As to tir'd fwains soft slumbers on the grass;
As fresheft fprings that through green meadows pass,
To one that 's parch'd with thirst and summer's heat.
In thee thy mafter does his equal meet:
Whether your voice you try, or tune your reed,
Bleft fwain, 'tis you alone can him fucceed!
Yet, as I can, I in return will fing:
I too thy Daphnis to the stars will bring,
I too thy Daphnis to the stars, with you,
Will raife, for Daphnis lov'd Manalcas too.
Is there a thing that I could more defire ?
For neither can there be a subject higher,
Nor, if the praise of Stimichon be true,
Can it be better fung than 'tis by you?
Daphnis now, wondering at the glorious fhow, Through heaven's bright pavement does triumphant
And fees the moving clouds, and the fix'd ftars below: ̧
Therefore new joys make glad the woods, the plains,
Pan and the Dryads, and the chearful swains :
The wolf no ambush for the flock does lay,
No cheating nets the harmless deer betray,
Daphnis a general peace commands, and Nature does obey.
Hark! the glad mountains raife to heaven their voice!
Hark! the hard rocks in myftic tunes rejoice!
Hark! through the thickets wondrous fongs refound,
A God! A God! Menalcas, he is crown'd!
O be propitious! O be good to thine!
See here four hallow'd altars we design,
To Daphnis two, to Phoebus two we raise,
To pay the yearly tribute of our praise :
Sacred to thee, they each returning year
Two bowls of milk and two of oil fhall bear :
Feafts I'll ordain, and to thy deathless praise
Thy votaries' exalted thoughts to raise,
Rich Chian wines fhall in full goblets flow,
And give a taste of Nectar here below.
Damætas fhall with Lictian Ægon join,
To celebrate with fongs the rites divine.
Alphifibæus with a reeling gait
Shall the wild Satyrs' dancing imitate.
When to the nymphs we vows and offerings pay,
When we with folemn rites our fields furvey,
Thefe honours ever fhall be thine: the boar
Shall in the fields and hills delight no more ;
No more in ftreams the fish, in flowers the bee,
Ere, Daphnis, we forget our fongs to thee:
Offerings to thee the fhepherds every year
Shall, as to Bacchus and to Ceres, bear:
To thee, as to those Gods, shall vows be made,
And vengeance wait on those by whom they are not paid.
What prefent worth thy verfe can Mopfus find?
Not the soft whispers of the Southern wind
So much delight my ear, or charm my mind ;
Not founding fhores beat by the murmuring tide,
Nor rivers that through ftony vallies glide.
Firft you this pipe fhall take; and 'tis the fame
That play'd poor Corydon's
unhappy flame : The same that taught me Melibæus' † sheep.
You then shall for my fake this fheephook keep,
Adorn'd with brafs, which I have oft deny'd
To young Antigenes in his beauty's pride:
And who could think he then in vain could fue?
Yet him I would deny, and freely give it you.
Copy of Verfes made by himself on the last Copy in his Book ‡.
WHEN fhame, for all my foolish youth had writ,
Advis'd 'twas time the rhyming trade to quit,
Time to grow wife, and be no more a wit--
The noble fire, that animates thy age,
Once more inflam'd me with poetic rage.
Kings, heroes, nymphs, the brave, the fair, the young Have been the theme of thy immortal fong:
A nobler argument at last thy Muse,
Two things Divine, Thee and Herfelf, does chufe.
*Virg. Ecl. ii.
See Waller's Poems.
Age, whose dull weight makes vulgar spirits bend,
Gives wings to thine, and bids it upward tend :
No more confin'd, above the starry skies,
Out from the body's broken cage it flies.
But, oh! vouchfafe, not wholly to retire,
To join with and compleat th' etherial choir!
Still here remain; ftill on the threshold stand;
Still at this diftance view the promis'd land;
Though thou may'st seem, so heavenly is thy fenfe.
Not going thither, but new come from thence.
FTER the fierceft pangs of hot defire,
Between Panthea's rifing breasts
His bending breaft Philander rests;
Though vanquifh'd, yet unknowing to retire :
Clofe hugs the charmer, and afham'd to yield,
Though he has loft the day, yet keeps the field.
When, with a figh, the fair Panthea faid,
What pity 'tis, ye gods, that all
The nobleft warriors fooneft fall!
Then with a kiss she gently rear'd his head;
Arm'd him again to fight, for nobly fhe
More lov'd the combat than the victory.
But, more enrag'd for being beat before,
With all his strength he does prepare
More fiercely to renew the war;
Nor ceas'd he till the noble prize he bore:
Ev'n her fuch wondrous courage did furprize;
She hugs the dart that wounded her, and dies.
HROUGH mournful fhades, and folitary groves,
Fann'd with the fighs of unsuccessful loves,
Wild with defpair, young Thyrfis ftrays,
Thinks over all Amyra's heavenly charms,
Thinks he now fees her in another's arms;
Then at fome willow's root himfelf he lays,
The lovelieft, moft unhappy fwain;
And thus to the wild woods he does complain:
How art thou chang'd, O Thyrfis, fince the time:
When thou could'st love and hope without a crime;
When Nature's pride and Earth's delight,
As through her fhady evening grove the past,
And a new day did all around her caft,
Could fee, nor be offended at the fight,
The melting, fighing, wishing swain,
That now muft never hope to wifh again!
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