Page images
PDF
EPUB

A solemn match was made; he lost the prize.
Ask Damon, ask if he the debt denies ;
I think he dares not; if he does, he lies.

MEN. Thou sing with him, thou booby! never
pipe

Was so prophan'd to touch that blubber'd lip:
Dunce at the best; in streets but scarce allow'd
To tickle, on thy straw, the stupid crowd.

DAM. To bring it to the trial, will you dare
Our pipes, our skill, our voices, to compare?
My brinded heifer to the stake I lay;

Two thriving calves she suckles twice a day:
And twice besides her beastings never fail
To store the dairy with a brimming pail.
Now back your singing with an equal stake.

MEN. That should be seen, if I had one to make.
You know too well I feed my father's flock:
What can I wager from the common stock?
A stepdame too I have, a cursed she,
Who rules my henpecked sire, and orders me.
Both number twice a-day the milky dams,
At once she takes the tale of all the lambs.
But since you will be mad, and since you may
Suspect my courage, if I should not lay,
The pawn I proffer shall be full as good:
Two bowls I have, well turn'd, of beechen wood;
Both by divine Alcimedon were made;
To neither of them yet the lip is laid;
The ivy's stem, its fruit, its foliage, lurk
In various shapes around the curious work.
Two figures ou the sides emboss'd appear;
Conon, and, what's his name who made the sphere,
And show'd the seasons of the sliding year,
Instructed in his trade the labouring swain,
And when to reap, and when to sow the grain?
DAM. And I have two, to match your pair, at
home;

The wood the same, from the same hand they come :
The kimbo handles seem with bearsfoot carv'd;
And never yet to table have been serv'd:
Where Orpheus on his lyre laments his love,
With beasts encompass'd, and a dancing grove:
But these, nor all the proffers you can make,
Are worth the heifer which I set to stake.

MEN. No more delays, vain boaster, but begin:
I prophesy beforehand I shall win.
Palæmon shall be judge how ill you rhyme:
I'll teach you how to brag another time.

[can:

DAM. Rhymer, come on, and do the worst you I fear not you, nor yet a better man. With silence, neighbour, and attention wait: For 'tis a business of a high debate.

PAL. Sing then; the shade affords a proper place; The trees are cloth'd with leaves, the fields with

grass;

The blossoms blow; the birds on bushes sing;
And nature has accomplish'd all the spring.
The challenge to Damætas shall belong.
Menalcas shall sustain his under-song:
Each in his turn your tuneful numbers bring;
By turns the tuneful Muses love to sing.

DAM. From the great father of the gods above
My Muse begins; for all is full of Jove;
To Jove the care of Heaven and Earth belongs;
My flocks he blesses, and he loves my songs.

MEN. Me Phoebus loves; for he my Muse inspires;

And in her songs, the warmth he gave, requires. For him the god of shepherds and their sheep, My blushing hyacinths and my bays I keep.

DAM. My Phyllis me with pelted apples plies,
Then tripping to the woods the wanton hies:
And wishes to be seen, before she flies.

MEN. But fair Amyntas comes unask'd to me,
And offers love; and sits upon my knee;
Not Delia to my dogs is known so well as he.

DAM. To the dear mistress of my lovesick mind;
Her swain a pretty present has design'd:
I saw two stockdoves billing, and ere long
Will take the nest, and hers shall be the young.

MEN, Ten ruddy wildings in the wood I found,
And stood on tiptoes, reaching from the ground;
I sent Amyntas all my present store;
And will, to morrow, send as many more.

DAM. The lovely maid lay panting in my arms;
And all she said and did was full of charms.
Winds, on your wings to Heaven her accents bear!
Such words as Heaven alone is fit to hear.

MEN. Ah! what avails it me, my love's delight, To call you mine, when absent from my sight! I hold the nets, while you pursue the prey; And must not share the dangers of the day.

DAM. I keep my birth-day: send my Phillis home;

At shearing-time, Jolas, you may come.

MEN. With Phyllis I am more in grace than you: Her sorrow did my parting steps pursue: "Adieu, my dear," she said," a long adieu!

DAM. The nightly wolf is baneful to the fold, Storms to the wheat, to buds the bitter cold; But from my frowning fair, more ills I find Than from the wolves, and storms, and winterwind. [plain,

MEN. The kids with pleasure browse the bushy The showers are grateful to the swelling grain : To teeming ewes the sallow's tender tree; But more than all the world my love to me. DAM. Pollio my rural verse vouchsafes to read: A heifer, Muses, for your patron, breed.

MEN. My Pollio writes himself; a bull he bred With spurning heels, and with a butting head. DAM. Who Pollio loves, and who his Muse admires,

Let Pollio's fortune crown his full desires.
Let myrrh instead of thorn his fences fill;
And showers of honey from his oaks distil.

MEN. Who hates not living Bavius, let him be
(Dead Mævius) damn'd to love thy works and thee:
The same ill taste of sense would serve to join
Dog-foxes in the yoke, and shear the swine.

DAM. Ye boys, who pluck the flowers, and spoil

the spring,

[blocks in formation]

DAM. Say, where the round of Heaven, which all | The knotted oaks shall showers of honey weep,

contains,

To three short ells on Earth our sight restrains: Tell that, and rise a Phoebus for thy pains,

MEN. Nay, tell me first, in what new region springs

A flower that bears inscrib'd the names of kings:
And thou shalt gain a present as divine
As Phoebus' self: for Phyllis shall be thine.

PAL. So nice a difference in your singing lies,
That both have won, or both deserv'd, 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 FOURTH PASTORAL;

OR, POLLIO.

THE ARGUMENT.

THE poet celebrates the birth-day of Salonius, the son of Pallio, 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.

SICILIAR 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 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 reigns!
The lovely boy, with his auspicious face!
Shall Pollio's consulship and triumph grace;
Majestic months set out with him to their appoint-

ed 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.

The goats, with strutting dugs, shall homeward speed,

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.

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 Typhis shall new seas explore,
Another Argos land the chiefs upon th' 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 pruninghook
the vine,

Nor wool shall in dissembled colours shine;
But the luxurious father of the fold,
With native purple, or 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 restor'd, earth, seas, and air,
And joyful ages from behind, in crowding ranks

[long,

appear, To sing thy praise, would Heaven my breath proInfusing 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 Phoebus tune the lyre.

[out;

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
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 FIFTH PASTORAL;

OR,
DAPHNIS.

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.

MENALCAS.

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?
MOPS. Whether you please that sylvan scene to
take,

Where whistling winds uncertain shadows make:
Or will you to the cooler cave succeed,
Whose mouth the curling vines have overspread.?
MEN. Your merit and your years command the
Amyntas only rivals you in voice.
[choice:
MOPS. What will not that presuming shepherd
dare,

Who thinks his voice with Phoebus may compare?
MEN. Begin you first; if either Alcon's praise,
Or dying Phyllis, have inspir'd your lays:
If her you mourn, or Codrus you commend,
Begin, and Tityrus your flock shall tend.

MOPS. 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.
MEN. Such as the shrub to the tall olive shows,
Or the pale sallow to the blushing rose ;
Such is his voice, if I can judge aright,
Compar'd to thine, in sweetness and in height.
MOPS. 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 tears:
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 every star.
The swains forgot their sheep, nor near the brink
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 race,
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 burrs and thorns disgrace the ground.
Come, shepherds, come, and strow with leaves the
Such funeral rites your Daphnis did ordain. [plain;
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 field's delight, the shepherd's love,
Renown'd on Earth, and deify'd above,
Whose flock excell'd the fairest on the plains,
But less than he himself surpass'd the swains."
MEN. O heavenly 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 powers divine;
For Daphnis was so good to love whate'er was mine.
MOPS. How is my soul with such a promise rais'd!
For both the boy was worthy to be prais'd,
And Stimichon has often made me long
To hear, like him, so soft, so sweet a song.
MEN. Daphnis, the guest of Heaven, with wonder-
ing 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 various ground;
The nymphs and shepherds dance; and Pan him-
self 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 influence.
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 propitious, ever good to thine;
Behold four hallow'd altars we design;
And two to thee, and two to Phœbus rise;
On both are 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 generous vintage of the Chian vine;
These will I pour to thee, and make the nectar
In winter shall the genial feast be made [thine.
Before the fire; by sunmer in the shade.
Damætas shall perform the rites divine:
And Lyctian Agon in the song shall join.
Alphesibeus, 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 renew.
Such honours as we pay to powers divine,
To Bacchus and to Ceres, shall be thine.
Such annual honours shall be giv'n, and thou
Shalt hear, and shalt condemn thy supplants to

their vow.

find!

MOPS. What present worth thy verse can Mopsus Not the soft whispers of the southern wind, That play thro' trembling trees, delight me more; Nor murmuring billows on the sounding shore; Nor winding streams, that through the valley glide, And the scarce cover'd pebbles gently chide.

Receive you first this tuneful pipe; the same That play'd my Corydon's unhappy flame. The same that sung Negra's conquering eyes; And, had the judge been just, had won the prize.

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 be 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 Phoebus 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 canu, 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 frau dful god deluded long,
They now resolve to have their promis'd song.
Agle 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, deniands
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 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
The tender soil then stiffening by degrees,
Were blindly gather'd in this goodly ball.
Shut from the bounded earth, the bounding seas.
Then earth and ocean various forins 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 lofty mountains feed the savage race,
The rising trees the lofty mountains grace:
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)
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
fear'd;
[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 exprèss'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 Phoebus; 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,
MELIBEUS.

THE ARGUMENT.

MELIBUS 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 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 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 busking 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 Phoebus 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:

« PreviousContinue »