Damœtas and Menalcas, after some smart strokes of country raillery,resolve to try who has the most skill at song; and accordingly maketheir neighbour, Palæmon, judge of their performances; who, after afull hearing of both parties, declares himself unfit for the decisionof so weighty a controversy, and leaves the victory undetermined.
Damœtas and Menalcas, after some smart strokes of country raillery,resolve to try who has the most skill at song; and accordingly maketheir neighbour, Palæmon, judge of their performances; who, after afull hearing of both parties, declares himself unfit for the decisionof so weighty a controversy, and leaves the victory undetermined.
MENALCAS.
Ho, swain! what shepherd owns those ragged sheep?
Ho, swain! what shepherd owns those ragged sheep?
DAMŒTAS.
Ægon's they are: he gave them me to keep.
Ægon's they are: he gave them me to keep.
MENALCAS.
Unhappy sheep, of an unhappy swain!}While he Neæra courts, but courts in vain,}And fears that I the damsel shall obtain.}Thou, varlet, dost thy master's gains devour;Thou milk'st his ewes, and often twice an hour;Of grass and fodder thou defraud'st the dams,And of their mothers' dugs the starving lambs.
Unhappy sheep, of an unhappy swain!}While he Neæra courts, but courts in vain,}And fears that I the damsel shall obtain.}Thou, varlet, dost thy master's gains devour;Thou milk'st his ewes, and often twice an hour;Of grass and fodder thou defraud'st the dams,And of their mothers' dugs the starving lambs.
DAMŒTAS.
Good words, young catamite, at least to men.We know who did your business, how, and when;And in what chapel too you played your prize,}And what the goats observed with leering eyes:}The nymphs were kind, and laughed; and there your safety lies.}
Good words, young catamite, at least to men.We know who did your business, how, and when;And in what chapel too you played your prize,}And what the goats observed with leering eyes:}The nymphs were kind, and laughed; and there your safety lies.}
MENALCAS.
Yes, when I cropt the hedges of the leys,Cut Micon's tender vines, and stole the stays!
Yes, when I cropt the hedges of the leys,Cut Micon's tender vines, and stole the stays!
DAMŒTAS.
Or rather, when, beneath yon ancient oak,The bow of Daphnis, and the shafts, you broke,When the fair boy received the gift of right;And, but for mischief, you had died for spite.
Or rather, when, beneath yon ancient oak,The bow of Daphnis, and the shafts, you broke,When the fair boy received the gift of right;And, but for mischief, you had died for spite.
MENALCAS.
What nonsense would the fool, thy master, prate,When thou, his knave, canst talk at such a rate!Did I not see you, rascal, did I not,When you lay snug to snap young Damon's goat?His mongrel barked; I ran to his relief,And cried,—"There, there he goes! stop, stop the thief!"Discovered, and defeated of your prey,You skulked behind the fence, and sneaked away.
What nonsense would the fool, thy master, prate,When thou, his knave, canst talk at such a rate!Did I not see you, rascal, did I not,When you lay snug to snap young Damon's goat?His mongrel barked; I ran to his relief,And cried,—"There, there he goes! stop, stop the thief!"Discovered, and defeated of your prey,You skulked behind the fence, and sneaked away.
DAMŒTAS.
An honest man may freely take his own:The goat was mine, by singing fairly won.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.}
An honest man may freely take his own:The goat was mine, by singing fairly won.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.}
MENALCAS.
Thou sing with him? thou booby!—Never pipeWas so profaned to touch that blubbered lip.Dunce at the best! in streets but scarce allowedTo tickle, on thy straw, the stupid crowd.
Thou sing with him? thou booby!—Never pipeWas so profaned to touch that blubbered lip.Dunce at the best! in streets but scarce allowedTo tickle, on thy straw, the stupid crowd.
DAMŒTAS.
To bring it to the trial, will you dareOur 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 beestings never failTo store the dairy with a brimming pail.Now back your singing with an equal stake.
To bring it to the trial, will you dareOur 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 beestings never failTo store the dairy with a brimming pail.Now back your singing with an equal stake.
MENALCAS.
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 hen-peck'd sire, and orders me.Both number twice a day the milky dams;And once she takes the tale of all the lambs.But, since you will be mad, and since you maySuspect my courage, if I should not lay,The pawn I proffer shall be full as good:Two bowls I have, well turned, of beechen wood;Both by divine Alcimedon were made;To neither of them yet the lip is laid.The lids are ivy; grapes in clusters lurkBeneath the carving of the curious work.Two figures on the sides embossed appear—}Conon, and what's his name who made the sphere,}And shewed the seasons of the sliding year,}Instructed in his trade the labouring swain,And when to reap, and when to sow the grain?
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 hen-peck'd sire, and orders me.Both number twice a day the milky dams;And once she takes the tale of all the lambs.But, since you will be mad, and since you maySuspect my courage, if I should not lay,The pawn I proffer shall be full as good:Two bowls I have, well turned, of beechen wood;Both by divine Alcimedon were made;To neither of them yet the lip is laid.The lids are ivy; grapes in clusters lurkBeneath the carving of the curious work.Two figures on the sides embossed appear—}Conon, and what's his name who made the sphere,}And shewed the seasons of the sliding year,}Instructed in his trade the labouring swain,And when to reap, and when to sow the grain?
DAMŒTAS.
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 bear's foot carved,)And never yet to table have been served;Where Orpheus on his lyre laments his love,With beasts encompassed, and a dancing grove.But these, nor all the proffers you can make,Are worth the heifer which I set to stake.
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 bear's foot carved,)And never yet to table have been served;Where Orpheus on his lyre laments his love,With beasts encompassed, and a dancing grove.But these, nor all the proffers you can make,Are worth the heifer which I set to stake.
MENALCAS.
No more delays, vain boaster, but begin!I prophesy before-hand, I shall win.Palæmon shall be judge how ill you rhyme:I'll teach you how to brag another time.
No more delays, vain boaster, but begin!I prophesy before-hand, I shall win.Palæmon shall be judge how ill you rhyme:I'll teach you how to brag another time.
DAMŒTAS.
Rhymer, come on! and do the worst you can;I fear not you, nor yet a better man.With silence, neighbour, and attention, wait;For 'tis a business of a high debate.
Rhymer, come on! and do the worst you can;I fear not you, nor yet a better man.With silence, neighbour, and attention, wait;For 'tis a business of a high debate.
PALÆMON.
Sing then; the shade affords a proper place,The trees are clothed with leaves, the fields with grass,The blossoms blow, the birds on bushes sing,And Nature has accomplished all the spring.The challenge to Damœtas shall belong;Menalcas shall sustain his under-song;Each in his turn your tuneful numbers bring,By turns the tuneful Muses love to sing.
Sing then; the shade affords a proper place,The trees are clothed with leaves, the fields with grass,The blossoms blow, the birds on bushes sing,And Nature has accomplished all the spring.The challenge to Damœtas shall belong;Menalcas shall sustain his under-song;Each in his turn your tuneful numbers bring,By turns the tuneful Muses love to sing.
DAMŒTAS.
From the great father of the gods aboveMy 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.
From the great father of the gods aboveMy 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.
MENALCAS.
Me Phœbus loves; for he my Muse inspires,And in her songs the warmth he gave requires.For him, the god of shepherds and their sheep,[297]My blushing hyacinths and my bays I keep.
Me Phœbus loves; for he my Muse inspires,And in her songs the warmth he gave requires.For him, the god of shepherds and their sheep,[297]My blushing hyacinths and my bays I keep.
DAMŒTAS.
My Phyllis me with pelted apples plies;}Then tripping to the woods the wanton hies,}And wishes to be seen before she flies.}
My Phyllis me with pelted apples plies;}Then tripping to the woods the wanton hies,}And wishes to be seen before she flies.}
MENALCAS.
But fair Amyntas comes unasked to me,}And offers love, and sits upon my knee.}Not Delia to my dogs is known so well as he.}
But fair Amyntas comes unasked to me,}And offers love, and sits upon my knee.}Not Delia to my dogs is known so well as he.}
DAMŒTAS.
To the dear mistress of my love-sick mind,Her swain a pretty present has designed:I saw two stock-doves billing, and ere longWill take the nest, and hers shall be the young.
To the dear mistress of my love-sick mind,Her swain a pretty present has designed:I saw two stock-doves billing, and ere longWill take the nest, and hers shall be the young.
MENALCAS.
Ten ruddy wildings in the wood I found,And stood on tip-toes, reaching from the ground:I sent Amyntas all my present store;And will, to-morrow, send as many more.
Ten ruddy wildings in the wood I found,And stood on tip-toes, reaching from the ground:I sent Amyntas all my present store;And will, to-morrow, send as many more.
DAMŒTAS.
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.
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.
MENALCAS.
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.
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.
DAMŒTAS.
I keep my birth-day; send my Phyllis home;At shearing-time, Iolas, you may come.
I keep my birth-day; send my Phyllis home;At shearing-time, Iolas, you may come.
MENALCAS.
With Phyllis I am more in grace than you;}Her sorrow did my parting steps pursue:}"Adieu, my dear!" she said, "a long adieu!"}
With Phyllis I am more in grace than you;}Her sorrow did my parting steps pursue:}"Adieu, my dear!" she said, "a long adieu!"}
DAMŒTAS.
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 winter-wind.
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 winter-wind.
MENALCAS.
The kids with pleasure browze the bushy plain;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.
The kids with pleasure browze the bushy plain;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.
DAMŒTAS.
Pollio my rural verse vouchsafes to read:A heifer, Muses, for your patron breed.
Pollio my rural verse vouchsafes to read:A heifer, Muses, for your patron breed.
MENALCAS.
My Pollio writes himself:—a bull be bred,With spurning heels, and with a butting head.
My Pollio writes himself:—a bull be bred,With spurning heels, and with a butting head.
DAMŒTAS.
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.
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.
MENALCAS.
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 joinDog-foxes in the yoke, and shear the swine.
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 joinDog-foxes in the yoke, and shear the swine.
DAMŒTAS.
Ye boys, who pluck the flowers, and spoil the spring,Beware the secret snake that shoots a sting.
Ye boys, who pluck the flowers, and spoil the spring,Beware the secret snake that shoots a sting.
MENALCAS.
Graze not too near the banks, my jolly sheep;The ground is false, the running streams are deep:See, they have caught the father of the flock,Who dries his fleece upon the neighbouring rock.
Graze not too near the banks, my jolly sheep;The ground is false, the running streams are deep:See, they have caught the father of the flock,Who dries his fleece upon the neighbouring rock.
DAMŒTAS.
From rivers drive the kids, and sling your hook;Anon I'll wash them in the shallow brook.
From rivers drive the kids, and sling your hook;Anon I'll wash them in the shallow brook.
MENALCAS.
To fold, my flock!—when milk is dried with heat,In vain the milkmaid tugs an empty teat.
To fold, my flock!—when milk is dried with heat,In vain the milkmaid tugs an empty teat.
DAMŒTAS.
How lank my bulls from plenteous pasture come!But love, that drains the herd, destroys the groom.
How lank my bulls from plenteous pasture come!But love, that drains the herd, destroys the groom.
MENALCAS.
My flocks are free from love, yet look so thin,Their bones are barely covered with their skin.What magic has bewitched the woolly dams,And what ill eyes beheld the tender lambs?
My flocks are free from love, yet look so thin,Their bones are barely covered with their skin.What magic has bewitched the woolly dams,And what ill eyes beheld the tender lambs?
DAMŒTAS.
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.}
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.}
MENALCAS.
Nay, tell me first, in what new region springsA flower, that bears inscribed the names of kings;And thou shalt gain a present as divineAs Phœbus' self; for Phyllis shall be thine.
Nay, tell me first, in what new region springsA flower, that bears inscribed the names of kings;And thou shalt gain a present as divineAs Phœbus' self; for Phyllis shall be thine.
PALÆMON.
So nice a difference in your singing lies,That both have won, or both deserved the prize.Rest equal happy both; and all who proveThe bitter sweets, and pleasing pains, of love.Now dam the ditches, and the floods restrain;Their moisture has already drenched the plain.
So nice a difference in your singing lies,That both have won, or both deserved the prize.Rest equal happy both; and all who proveThe bitter sweets, and pleasing pains, of love.Now dam the ditches, and the floods restrain;Their moisture has already drenched the plain.
FOOTNOTES:[297]Phœbus, not Pan, is here called the god of shepherds. The poet alludes to the same story which he touches in the beginning of the Second Georgic, where he calls Phœbus the Amphrysian shepherd, because he fed the sheep and oxen of Admetus, with whom he was in love, on the hill Amphrysus.
[297]Phœbus, not Pan, is here called the god of shepherds. The poet alludes to the same story which he touches in the beginning of the Second Georgic, where he calls Phœbus the Amphrysian shepherd, because he fed the sheep and oxen of Admetus, with whom he was in love, on the hill Amphrysus.
[297]Phœbus, not Pan, is here called the god of shepherds. The poet alludes to the same story which he touches in the beginning of the Second Georgic, where he calls Phœbus the Amphrysian shepherd, because he fed the sheep and oxen of Admetus, with whom he was in love, on the hill Amphrysus.
ARGUMENT.
The Poet celebrates the birth-day of Saloninus, the son of Pollio, bornin the consulship of his father, after the taking of Salonæ, a city inDalmatia. Many of the verses are translated from one of theSibyls, who prophesied of our Saviour's birth.
The Poet celebrates the birth-day of Saloninus, the son of Pollio, bornin the consulship of his father, after the taking of Salonæ, a city inDalmatia. Many of the verses are translated from one of theSibyls, 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, prepareTo make the vocal woods deserve a consul's care.The last great age, foretold by sacred rhymes,Renews its finished course: Saturnian timesRoll round again; and mighty years, begunFrom 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 appointed race.}The father banished virtue shall restore,And crimes shall threat the guilty world no more.The son shall lead the life of gods, and beBy 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 crowned:The serpent's brood shall die; the sacred groundShall 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,Unlaboured harvests shall the fields adorn,And clustered 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 compassed round,And sharpened shares shall vex the fruitful ground;Another Tiphys shall new seas explore;Another Argo land the chiefs upon the Iberian shore;Another Helen other wars create,And great Achilles urge the Trojan fate.But when to ripened 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 unborrowed 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 sustainThe 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 appear.To sing thy praise, would heaven my breath prolong,Infusing spirits worthy such a song,Not Thracian Orpheus should transcend my lays,Nor Linus crowned 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 aboutThy infant eyes, and, with a smile, thy mother single out.[298]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.
Sicilian Muse, begin a loftier strain!Though lowly shrubs, and trees that shade the plain,Delight not all; Sicilian Muse, prepareTo make the vocal woods deserve a consul's care.The last great age, foretold by sacred rhymes,Renews its finished course: Saturnian timesRoll round again; and mighty years, begunFrom 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 appointed race.}The father banished virtue shall restore,And crimes shall threat the guilty world no more.The son shall lead the life of gods, and beBy 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 crowned:The serpent's brood shall die; the sacred groundShall 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,Unlaboured harvests shall the fields adorn,And clustered 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 compassed round,And sharpened shares shall vex the fruitful ground;Another Tiphys shall new seas explore;Another Argo land the chiefs upon the Iberian shore;Another Helen other wars create,And great Achilles urge the Trojan fate.But when to ripened 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 unborrowed 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 sustainThe 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 appear.To sing thy praise, would heaven my breath prolong,Infusing spirits worthy such a song,Not Thracian Orpheus should transcend my lays,Nor Linus crowned 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 aboutThy infant eyes, and, with a smile, thy mother single out.[298]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.
FOOTNOTES:[298]In Latin thus,Incipe, parve puer, risu cognoscere matrem, &c.I have translated the passage to this sense—that the infant, smiling on his mother, singles her out from the rest of the company about him. Erythræus, Bembus, and Joseph Scaliger, are of this opinion. Yet they and I may be mistaken; for, immediately after, we find these words,cui non risere parentes, which imply another sense, as if the parents smiled on the new-born infant; and that the babe on whom they vouchsafed not to smile, was born to ill fortune: for they tell a story, that, when Vulcan, the only son of Jupiter and Juno, came into the world, he was so hard-favoured, that both his parents frowned on him, and Jupiter threw him out of heaven: he fell on the island Lemnos, and was lame ever afterwards. The last line of the Pastoral seems to justify this sense:Nec Deus hunc mensâ, Dea nec dignata cubili est.For, though he married Venus, yet his mother Juno was not present at the nuptials to bless them; as appears by his wife's incontinence.They say also, that he was banished from the banquets of the gods. If so, that punishment could be of no long continuance;for Homer makes him present at their feasts, and composing a quarrel betwixt his parents, with a bowl of nectar. The matter is of no great consequence; and therefore I adhere to my translation, for these two reasons: first, Virgil has his following line,Matri longa decem tulerunt fastidia menses,as if the infant's smiling on his mother was a reward to her for bearing him ten months in her body, four weeks longer than the usual time. Secondly, Catullus is cited by Joseph Scaliger, as favouring this opinion, in his Epithalamium of Manlius Torquatus:Torquatus, volo, parvolus,Matris e gremio suæPorrigens teneras manus,Dulce rideat ad patrem, &c.What if I should steer betwixt the two extremes, and conclude, that the infant, who was to be happy, must not only smile on his parents, but also they on him? For Scaliger notes, that the infants who smiled not at their birth, were observed to be αγελαστοι, or sullen, (as I have translated it,) during all their life; and Servius, and almost all the modern commentators, affirm, that no child was thought fortunate, on whom his parents smiled not at his birth. I observe, farther, that the ancients thought the infant, who came into the world at the end of the tenth month, was born to some extraordinary fortune, good or bad. Such was the birth of the late prince of Condé's father, of whom his mother was not brought to bed, till almost eleven months were expired after his father's death; yet the college of physicians at Paris concluded he was lawfully begotten. My ingenious friend, Anthony Henley, Esq. desired me to make a note on this passage of Virgil; adding, (what I had not read,) that the Jews have been so superstitious, as to observe not only the first look or action of an infant, but also the first word which the parent, or any of the assistants, spoke after the birth; and from thence they gave a name to the child, alluding to it.
[298]In Latin thus,Incipe, parve puer, risu cognoscere matrem, &c.I have translated the passage to this sense—that the infant, smiling on his mother, singles her out from the rest of the company about him. Erythræus, Bembus, and Joseph Scaliger, are of this opinion. Yet they and I may be mistaken; for, immediately after, we find these words,cui non risere parentes, which imply another sense, as if the parents smiled on the new-born infant; and that the babe on whom they vouchsafed not to smile, was born to ill fortune: for they tell a story, that, when Vulcan, the only son of Jupiter and Juno, came into the world, he was so hard-favoured, that both his parents frowned on him, and Jupiter threw him out of heaven: he fell on the island Lemnos, and was lame ever afterwards. The last line of the Pastoral seems to justify this sense:Nec Deus hunc mensâ, Dea nec dignata cubili est.For, though he married Venus, yet his mother Juno was not present at the nuptials to bless them; as appears by his wife's incontinence.They say also, that he was banished from the banquets of the gods. If so, that punishment could be of no long continuance;for Homer makes him present at their feasts, and composing a quarrel betwixt his parents, with a bowl of nectar. The matter is of no great consequence; and therefore I adhere to my translation, for these two reasons: first, Virgil has his following line,Matri longa decem tulerunt fastidia menses,as if the infant's smiling on his mother was a reward to her for bearing him ten months in her body, four weeks longer than the usual time. Secondly, Catullus is cited by Joseph Scaliger, as favouring this opinion, in his Epithalamium of Manlius Torquatus:Torquatus, volo, parvolus,Matris e gremio suæPorrigens teneras manus,Dulce rideat ad patrem, &c.What if I should steer betwixt the two extremes, and conclude, that the infant, who was to be happy, must not only smile on his parents, but also they on him? For Scaliger notes, that the infants who smiled not at their birth, were observed to be αγελαστοι, or sullen, (as I have translated it,) during all their life; and Servius, and almost all the modern commentators, affirm, that no child was thought fortunate, on whom his parents smiled not at his birth. I observe, farther, that the ancients thought the infant, who came into the world at the end of the tenth month, was born to some extraordinary fortune, good or bad. Such was the birth of the late prince of Condé's father, of whom his mother was not brought to bed, till almost eleven months were expired after his father's death; yet the college of physicians at Paris concluded he was lawfully begotten. My ingenious friend, Anthony Henley, Esq. desired me to make a note on this passage of Virgil; adding, (what I had not read,) that the Jews have been so superstitious, as to observe not only the first look or action of an infant, but also the first word which the parent, or any of the assistants, spoke after the birth; and from thence they gave a name to the child, alluding to it.
[298]In Latin thus,
Incipe, parve puer, risu cognoscere matrem, &c.
I have translated the passage to this sense—that the infant, smiling on his mother, singles her out from the rest of the company about him. Erythræus, Bembus, and Joseph Scaliger, are of this opinion. Yet they and I may be mistaken; for, immediately after, we find these words,cui non risere parentes, which imply another sense, as if the parents smiled on the new-born infant; and that the babe on whom they vouchsafed not to smile, was born to ill fortune: for they tell a story, that, when Vulcan, the only son of Jupiter and Juno, came into the world, he was so hard-favoured, that both his parents frowned on him, and Jupiter threw him out of heaven: he fell on the island Lemnos, and was lame ever afterwards. The last line of the Pastoral seems to justify this sense:
Nec Deus hunc mensâ, Dea nec dignata cubili est.
For, though he married Venus, yet his mother Juno was not present at the nuptials to bless them; as appears by his wife's incontinence.They say also, that he was banished from the banquets of the gods. If so, that punishment could be of no long continuance;for Homer makes him present at their feasts, and composing a quarrel betwixt his parents, with a bowl of nectar. The matter is of no great consequence; and therefore I adhere to my translation, for these two reasons: first, Virgil has his following line,
Matri longa decem tulerunt fastidia menses,
as if the infant's smiling on his mother was a reward to her for bearing him ten months in her body, four weeks longer than the usual time. Secondly, Catullus is cited by Joseph Scaliger, as favouring this opinion, in his Epithalamium of Manlius Torquatus:
Torquatus, volo, parvolus,Matris e gremio suæPorrigens teneras manus,Dulce rideat ad patrem, &c.
Torquatus, volo, parvolus,Matris e gremio suæPorrigens teneras manus,Dulce rideat ad patrem, &c.
What if I should steer betwixt the two extremes, and conclude, that the infant, who was to be happy, must not only smile on his parents, but also they on him? For Scaliger notes, that the infants who smiled not at their birth, were observed to be αγελαστοι, or sullen, (as I have translated it,) during all their life; and Servius, and almost all the modern commentators, affirm, that no child was thought fortunate, on whom his parents smiled not at his birth. I observe, farther, that the ancients thought the infant, who came into the world at the end of the tenth month, was born to some extraordinary fortune, good or bad. Such was the birth of the late prince of Condé's father, of whom his mother was not brought to bed, till almost eleven months were expired after his father's death; yet the college of physicians at Paris concluded he was lawfully begotten. My ingenious friend, Anthony Henley, Esq. desired me to make a note on this passage of Virgil; adding, (what I had not read,) that the Jews have been so superstitious, as to observe not only the first look or action of an infant, but also the first word which the parent, or any of the assistants, spoke after the birth; and from thence they gave a name to the child, alluding to it.
ARGUMENT.
Mopsus and Menalcas, two very expert shepherds at a song, beginone by consent to the memory of Daphnis, who is supposed by thebest critics to represent Julius Cæsar. Mopsus laments his death;Menalcas proclaims his divinity; the whole eclogue consisting ofan elegy and an apotheosis.
Mopsus and Menalcas, two very expert shepherds at a song, beginone by consent to the memory of Daphnis, who is supposed by thebest critics to represent Julius Cæsar. Mopsus laments his death;Menalcas proclaims his divinity; the whole eclogue consisting ofan 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, intermixed with elms, have made?
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, intermixed with elms, have made?
MOPSUS.
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?
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?
MENALCAS.
Your merit and your years command the choice;Amyntas only rivals you in voice.
Your merit and your years command the choice;Amyntas only rivals you in voice.
MOPSUS.
What will not that presuming shepherd dare,Who thinks his voice with Phœbus may compare?
What will not that presuming shepherd dare,Who thinks his voice with Phœbus may compare?
MENALCAS.
Begin you first; if either Alcon's praise,Or dying Phyllis, have inspired your lays;If her you mourn, or Codrus you commend,Begin, and Tityrus your flock shall tend.
Begin you first; if either Alcon's praise,Or dying Phyllis, have inspired your lays;If her you mourn, or Codrus you commend,Begin, and Tityrus your flock shall tend.
MOPSUS.
Or shall I rather the sad verse repeat,Which on the beeches bark I lately writ?I writ, and sung betwixt. Now bring the swain,Whose voice you boast, and let him try the strain.
Or shall I rather the sad verse repeat,Which on the beeches bark I lately writ?I writ, and sung betwixt. Now bring the swain,Whose voice you boast, and let him try the strain.
MENALCAS.
Such as the shrub to the tall olive shows,Or the pale swallow to the blushing rose;Such is his voice, if I can judge aright,Compared to thine, in sweetness and in height.
Such as the shrub to the tall olive shows,Or the pale swallow to the blushing rose;Such is his voice, if I can judge aright,Compared to thine, in sweetness and in height.
MOPSUS.
No more, but sit and hear the promised lay;The gloomy grotto makes a doubtful day.The nymphs about the breathless body waitOf Daphnis, and lament his cruel fate.The trees and floods were witness to their tears;At length the rumour reached his mother's ears.The wretched parent, with a pious haste,Came running, and his lifeless limbs embraced.She sighed, she sobbed; 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 brinkOf running waters brought their herds to drink.The thirsty cattle, of themselves, abstainedFrom water, and their grassy fare disdained.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 dressed 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 swelled the teeming grain,Nor Phœbus 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 crowned,Now knotty burrs and thorns disgrace the ground.Come, shepherds, come, and strow with leaves the plain;Such funeral rites your Daphnis did ordain.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 fields' delight, the shepherds' love,Renowned on earth, and deified above;Whose flock excelled the fairest on the plains,But less than he himself surpassed the swains."
No more, but sit and hear the promised lay;The gloomy grotto makes a doubtful day.The nymphs about the breathless body waitOf Daphnis, and lament his cruel fate.The trees and floods were witness to their tears;At length the rumour reached his mother's ears.The wretched parent, with a pious haste,Came running, and his lifeless limbs embraced.She sighed, she sobbed; 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 brinkOf running waters brought their herds to drink.The thirsty cattle, of themselves, abstainedFrom water, and their grassy fare disdained.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 dressed 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 swelled the teeming grain,Nor Phœbus 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 crowned,Now knotty burrs and thorns disgrace the ground.Come, shepherds, come, and strow with leaves the plain;Such funeral rites your Daphnis did ordain.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 fields' delight, the shepherds' love,Renowned on earth, and deified above;Whose flock excelled the fairest on the plains,But less than he himself surpassed the swains."
MENALCAS.
O heavenly poet! such thy verse appears,So sweet, so charming to my ravished ears,As to the weary swain, with cares opprest,Beneath the sylvan shade, refreshing rest;As to the feverish traveller, when firstHe 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 laysAre 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.
O heavenly poet! such thy verse appears,So sweet, so charming to my ravished ears,As to the weary swain, with cares opprest,Beneath the sylvan shade, refreshing rest;As to the feverish traveller, when firstHe 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 laysAre 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.
MOPSUS.
How is my soul with such a promise raised!For both the boy was worthy to be praised,And Stimicon has often made me longTo hear, like him, so soft, so sweet a song.
How is my soul with such a promise raised!For both the boy was worthy to be praised,And Stimicon has often made me longTo hear, like him, so soft, so sweet a song.
MENALCAS.
Daphnis, the guest of heaven, with wondering 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 himself is crowned.}The wolf no longer prowls for nightly spoils,Nor bird's the springes fear, nor stags the toils;For Daphnis reigns above, and deals from thenceHis 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 hallowed altars we design;And two to thee, and two to Phœbus rise;On both is offered 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 thine.}In winter shall the genial feast be madeBefore the fire; by summer, in the shade.Damœtas shall perform the rites divine,And Lyctian Ægon in the song shall join.Alphesibœus, 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 given; and thouShalt hear, and shalt condemn thy suppliants to their vow.
Daphnis, the guest of heaven, with wondering 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 himself is crowned.}The wolf no longer prowls for nightly spoils,Nor bird's the springes fear, nor stags the toils;For Daphnis reigns above, and deals from thenceHis 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 hallowed altars we design;And two to thee, and two to Phœbus rise;On both is offered 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 thine.}In winter shall the genial feast be madeBefore the fire; by summer, in the shade.Damœtas shall perform the rites divine,And Lyctian Ægon in the song shall join.Alphesibœus, 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 given; and thouShalt hear, and shalt condemn thy suppliants to their vow.
MOPSUS.
What present, worth thy verse, can Mopsus find?Not the soft whispers of the southern wind,That play through trembling trees, delight me more;Nor murmuring billows on the sounding shore,Nor winding streams, that through the valley glide,And the scarce-covered pebbles gently chide.
What present, worth thy verse, can Mopsus find?Not the soft whispers of the southern wind,That play through trembling trees, delight me more;Nor murmuring billows on the sounding shore,Nor winding streams, that through the valley glide,And the scarce-covered pebbles gently chide.
MENALCAS.
Receive you first this tuneful pipe, the sameThat played my Corydon's unhappy flame;The same that sung Neæra's conquering eyes,And, had the judge been just, had won the prize.
Receive you first this tuneful pipe, the sameThat played my Corydon's unhappy flame;The same that sung Neæra's conquering eyes,And, had the judge been just, had won the prize.
MOPSUS.
Accept from me this sheep-hook in exchange;The handle brass, the knobs in equal range.Antigenes, with kisses, often tried}To beg this present, in his beauty's pride,}When youth and love are hard to be denied.}But what I could refuse to his request,Is yours unasked, for you deserve it best.
Accept from me this sheep-hook in exchange;The handle brass, the knobs in equal range.Antigenes, with kisses, often tried}To beg this present, in his beauty's pride,}When youth and love are hard to be denied.}But what I could refuse to his request,Is yours unasked, for you deserve it best.
ARGUMENT.
Two young shepherds, Chromis and Mnasylus, having been often promiseda 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, inwhich he describes the formation of the universe, and the original ofanimals, according to the Epicurean philosophy; and then runsthrough the most surprising transformations which have happenedin Nature since her birth. This Pastoral was designed as a complimentto Syron the Epicurean, who instructed Virgil and Varus inthe principles of that philosophy. Silenus acts as tutor, Chromis andMnasylus as the two pupils.[299]
Two young shepherds, Chromis and Mnasylus, having been often promiseda 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, inwhich he describes the formation of the universe, and the original ofanimals, according to the Epicurean philosophy; and then runsthrough the most surprising transformations which have happenedin Nature since her birth. This Pastoral was designed as a complimentto Syron the Epicurean, who instructed Virgil and Varus inthe principles of that philosophy. Silenus acts as tutor, Chromis andMnasylus as the two pupils.[299]
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 feedMy fattening flocks, nor dare beyond the reed.Admonished thus, while every pen preparesTo 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 disdainThese 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 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,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 findA 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 throngOf 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 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 Phœbus; and the woodWhere 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 artsWith 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 godHad 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.
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 feedMy fattening flocks, nor dare beyond the reed.Admonished thus, while every pen preparesTo 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 disdainThese 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 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,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 findA 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 throngOf 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 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 Phœbus; and the woodWhere 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 artsWith 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 godHad 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.