But love, that drains the herd, destroys the groom.

MENALCAS.

My flocks are free from love, yet look so thin, 156 Their bones are barely cover'd with their skin. What magic has bewitch'd the woolly dams,

And what ill eyes beheld the tender lambs?

DAMETAS.

159

Say, where the round of heav'n, which all contains, To three short ells on earth our sight restrains: Tell that, and rise a Phœbus for thy pains.

MENALCAS.

Nay tell me first, in what new region springs

A flow'r, that bears inscrib'd the names of kings; And thou shalt gain a present as divine

As Phoebus' self: for Phyllis shall be thine.

PALEMON.

So nice a diff'rence in your singing lies,

That both have won, or both deserv'd, the prize. Rest equal happy both; and all who prove

165

The bitter sweets, and pleasing pains, of love. 170 Now dam the ditches, and the floods restrain:

Their moisture has already drench'd the plain.

PASTORAL IV.

OR,

POLLIO.

ARGUMENT.

The poet celebrates the birth-day of Saloninus, the son of Pollio, born in the consulship of his father, after the taking of Salonæ, a city in Dalmatia. Many of the verses are translated from one of the Sibyls, who prophesied of our Saviour's birth.

SICILIAN Muse, begin a loftier strain!

Though lowly shrubs, and trees that shade the plain,
Delight not all; Sicilian Muse, prepare

To make the vocal woods deserve a consul's care.
The last great age, foretold by sacred rhymes,
Renews its finish'd course: Saturnian times
Roll round again; and mighty years, begun

From their first orb, in radiant circles run.

The base degen'rate iron offspring ends;
A golden progeny from heav'n descends.

5

10

O chaste Lucina! speed the mother's pains;

And haste the glorious birth! thy own Apollo reigns! The lovely boy, with his auspicious face,

Shall Pollio's consulship and triumph grace:

Majestic months set out with him to their appointed

race.

The father banish'd virtue shall restore;

15

20

And crimes shall threat the guilty world no more.
The son shall lead the life of gods, and be
By gods and heroes seen, and gods and heroes see.
The jarring nations he in peace shall bind,
And with paternal virtues rule mankind.
Unbidden earth shall wreathing ivy bring,
And fragrant herbs (the promises of spring),
As her first off'rings to her infant king.

24

The goats with strutting dugs shall homeward speed, And lowing herds secure from lions feed.

His cradle shall with rising flow'rs be crown'd:
The serpent's brood shall die; the sacred ground
Shall weeds and pois'nous plants refuse to bear;
Each common bush shall Syrian roses wear.
But when heroic verse his youth shall raise,
And form it to hereditary praise,

Unlabour'd harvests shall the fields adorn,

And cluster'd grapes shall blush on ev'ry thorn;

30

The knotted oaks shall show'rs of honey weep; 35

And through the matted grass the liquid gold shall

creep.

Yet, of old fraud some footsteps shall remain: The merchant still shall plough the deep for gain; Great cities shall with walls be compass'd round; And sharpen'd shares shall vex the fruitful ground; Another Tiphys shall new seas explore;

41

Another Argo land the chiefs upon th' Iberian shore; Another Helen other wars create,

And great Achilles urge the Trojan fate.

But when to ripen'd manhood he shall grow,

The greedy sailor shall the seas forego:

45

No keel shall cut the waves for foreign ware;

For ev'ry soil shall ev'ry product bear.

The lab'ring hind his oxen shall disjoin:

No plough shall hurt the glebe, no pruning-hook the

vine;

Nor wool shall in dissembled colours shine;

But the luxurious father of the fold,

With native purple, and unborrow'd gold,

50

Beneath his pompous fleece shall proudly sweat; 55 And under Tyrian robes the lamb shall bleat.

The Fates, when they this happy web have spun, Shall bless the sacred clue, and bid it smoothly run. Mature in years, to ready honours move,

O of celestial seed! O foster-son of Jove!

60

See, lab'ring Nature calls thee to sustain

The nodding frame of heav'n, and earth, and main!
See to their base restor'd, earth, seas, and air;
And joyful ages, from behind, in crowding ranks
64

appear.

To sing thy praise, would heav'n my breath prolong,
Infusing spirits worthy such a song,

Not Thracian Orpheus should transcend my lays,
Nor Linus crown'd with never-fading bays;
Though each his heav'nly parent should inspire;
The Muse instruct the voice, and Phoebus tune the lyre.
Should Pan contend in verse, and thou my theme, 71
Arcadian judges should their god condemn.
Begin, auspicious boy! to cast about

Thy infanteyes, and, with a smile, thy mother single out.
Thy mother well deserves that short delight, 75
The nauseous qualms of ten long months and travail

to requite.

Then smile! the frowning infant's doom is read:

No god shall crown the board, nor goddess bless the

bed.