MOPS. Accept from me this sheep-hook, in exchange,

The handle brass, the knobs in equal range;
Antigenes with kisses often try'd
To beg this present in his beauty's pride;
When youth and love are hard to be deny'd.
But what I could refuse to his request,

Is yours unask'd, for you deserve it best.

THE SIXTH PASTORAL;

OR,
SILENUS.

THE 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 transformations which have happened in Nature since her birth. This pastoral was designed as a compliment to Syro the Epicurean, who instructed Virgil and Varus in the principles of that philosophy. Silenus acts as tutor, Chromis and Mnasylus as the two pupils.

I FIRST transferr'd to Rome Sicilian strains :

Nor blush'd the Doric Muse to dwell on Mantuan

plains.

But when I try'd her tender voice, too young,
And fighting kings, and bloody battles, sung;
Apollo check'd my pride: and bade me feed
My fattening flocks, nor dare beyond the reed.
Admonish'd thus, while every pen prepares
To write thy praises, Varus, and thy wars,
My pastoral 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 every grove, and every vocal tree;
And all the sylvan reign shall sing of thee,
Thy name, to Phœbus and the Muses known,
Shall in the front of every 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.
Dos'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 floor.
His empty cann, 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 Naïs of the neighbouring flood,

And, while he stares around, with stupid eyes,
His brows with berries, and his temples, dyes.
He finds the fraud, and, with a smile, demands
On what design the boys had bound his hands.
"Loose me!" he cry'd; "'twas impudence to find
A sleeping god, 'tis sacrilege to bind.
To you the promis'd poem I will pay;
The nymph shall be rewarded in her way."
He rais'd his voice; and soon a numerous throng
Of tripping Satyrs crowded to the song;
And sylvan Fauns, and savage beasts, advanced,
And nodding forests to the numbers danced.
Not by Hæmonian hills the Thracian bard,
Nor awful Phœbus was on Pindus beard,
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 stiffening 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;
And clouds, dissolv'd, the thirsty ground supply.
The rising trees the lofty mountains grace:
The lofty mountains feed the savage race,
Yet few, and strangers, in th' unpeopled place.
From hence the birth of man the song pursued,
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 Argos (though with rage possess'd,
Their imitated lowings fill'd the grove)

fear'd;

Yet shunn'd the guilt of thy preposterous love.
Nor sought the youthful husband of the herd,
Though labouring yokes on their own necks they
[heads rear'd.
And felt for budding horns on their smooth fore-
Ah, wretched queen! you range the pathless wood,
While on a flowery 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 surround,
And trace his wandering 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 sister's mourning for the 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 Phobus; 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 she pour'd,
The master frighted, and the mates devour'd.
Then ravish'd Philomel the song express'd;
The crime reveal'd; the sisters' cruel feast:
And how in fields the lapwing Tereus reigns;
The warbling nightingale in woods complains.
While Progne makes on chimney-tops her moan;
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' unweary'd sire pursues the tuneful strain,

Till unperceiv'd the Heavens with stars were hung: And sudden night surpris'd the yet unfinish'd song.

THE SEVENTH PASTORAL;

OR,
MELIBŒUS.

THE ARGUMENT.

MELIBŒUS here gives us the relation of a sharp poetical contest between Thyrsis and Corydon; at which he himself 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 watering 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 mates the skies,
How black the clouds of swarming bees arise."
What should I do! nor was Alcippe nigh,
Nor absent Phyllis 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 champions chose:
These Corydon rehears'd, and Thyrsis those.

COR. Ye Muses, ever fair, and ever young,
Assist my nambers, and inspire my song.

With all my Codrus O inspire my breast,
For Codrus, after Phœbus, sings the best.
Or if my wishes have presum'd too high,
And stretch'd their bounds beyond mortality,
The praise of artful numbers 1 resign:
And hang my pipe upon the sacred pine.

THYR. 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.

COR. These branches of a stag, this tusky boar, (The first essay of arms untry'd before) Young Mycon offers, Delia, to thy shrine; But speed his hunting with thy power divine. Thy statue then of Parian stone shall stand; Thy legs in buskins with a purple band.

THYR. This bowl of milk, these cakes, (our coun
try 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.
COR. Fair Galatea, with thy silver feet,
O, whiter than the swan, and more than Hybla
Tall as a poplar, taper as the bole,
[sweet;
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 morn.

THYR. May I become as abject in thy sight,
As seaweed on the shore, and black as night:
Rough as a bur, 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 deserves
No better feeding, while the shepherd starves.

COR. Ye mossy springs, inviting easy sleep, Ye trees, whose leafy shades those mossy fountains

keep, Defend my flock; the summer heats are near, And blossoms on the swelling vines appear.

THYR. With heapy fires our cheerful hearth is

crown'd;

And firs for torches in the woods abound:
We fear not more the winds, and wintry cold,
Than streams the banks, or wolves the bleating fold.

Cor. Our woods with juniper and chesnuts
crown'd,

With falling fruits and berries paint the ground;
And lavish Nature laughs, and strows her stores
But if Alexis from our mountains fly, [around.
Ev'n running rivers leave their channels dry.

THYR. Parch'd are the plains, and frying is the field, Nor withering vines their juicy vintage yield. But if returning Phyllis bless the plain, The grass revives; the woods are green again; And Jove descends in showers of kindly rain.

COR. The poplar is by great Alcides worn; The brows of Phœbus his own bays adorn; The branching vine the jolly Bacchus loves; The Cyprian queen delights in myrtle groves. With hazle Phyllis crowns her flowing hair; And while she loves that common wreath to wear, Nor bays, nor myrtle boughs, with hazle shall com

pare.

THYR. The towering ash is fairest in the woods; In gardens pines, and poplars by the floods :

THE EIGHTH PASTORAL;

OR, PHARMACEUTRIA.

THE ARGUMENT.

thine.

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 powers, 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 Mænalian strain.
"The pines of Menalus, 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 strain.

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 asswage

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 Mænalianstrain.

O, Nisa! justly to thy choice condemn'd!
Whom hast thou taken, whom hast thou contemn'd;
For him, thou hast refus'd my browsing herd,
Scorn'd my thick eyebrows, 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 strain.
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 chín; 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 thou wert bred; And at the dugs of savage tigers fed : Alien of birth, usurper of the plains: [strains. Begin with me, my flute, the sweet Mænalian "Relentless love the cruel mother led, The blood of her unhappy babes to shed: Love lent the sword; the mother struck the blow; Inhuman she; but more unhappy thou. Alien of birth, usurper of the plains: [strains. Begin with me, my flute, the sweet Mænalian. "Old doting Nature, change thy course anew:

And let the trembling lamb the wolf pursue:
Let oaks now glitter with Hesperian fruit,
And purple daffodils from alder shoot.

Fat amber let the tamarisk distil :

And hooting owls contend with swans in skill.
Hoarse Tityrus strive with Orpheus in the woods;
And challenge fam'd Arion on the floods.
Or, oh! let Nature cease, and chaos reign:

Begin with me, my flute, the sweet Mænalian strain.
Let earth be sea; and let the whelming tide

The lifeless limbs of luckless Damon hide:
Farewell, ye secret woods and shady groves,
Haunts of my youth, and conscious of my loves!
From yon high cliff I plunge into the main;
Take the last present of thy dying swain:

And cease, my silent flute, the sweet Mænalian

strain."

Now take your turns, ye Muses, to rehearse His friend's complaints; and mighty magic verse. Bring running water; bind those altars round With fillets; and with vervain strow the ground: Make fat with frankincense the sacred fires, To re-inflame my Daphnis with desires, 'Tis done, we want but verse. Restore, my charms, My lingering Daphnis to my longing arins.

"Pale Phœbe, drawn by verse, from Heaven de-
scends;

And Circe chang'd with charms Ulysses' friends.
Verse breaks the ground, and penetrates the brake,
And in the winding cavern splits the snake.
Verse fires the frozen veins: restore, my charms,
My lingering Daphnis to my longing arms.

"Around his waxen image first I wind
Three woollen fillets of three colours join'd :
Thrice bind about his thrice-devoted head,
Which round the sacred altar thrice is led.
Unequal numbers please the gods: my charms,
Restore my Daphnis to my longing arms.