the Chian vine:
These will I pour to thee, and make the nectar
thine.
In winter shall the genial feast be made
Before the fire; by summer in the shade,
Damotas shall perform the rites divine;
And Lycian Egon in the song shall join.
Alphesibæus, tripping, shall advance,
And mimic satyrs in his antic dance,
When to the nymphs our annual rites we pay,
And when our fields with victims we survey-
While savage boars delight in shady woods,
And finny fish inhabit in the floods-
While bees on thyme, and locusts feed on dew-
Thy grateful swains these honours shall re-
Such honours as we pay to pow'rs divine,
To Bacchus and to Ceres, shall be thine.
Such annual honours shall be given; and thou
Shalt hear, and shalt condemn thy suppliants to
The same that sung Neæra's conqu'ring eyes, And, had the judge been just, had won the prize.
Accept from me this sheep-hook in exchange;
The handle brass; the knobs in equal range,
Antigenes, with kisses, often tried
To beg this present, in his beauty's pride
When youth and love are hard to be denied:
But what I could refuse to his request,
Is yours unask'd; for you deserve it best.
PASTORAL VI
OR,
SILENUS.
ARGUMENT.
Two young shepherds, Chromis and Mnasylus,
having been often promised a song by Silenus,
chance to catch him asleep in this pastoral; where
they bind him hand and foot, and then claim his
promise. Silenus, finding they would be put off
no longer, begins his song, in which he describes
the formation of the universe, and the original of
animals, according to the Epicurean philosophy;
and then runs through the most surprising trans-
formations which have happened in Nature since
her birth. This pastoral was designed as a com-
pliment to Syron the Epicurean, who instructed
Virgil and Varus in the principles of that philo-
sophy. Silenus acts as tutor, Chromis and Mna-
sylus as the two pupils.
I FIRST transferr'd to Rome Sicilian strains;
Nor blush'd the Doric Muse to dwell on Man-
But when I tried her tender voice, too young,
And fighting kings and bloody battles sung,
Apollo check'd my pride, and bade me feed
My fatt'ning flocks, nor dare beyond the reed.
Adinonish'd thus, while every pen prepares
To write thy praises, Varus, and thy wars,
My past'ral Muse her humble tribute brings;
And yet not wholly uninspir'd she sings:
For all who read, and, reading, not disdain
These rural poems, and their lowly strain,
The name of Varus, oft inscrib'd shall see
In ev'rv grove, and ev'ry vocal tree;
And all the sylvan reign shall sing of thee:
What present, worth thy verse, can Mopsus Thy name, to Phoebus and the muses known.
Not the soft whispers of the southern wind,
That play through trembling trees, delight me
Shall in the front of ev'ry page be shown;
For, he who sings thy praise secures his own.
Proceed, my Muse!-Two Satyrs on the
ground,
Stretch'd at his ease, their sire Silenus found.
Doz'd with his fumes, and heavy with his load,
They found him snoring in his dark abode,
And seiz'd with youthful arms the drunken god.
His rosy wreath was dropt not long before,
Borne by the tide of wine, and floating on the
Hh empty can, with ears half worn away, Was hung on high, to boast the triumph of the day.
Invaded thus, for want of better bands,
His garland they unstring, and bind his hands,
For, by the fraudful god deluded long,
They now resolve to have their promis'd song;
Egle came in, to make their party good-
The fairest Nais of the neighb'ring flood-
And, while he stares around with stupid eyes,
His brows with berries, and his temples, dies.
He finds the fraud, and with a smile demands,
On what design the boys had bound his hands.
"Loose me," he cried; "'t was impudence to
find
A sleeping god; 't is sacrilege to bind.
the promis'd poem I will pay;
The nymph shall be rewarded in her way."
He rais'd his voice, and soon a num'rous throng
Of tripping Satyrs crowded to the song;
And sylvan Fauns, and savage beasts, ad-
vanc'd ;
And nodding forests to the numbers danc'd.
Not by Hæmonian hills the Thracian bard,
Nor awful Phoebus was on Pindus heard
With deeper silence, or with more regard.
He sung the secret seeds of Nature's frame;
How seas, and earth, and air, and active flame,
Fell through the mighty void, and, in their fall,
Were blindly gather'd in this goodly ball.
The tender soil, then stiff ning by degrees,
Shut from the bounded earth the bounding seas.
Then earth and ocean, various forms disclose;
And a new sun to the new world arose;
And mists, condens'd to clouds, obscure the
sky;
[ply.
And clouds, dissolv'd, the thirsty ground sup-
The rising trees the lofty mountains grace:
The lofty mountains feed the savage race,
Yet few, and strangers, in th' unpeopled place.
From thence the birth of man the song pursu'd,
And how the world was lost, and how renew'd:
The reign of Saturn, and the golden age;
Prometheus' theft, and Jove's avenging rage;
The cries of Argonauts for Hylas drown'd,
With whose repeated name the shores resound;
Then mourns the madness of the Cretan
queen:
Happy for her if herds had never been.
What fury, wretched woman, seiz'd thy breast?
The maids of Argus (though with rage pos-
sess'd,
Their imitated lowings fill'd the grove,)
Yet shunn'd the guilt of thy prepost'rous love,
Nor sought the youthful husband of the herd,
Tho' lab' ring yokes on their own necks they
fear'd,
And felt for budding horns on their smooth foreheads rear'd.
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Ah, wretched queen! you range the pathless wood,
While on a flow'ry bank he chews the cud,
Or sleeps in shades, or through the forest roves,
And roars with anguish for his absent loves.
"Ye nymphs, with toils his forest-walk sur-
round,
And trace his wand'ring footsteps on the ground.
But, ah! perhaps my passion he disdains,
And courts the milky mothers of the plains.
We search th' ungrateful fugitive abroad,
While they at home sustain his happy load."
He sung the lover's fraud; the longing maid,
With golden fruit, like all the sex, betray'd ;
The sisters mourning for their brother's loss;
Their bodies hid in barks, and furr'd with
moss;
How each a rising alder now appears,
And o'er the Po distils her gummy tears:
Then sung, how Gallus, by a Muse's hand,
Was led and welcom'd to the sacred strand;
The senate rising to salute their guest,
And Linus thus their gratitude express'd:
"Receive this present, by the Muses made,
The pipe on which th' Ascræan pastor play'd;
With which of old he charm'd the savage
train,
And call'd the mountain ashes to the plain.
Sing thou, on this, thy Phœbus, and the wood
Where once his fane of Parian marble stood:
On this his ancient oracles rehearse;
And with new numbers grace the god of verse."
Why should I sing the double Scylla's fate?
The first by love transform'd, the last by hate-
A beauteous maid above; but magic arts
With barking dogs deform'd her nether parts:
What vengeance on the passing fleet sho
pour'd,
The master frighted, and the mates devour'd.
Then ravish'd Philomel the song exprest;
The crime reveal'd; the sisters' cruel feast;
And how in fields the lapwing Tereus reigns,
The warbling nighungale in woods complains:
While Procne makes on chimney-tops her
And hovers o'er the palace once her own.
Whatever songs besides the Delphian god
Had taught the laurels, and the Spartan flood
Silenus sung the vales his voice rebound,
And carry to the skies the sacred sound.
And now the setting sun had warn'd the swain
To call his counted cattle from the plain :
Yet still th' unwearied sire pursues the tuneful
strain.
Till, unperceiv'd, the heavens with stars were hung,
And sudden night surpris'd the yet unfinish'd
PASTORAL VII.
OR,
MELIBUS.
ARGUMENT.
Melibaus here gives us the relation of a sharp poetical contest between Thyrsis and Corydon, at which he and Daphnis were present; who both declared for Corydon.
BENEATH a holm, repair'd two jolly swains,
(Their sheep and goats together graz'd the
plains)
Both young Arcadians, both alike inspir'd
To sing, and answer as the song requir❜d.
Daphnis, as umpire, took the middle seat;
And fortune thither led my weary feet.
For, while I fenc'd my myrtles from the cold,
The father of my flock had wander'd from the
fold.
Of Daphnis I inquir'd: he smiling said,
"Dismiss your fear," and pointed where he fed
"And if no greater cares disturb your mind,
Sit here with us in covert of the wind.
Your lowing heifers, of their own accord,
At wat'ring time, will seek the neighbouring
ford.
Here wanton Mincius winds along the meads,
And shades his happy banks with bending
reeds.
And see, from yon old oak that meets the skies,
Young Micon offers, Delia, to thy shrine.
But, speed his hunting with thy pow'r divine;
Thy statue then of Parian stone shall stand;
Thy legs in buskins with a purple band.
This bowl of milk, these cakes, (our country
fare)
For thee, Priapus, yearly we prepare,
Because a little garden is thy care.
But, if the falling lambs increase my fold,
Thy marble statue shall be turn'd to gold.
Fair Galatea, with thy silver feet.
O, whiter than the swan, and more than Hybla
sweet!
Tall as a poplar, taper as the pole !
Come, charm thy shepherd, and restore my
soul.
Come, when my lated sheep at night return;
And crown the silent hours, and stop the rosy
May I become as abject in thy sight
As sea-weed on the shore, and black as night;
Rough as a burr; deform'd like him who chaws
Sardinian herbage to contract his jaws;
Such and so monstrous let thy swain appear,
If one day's absence looks not like a year.
Hence from the field, for shame! the flock de-
Ye mossy springs, inviting easy sleep,
Ye trees, whose leafy shades those mossy foun-
tains keep.
How black the clouds of swarming bees arise." No better feeding while the shepherd starves.
What should I do? nor was Alcippi nigh,
Nor absent Phillis could my care supply,
To house, and feed by hand my weaning lambs,
And drain the strutting udders of their dams.
Great was the strife betwixt the singing swains:
And I preferr'd my pleasure to my gains.
Alternate rhyme the ready champion chose:
These Corydon rehears'd, and Thyrsis those.
Ye muses, ever fair and ever young,
Assist my numbers and inspire my song.
With all my Codrus, O! inspire my breast;
For Codrus, after Phoebus, sings the best.
Or, if my wishes have presum'd too high,
And stretch'd their bounds beyond mortality,
The praise of artful numbers I resign,
And hang my pipe upon the sacred pine.
Arcadian swains, your youthful poet crown
With ivy-wreaths, though surly Codrus frown.
Or, if he blast my muse with envious praise,
Then fence my brows with amulets of bays.
Lest his ill arts or his malicious tongue
Should poison, or bewitch my growing song.
These branches of a stag, this tusky boar (The first essay of arms untried before)
Defend my flock! The summer heats are
This pastoral contains the songs of Damon and Alphesibæus. The first of them bewails the loss of his mistress, and repines at the success of his rival Mopsus. The other repeats the charms of some enchantress, who endeavoured by her spells and magic to make Daphnis in love with her.
THE mournful muse of two despairing swains,
The love rejected and the lovers' pains;
To which the savage lynxes list'ning stood;
The rivers stood in heaps, and stopp'd the run-
ning flood;
The hungry herd their needful food refuse-
Of two despairing swains, I sing the mournful
Great Pollio! thou, for whom thy Rome prepares
The ready triumph of thy finish'd wars,
Whether Timavus or th' Illyrian coast,
Whatever land or sea, thy presence boast;
Is there an hour in fate reserved for me,
To sing thy deeds in numbers worthy thee?
In numbers like to thine, could I rehearse,
Thy lofty tragic scenes, thy labour'd verse,
The world another Sophocles in thee,
Another Homer should behold in me
Amidst thy laurels let this ivy twine:
Thine was my earliest muse, my latest shall
be thine.
Scarce from the world the shades of night
Scarce were the flocks refresh'd with morning dew,
When Damon, stretch'd beneath an olive shade,
And wildly staring upwards, thus inveigh'd
Against the conscious gods, and curs'd the
maid:
"Star of the morning, why dost thou delay?
Come, Lucifer, drive on the lagging day,
While I my Nisa's perjur'd faith deplore-
Witness, ye pow'rs by whom she falsely swore!
The gods, alas! are witnesses in vain :
Yet shall my dying breath to heaven complain.
Begin with me, my flute, the sweet Manalian
"The pines of Manalus, the vocal grove, Are ever full of verse and full of love: They hear the hinds, they hear their god complain,
Who suffer'd not the reeds to rise in vain. Begin with me, my flute, the sweet Mænalian
"Mopsus triumphs; he weds the willing fair. When such is Nisa's choice, what lover can despair?
Now griffons join with mares; another age Shall see the hound and hind their thirst as
Promiscuous at the spring. Prepare the lights
O Mopsus! and perform the bridal rites.
Scatter thy nuts among the scrambling boys :-
Thine is the night, and thine the nuptial joys.
For thee the sun declines: O happy swain!
Begin with me, my flute, the sweet Mænalian.
"O Nisa' justly to thy choice condemn'd! Whom hast thou taken, whom hast thou con-temn'd?
For him, thou hast refus'd my browzing herd, Scorn'd my thick eye-brows, and my shaggy beard.
Unhappy Damon sighs and sings in vain, While Nisa thinks no god regards a lover's pain,
Begin with me, my flute, the sweet Mænalian
"I view'd thee first, (how fatal was the view!) And led thee where the ruddy wildings grew, High on the planted hedge, and wet with morning dew.
Then scarce the bending branches I could win ;
The callow down began to clothe my chin.
I saw, I perish'd, yet indulg'd my pain.
Begin with me, my flute, the sweet Mænalian
strain.
"I know thee, love! in deserts thc wert And at the dugs of savage tigers fed; [bred,
|