Or, the THIRD IDYLLIUM OF THEOCRITUS, Paraphrased.
O Amaryllis love compels my way,
My browzing goats upon the mountains fray :
O Tityrus, tend them well, and fee them fed
In paftures fresh, and to their watering led;
And 'ware the ridgling with his budding head.
Ah beauteous nymph! can you forget your love,
The confcious grottos, and the shady grove;
Where ftretch'd at ease your tender limbs were laid,
Your nameless beauties nakedly display'd?
Then I was call'd your darling, your defire,
With kiffes fuch as fet my foul on fire:
But you are chang'd, yet I am still the fame ;
My heart maintains for both a double flame;
Griev'd, but unmov'd, and patient of your fcorn:
So faithful I, and you so much forfworn!
I die, and death will finish all my pain;
Yet, ere I die, behold me once again :
Am I fo much deform'd, fo chang'd of late?
What partial judges are our love and hate!
Ten wildings have I gather'd for my dear;
How ruddy like your lips their ftreaks appear!
Far-off you view'd them with a longing eye
Upon the topmoft branch (the tree was high):
Yet nimbly up, from bough to bough I fwerv'd,
And for to-morrow have ten more referv'd.
Look on me kindly, and fome pity fhew,
Or give me leave at least to look on you.
Some God transform me by his heav'nly pow'r
Ev'n to a bee to buzz within your bow'r,
The winding ivy-chaplet to invade,
And folded fern that your fair forehead fhade.
Now to my coft the force of love I find;
The heavy hand it bears on human kind.
The milk of tigers was his infant food,
Taught from his tender years the taste of blood;
His brother whelps and he ran wild about the wood.
Ah nymph, train'd up in his tyrannic court,
To make the fufferings of your slaves your sport !
Unheeded ruin! treacherous delight!
O polish'd hardness soften'd to the fight!
Whofe radiant eyes your ebon brows adorn,
Like midnight thofe, and thefe like break of morn!
Smile once again, revive me with your charms ;
And let me die contented in your arms.
I would not ask to live another day,
Might I but sweetly kifs my foul away.
Ah, why am I from empty joys debarr'd?
For kiffes are but empty when compar'd.
I rave, and in my raging fit shall tear
The garland, which I wove for you to wear,
Of parfly, with a wreath of ivy bound,
And border'd with a rofy edging round.
What pangs I feel, unpity'd and unheard!
Since I muft die, why is my fate deferr'd!
I ftrip my body of my fhepherd's frock
Behold that dreadful downfal of a rock,
Where yon old fifher views the waves from high!
"Tis that convenient leap I mean to try.
You would be pleas'd to fee me plunge to fhore,
But better pleas'd if I fhould rife no more.
I might have read my fortune long ago,
When, feeking my fuccefs in love to know,
I try'd th' infallible prophetic way,
A poppy-leaf upon my palm to lay:
I ftruck, and yet no lucky crack did follow;
Yet I ftruck hard, and yet the leaf lay hollow:
And which was worse, if any worfe could prove,
The with'ring leaf forefhew'd your with'ring love.
Yet farther (ah, how far a lover dares!)
My laft recourfe I had to fieve and sheers;
And told the witch Agreo my disease:
Agreo, that in harvest us'd to leafe:
But harvest done, to chare-work did aspire;
Meat, drink, and two-pence was her daily hire,
To work fhe went, her charms fhe mutter'd o'er,
And yet the refty fieve wagg'd ne'er the more;
I wept for woe, the testy beldame swore,
And, foaming with her God, foretold my fate;
That I was doom'd to love, and you to hate.
A milk-white goat for you I did provide ;
Two milk-white kids run frifking by her fide,
For which the nut-brown lafs, Erithacis,
Full often offer'd many a favoury kifs.
Hers they fhall be, fince you refuse the price :
What madman would o'erftand his market twice!
My right eye itches, fome good-luck is near,
Perhaps my Amaryllis may appear;
I'll fet up fuch a note as the shall hear.
What nymph but my melodious voice would move?
She must be flint, if she refuse my love.
Hippomenes, who ran with noble ftrife
To win his lady, or to lofe his life,
(What shift fome men will make to get a wife ?)
Threw down a golden apple in her way;
For all her hafte fhe could not choose but stay:
Renown faid, Run; the glitt'ring bribe cry'd, Hold;
The man might have been hang'd, but for his gold.
Yet fome fuppofe 'twas love (fome few indeed)
That ftopt the fatal fury of her speed:
She faw, the figh'd; her nimble feet refuse
Their wonted fpeed, and fhe took pains to lofe.
A Prophet fome, and fome a Poet cry,
(No matter which, fo neither of them lye)
From steepy Othry's top to Pylus drove
His herd; and for his pains enjoy'd his love:
If fuch another wager fhould be laid,
I'll find the man, if you can find the maid.
Why name I men, whom love extended finds
His pow'r on high, and in cœleftial minds;
Venus the fhepherd's homely habit took,
And manag'd fomething else befides the crook ;
Nay, when Adonis dy'd, was heard to roar,
And never from her heart forgave the boar,
How bleft was fair Endymion with his moon,
Who fleeps on Latmos' top from night to noon!
What Jafon from Medea's love poffeft,
You fhall not hear, but know 'tis like the reft.
My aking head can scarce fupport the pain;
This curfed love will furely turn my brain
Feel how it fhoots, and yet you take no pity;
Nay then 'tis time to end my doleful ditty.
A clammy sweat does o'er my temples creep;
My heavy eyes are urg'd with iron fleep:
I lay me down to gafp my latest breath,
The wolves will get a breakfast by my death;
Yet fcarce enough their hunger to fupply,
For love has made me carrion ere I die,
The EPITHALAMIUM Of HELEN
and MENELAUS.
From the 18th Idyllium of THEOCRITUS.
Welve Spartan virgins, noble, young, and fair, With violet wreaths adorn'd their flowing hair; And to the pompous palace did resort,
Where Menelaus kept his royal court.
Their hand in hand a comely choir they led;
To fing a bleffing to his nuptial bed,
With curious needles wrought, and painted flowers befpread.
Jove's beauteous daughter now his bride must be,
And Jove himself was lefs a God than he :
For this their artful hands inftruct the lute to found,
Their feet affift their hands, and justly beat the ground.
This was their fong: Why, happy bridegroom, why,
Ere yet the ftars are kindled in the sky,
Ere twilight shades, or evening dews are fhed,
Why dost thou steal fo foon away to bed?
Has Somnus brush'd thy eye-lids with his rod,
Or do thy legs refuse to bear their load,
With flowing bowls of a more generous God?
If gentle flumber on thy temples creep,
(But, naughty man, thou dost not mean to fleep)
Betake thee to thy bed, thou drowzy drone,
Sleep by thyself, and leave thy bride alone:
Go, leave her with her maiden mates to play
At fports more harmless till the break of day:
Give us this evening; thou haft morn and night,
And all the year before thee, for delight.
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