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See, they have caught the father of the flock, Who dries his fleece upon the neighbouring rock.



From rivers drive the kids, and sling your
Anon I'll wash them in the shallow brook.


To fold, my flock!-when milk is dried with heat, In vain the milkmaid tugs an empty teat.


How lank my bulls from plenteous pasture come! But love, that drains the herd, destroys the groom.


My flocks are free from love, yet look so thin, 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?


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


Nay, tell me first, in what new region springs
A flower, that bears inscribed the names of kings;
And thou shalt gain a present as divine
As Phoebus' self; for Phyllis shall be thine.


So nice a difference in your singing lies,
That both have won, or both deserved the prize.
Rest equal happy both; and all who prove
The bitter sweets, and pleasing pains, of love.
Now dam the ditches, and the floods restrain ;
Their moisture has already drench'd the plain.



The Argument.

The poet celebrates the birthday of Salonius, 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! [plain,
Though lowly shrubs, and trees that shade the
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 degenerate iron offspring ends;
A golden progeny from heaven descends.
O chaste Lucina! speed the mother's pains;
And haste the glorious birth! thy own Apollo

The lovely boy, with his auspicious face,
Shall Pollio's consulship and triumph grace:
Majestic months set out with him to their ap-
pointed race.

The father banish'd virtue shall restore;

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 offerings to her infant king. [speed,
The goats with strutting dugs shall homeward
And lowing herds secure from lions feed.
His cradle shall with rising flowers be crown'd:
The serpent's brood shall die; the sacred ground
Shall weeds and poisonous 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 every thorn;
The knotted oaks shall showers of honey weep;
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; Another Argo land the chiefs upon the' Iberian Another Helen other wars create,

[shore ; And great Achilles urge the Trojan fate. But when to ripen'd manhood he shall grow, The greedy sailor shall the seas forego: No keel shall cut the waves for foreign ware, For every soil shall every product bear. The labouring 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,
Beneath his pompous fleece shall proudly sweat;
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!
See, labouring Nature calls thee to sustain
The nodding frame of heaven, and earth, and main!
See to their base restored, earth, seas, and air;
And joyful ages, from behind, in crowding ranks

To sing thy praise, would Heaven 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 heavenly parent should inspire, The Muse instruct the voice, and Phœbus tune the lyre.

Should Pan contend in verse, and thou my theme, Arcadian judges should their god condemn. Begin, auspicious boy! to cast about

Thy infant eyes, and, with a smile, thy mother single out.

Thy mother well deserves that short delight, 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.




The Argument.

Mopsus and Menalcas, two very expert shepherds at a song, begin one by consent to the memory of Daphnis, who is supposed by the best critics to 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 hazles, intermix'd with elms, have made?


Whether you please that silvan scene to take,
Where whistling winds uncertain shadows make;
Or will you to the cooler cave succeed,
Whose mouth the curling vines have overspread?


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?

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