Part 30

I first transferred to Rome Sicilian strains; Nor blushed the Doric Muse to dwell on Mantuan plains. But when I tried her tender voice, too young, And fighting kings and bloody battles sung, Apollo checked my pride, and bade me feed My fattening flocks, nor dare beyond the reed. Admonished thus, while every pen prepares To write thy praises, Varus, and thy wars, My pastoral Muse her humble tribute brings, And yet not wholly uninspired she sings; For all who read, and, reading, not disdain These rural poems, and their lowly strain, The name of Varus oft inscribed 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, Stretched at his ease, their sire Silenus found. Dozed with his fumes, and heavy with his load, } They found him snoring in his dark abode, } And seized 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 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 promised song. Ægle 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 cried, "'twas impudence to find A sleeping god; 'tis sacrilege to bind. To you the promised poem I will pay; The nymph shall be rewarded in her way." He raised 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, Were blindly gathered 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, condensed to clouds, obscure the sky; And clouds, dissolved, the thirsty ground supply. The rising trees the lofty mountains grace; } The lofty mountains feed the savage race, } Yet few, and strangers, in the unpeopled place. } From thence the birth of man the song pursued, And how the world was lost, and how renewed; The reign of Saturn, and the golden age; Prometheus' theft, and Jove's avenging rage; The cries of Argonauts for Hylas drowned, 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, seized thy breast? The maids of Argos, (though, with rage possessed, Their imitated lowings filled the grove,) Yet shunned the guilt of thy preposterous love, Nor sought the youthful husband of the herd, } Though labouring yokes on their own necks they feared, } And felt for budding horns on their smooth foreheads reared. } 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 the 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, betrayed; The sisters mourning for their brother's loss; Their bodies hid in barks, and furred 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 welcomed to the sacred strand; The senate rising to salute their guest; And Linus thus their gratitude expressed:-- "Receive this present, by the Muses made, The pipe on which the Ascræan pastor played; With which of old he charmed the savage train, And called 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 transformed, the last by hate-- A beauteous maid above; but magic arts With barking dogs deformed her nether parts: What vengeance on the passing fleet she poured, The master frighted, and the mates devoured. Then ravished Philomel the song exprest; The crime revealed; the sisters' cruel feast: And how in fields the lapwing Tereus reigns, The warbling nightingale in woods complains; While Procne 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 warned the swain } To call his counted cattle from the plain: } Yet still the unwearied sire pursues the tuneful strain, } Till, unperceived, the heavens with stars were hung, And sudden night surprised the yet unfinished song.

FOOTNOTES:

[299] My Lord Roscommon's notes on this Pastoral are equal to his excellent translation of it; and thither I refer the reader.

The Eighth and Tenth Pastorals are already translated, to all manner of advantage, by my excellent friend Mr Stafford. So is the episode of Camilla, in the Eleventh Æneïd.

PASTORAL VII.

OR,

_MELIBOEUS_.

ARGUMENT.

_Meliboeus 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, repaired two jolly swains, (Their sheep and goats together grazed the plains,) Both young Arcadians, both alike inspired To sing, and answer as the song required. Daphnis, as umpire, took the middle seat, And fortune thither led my weary feet; For, while I fenced my myrtles from the cold, The father of my flock had wandered from the fold. Of Daphnis I inquired: 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 preferred my pleasure to my gains. Alternate rhyme the ready champions chose: These Corydon rehearsed, and Thyrsis those.

CORYDON.

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 presumed too high, And stretched their bounds beyond mortality, The praise of artful numbers I resign, And hang my pipe upon the sacred pine.

THYRSIS.

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.

CORYDON.

These branches of a stag, this tusky boar (The first essay of arms untried before) Young Micon 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.

THYRSIS.

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 turned to gold.

CORYDON.

Fair Galatea, with thy silver feet, O, whiter than the swan, and more than Hybla sweet! Tall as a poplar, taper as the bole! 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!

THYRSIS.

May I become as abject in thy sight, As sea-weed on the shore, and black as night; Rough as a bur; deformed 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.

CORYDON.

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.

THYRSIS.

With heapy fires our cheerful hearth is crowned; 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.

CORYDON.

Our woods, with juniper and chesnuts crowned, With falling fruits and berries paint the ground; And lavish Nature laughs, and strows her stores around: But, if Alexis from our mountains fly, Even running rivers leave their channels dry.

THYRSIS.

Parched 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.

CORYDON.

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 compare. }

THYRSIS.

The towering ash is fairest in the woods; In gardens pines, and poplars by the floods: But, if my Lycidas will ease my pains, And often visit our forsaken plains, To him the towering ash shall yield in woods, In gardens pines, and poplars by the floods.

MELIBOEUS.

These rhymes I did to memory commend, When vanquished Thyrsis did in vain contend; Since when, 'tis Corydon among the swains: Young Corydon without a rival reigns.

PASTORAL VIII.[300]

OR,

_PHARMACEUTRIA_.

ARGUMENT.

_This Pastoral contains the Songs of Damon and Alphesiboeus. 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 listening stood, The rivers stood on heaps, and stopped the running flood; The hungry herd the needful food refuse-- Of two despairing swains, I sing the mournful muse.

Great Pollio! thou, for whom thy Rome prepares The ready triumph of thy finished wars, Whether Timavus or the 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 laboured 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 withdrew, Scarce were the flocks refreshed with morning dew, When Damon, stretched beneath an olive shade, And, wildly staring upwards, thus inveighed Against the conscious gods, and cursed the cruel maid:

"Star of the morning, why dost thou delay? Come, Lucifer, drive on the lagging day, While I my Nisa's perjured 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 Mænalus, the vocal grove, Are ever full of verse, and full of love: They hear the hinds, they hear their god complain, Who suffered 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 assuage, 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 strain.

"O Nisa! justly to thy choice condemned! Whom hast thou taken, whom hast thou contemned? For him, thou hast refused my browzing herd, Scorned 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 strain. }

"I viewed 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 perished; yet indulged 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! Begin with me, my flute, the sweet Mænalian strains.

"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 inhuman thou: Alien of birth, usurper of the plains! Begin with me, my flute, the sweet Mænalian strains.

"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 famed 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 arms.

"Pale Phoebe, drawn by verse, from heaven descends; And Circe changed 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 joined; 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.

"Knit with three knots the fillets; knit them strait; Then say, 'These knots to love I consecrate.' Haste, Amaryllis, haste!--Restore, my charms, My lovely Daphnis to my longing arms. "As fire this figure hardens, made of clay, And this of wax with fire consumes away; Such let the soul of cruel Daphnis be-- Hard to the rest of women, soft to me. Crumble the sacred mole of salt and corn: Next in the fire the bays with brimstone burn; And, while it crackles in the sulphur, say, 'This I for Daphnis burn; thus Daphnis burn away! This laurel is his fate.'--Restore, my charms, My lovely Daphnis to my longing arms.

"As when the raging heifer, through the grove, Stung with desire, pursues her wandering love; Faint at the last, she seeks the weedy pools, To quench her thirst, and on the rushes rolls, Careless of night, unmindful to return; Such fruitless fires perfidious Daphnis burn, While I so scorn his love!--Restore, my charms, My lingering Daphnis to my longing arms.

"These garments once were his, and left to me, The pledges of his promised loyalty, Which underneath my threshold I bestow: These pawns, O sacred earth! to me my Daphnis owe. As these were his, so mine is he.--My charms, Restore their lingering lord to my deluded arms.

"These poisonous plants, for magic use designed, (The noblest and the best of all the baneful kind,) Old Moeris brought me from the Politic strand, And culled the mischief of a bounteous land. Smeared with these powerful juices, on the plain, He howls a wolf among the hungry train; And oft the mighty necromancer boasts, With these, to call from tombs the stalking ghosts, And from the roots to tear the standing corn, Which, whirled aloft, to distant fields is borne: Such is the strength of spells.--Restore, my charms, My lingering Daphnis to my longing arms. "Bear out these ashes; cast them in the brook; Cast backwards o'er your head; nor turn your look: Since neither gods nor godlike verse can move, Break out, ye smothered fires, and kindle smothered love. Exert your utmost power, my lingering charms; And force my Daphnis to my longing arms.

"See while my last endeavours I delay, The walking ashes rise, and round our altars play! Run to the threshold, Amaryllis,--hark! Our Hylax opens, and begins to bark. Good heaven! may lovers what they wish believe? Or dream their wishes, and those dreams deceive? No more! my Daphnis comes! no more, my charms! He comes, he runs, he leaps, to my desiring arms."

FOOTNOTES:

[300] This Eighth Pastoral is copied by our author from two Bucolics of Theocritus. Spenser has followed both Virgil and Theocritus in the charms which he employs for curing Britomartis of her love. But he had also our poet's Ceiris in his eye; for there not only the enchantments are to be found, but also the very name of Britomartis.--DRYDEN.

PASTORAL IX.[301]

OR,

_LYCIDAS AND MOERIS_.

ARGUMENT.

_When Virgil, by the favour of Augustus, had recovered his patrimony near Mantua, and went in hope to take possession, he was in danger to be slain by Arius the centurion, to whom those lands were assigned by the Emperor, in reward of his service against Brutus and Cassius. This Pastoral therefore is filled with complaints of his hard usage; and the persons introduced are the bailiff of Virgil, Moeris, and his friend Lycidas._

LYCIDAS.

Ho, Moeris! whither on thy way so fast? This leads to town.

MOERIS.

O Lycidas! at last The time is come, I never thought to see, (Strange revolution for my farm and me!) When the grim captain in a surly tone Cries out, "Pack up, ye rascals, and be gone." Kicked out, we set the best face on't we could; } And these two kids, t'appease his angry mood, } I bear,--of which the Furies give him good! }

LYCIDAS.

Your country friends were told another tale,-- That, from the sloping mountain to the vale, And doddered oak, and all the banks along, Menalcas saved his fortune with a song.

MOERIS.

Such was the news, indeed; but songs and rhymes Prevail as much in these hard iron times, As would a plump of trembling fowl, that rise Against an eagle sousing from the skies. And, had not Phoebus warned me, by the croak Of an old raven from a hollow oak, To shun debate, Menalcas had been slain, And Moeris not survived him, to complain.

LYCIDAS.

Now heaven defend! could barbarous rage induce The brutal son of Mars t'insult the sacred Muse? Who then should sing the nymphs? or who rehearse The waters gliding in a smoother verse? Or Amaryllis praise that heavenly lay, That shortened, as we went, our tedious way,-- "O Tityrus, tend my herd, and see them fed; To morning pastures, evening waters, led; And 'ware the Libyan ridgil's butting head."

MOERIS.

Or what unfinished he to Varus read:-- "Thy name, O Varus, (if the kinder powers Preserve our plains, and shield the Mantuan towers, Obnoxious by Cremona's neighbouring crime,) The wings of swans, and stronger-pinioned rhyme, Shall raise aloft, and soaring bear above-- The immortal gift of gratitude to Jove."

LYCIDAS.

Sing on, sing on; for I can ne'er be cloyed. So may thy swarms the baleful yew avoid; So may thy cows their burdened bags distend, And trees to goats their willing branches bend. Mean as I am, yet have the Muses made Me free, a member of the tuneful trade: At least the shepherds seem to like my lays; But I discern their flattery from their praise: I nor to Cinna's ears, nor Varus,' dare aspire, But gabble, like a goose, amidst the swan-like choir.

MOERIS.