VIRGIL'S LAST ECLOGUE TRANSLATED, OR RATHER, IMITATED, at the Desire OF My LADY GIFFARD.
ONE Labour more, O
Arethusa, yield
Before I leave the Shepherds and the Field:
Some Verses to my
Gallus e'er we part,
Such as may one day break
Lycoris Heart
[Page 2] As She did his. Who can refuse a Song
To one that lov'd so well, and dy'd so young!
So maist thou thy belov'd
Alpheus please,
When thou creep'st under the
Sicanian Seas.
Begin and sing
Gallus's, unhappy fires,
Whilst yonder Goat to yonder branch aspires
Out of his reach. We sing not to the deaf;
An answer comes from every trembling Leaf.
What Woods, what Forests had intic'd your stay,
Ye
Nayades, why came ye not away!
When
Gallus dy'd by an unworthy flame
Parnassus knew, and lov'd too well his name
To stop your course; nor could your hasty flight
Be staid by
Pindus which was his delight.
Him the fresh Laurels, Him the lowly Heath
Bewail'd with dewy tears; his parting breath
Made lofty
Maenalus hang his piny head;
Lycaean Marbles wept when he was dead.
[Page 3] Under a lonely Tree he lay and pin'd,
His Flock about him
[...]eeding on the Wind
As he on Love; such kind and gentle Sheep
The fair
Adonis would be proud to keep.
There came the Shepherds, there the weary Hinds,
Thither
Menalcas parcht with Frost and Winds.
All ask him whence, for whom this fatal love
Apollo came his Arts and Herbs to prove.
Why
Gallus? why so fond? He says; thy flame,
Thy care,
Lycoris, is another's game;
For him she sighs and raves, him she pursues
Through mid days heats, and through the morning dews;
Over the snowy cliffs and frozen streams,
Through noisy Camps. Up
Gallus, leave thy dreams,
She has left thee. Still lay the drooping Swain
Hanging his mournfull head,
Phoebus in vain
Offers his Herbs, employs his counsel here;
'Tis all refus'd, or answer'd with a tear.
[Page 4] What shakes the branches! what makes all the trees
Begin to bow their heads, the Goats their knees!
Oh! 'tis
Sylvanus with his mossy beard
And leafy crown, attended by a herd
Of Wood-born Satyrs; see! he shakes his Spear,
A green young Oak the tallest of the year.
Pan the
Arcadian god forsook the plains,
Mov'd with the story of his
Gallus pains.
We saw him come with Oaten pipe in hand
Painted with Berries-juice; we saw him stand
And gaze upon his Shepherds bathing Eyes;
And what, no end, no end of grief he cries!
Love, little minds all thy consuming care,
Or restless thoughts, they are his daily fare.
Nor cruel Love with tears, nor grass with show'rs
Nor Goats with tender sprouts, nor Bees with flow'rs
Are ever satisfi'd. So said the god,
And toucht the Shepherd with his hazle rod:
[Page 5] He, sorrow-slain, seem'd to revive, and said,
But yet
Arcadians is my grief allay'd,
To think that in these Woods, and Hills, and Plains,
When I am silent in the grave, your Swains
Shall sing my loves,
Arcadian Swains inspir'd
By
Phoebus; Oh! how gently shall these tir'd
And fainting Limbs repose in endless sleep,
Whilst your sweet Notes my Love immortal keep!
Would it had pleas'd the Gods I had been born
Just one of you, and taught to wind a Horn,
Or weild a Hook, or prune a branching Vine,
And known no other Love but,
Phillis, thine;
Or thine,
Amyntas; What though both are brown,
So are the Nuts and Berries on the Down;
Amongst the Vines, the Willows, and the Springs,
Phillis makes Garlands, and
Amyntas sings.
No cruel Absence calls my Love away
Farther than bleating Sheep can go astray.
[Page 6] Here, my
Lycoris, here are shady groves,
Here Fountains cool, and Meadows soft, our lvoes
And lives may here together wear and end:
O the true joys of such a fate and friend!
I now am hurried by severe commands
Into remotest parts, among the bands
Of armed Troops; there by my foes pursu'd,
Here by my friends; but still by love subdu'd.
Thou far from home, and me, art wandring o'er
The
Alpine snows, the farthest Western shore,
The frozen
Rhine. When are we like to meet?
Ah gently, gently, lest thy tender feet
Be cut with Ice. Cover thy lovely armes;
The Northern cold relents not at their charms:
Away I'll go into some shady bow'rs,
And sing the songs I made in happy hours;
And charm my woes. How can I better chuse,
Than among wildest Woods my self to lose,
[Page 7] And carve our loves upon the tender Trees,
There they will thrive? See how my love agrees
With the young plants: look how they grow together
In spight of absence, and in spight of weather.
Mean while I'll climb that Rock, and ramble o'er
Yon woody Hill; I'll chase the grizly Boar,
I'll find
Diana's and her Nymphs resort;
No frosts, no storms shall slack my eager sport.
Methinks I'm wandring all about the rocks
And hollow sounding woods: look how my locks
Are torn with boughs and thorns! My shafts are gone
My legs are tir'd, and all my sport is done,
Alas! this is no cure for my disease;
Nor can our toyls that cruel god appease.
Now neither Nymphs, nor Songs can please me more,
Nor hollow Woods, nor yet the chafed Boar:
No sport, no labour, can divert my grief:
Without
Lycoris there is no relief.
[Page 8] Though I should drink up
Heber's icy streams,
Or
Scythian snows, yet still her fiery beams
Would scorch me up. Whatever we can prove,
Love conquers all, and we must yield to Love.
VIRGIL'S O Fortunati, &c. TRANSLATED, OR RATHER, IMITATED, upon the Desire OF My LADY TEMPLE.
O Happy Swains, if their own good they knew!
Whom far from jarring Arms the just and due
[Page 10] Returns of well fraught fields, with easie fare
Supply, and chearfull Heavens with healthy air:
What though no aged title grace the stock?
What though no Troops of early Waiters flock
To the proud Gates, and with officious fear
First beg the Porter's, then the Master's ear?
What though no stately Pile amuse the eye
Of every gazer? Though no scarlet dye
Stain the soft native whiteness of the wool,
Nor greedy Painter ever rob the full
Untainted bowls of liquid Olives juice
Destin'd for Altars, and for Tables use;
Though the bright dawn of Gold be not begun,
And nothing shine about the House but Sun;
Yet secure peace reward of harmless life,
Yet various sorts of Treasures free from strife
Or envy, careless leisure, spatious plains,
Cool shades and flow'ry walks along the veins
[Page 11] Of branched streams, yet soft and fearless sleep
Amidst the tender bleating of the sheep
Want not; There hollow gloomy groves appear,
And wilder Thickets, where the staring Deer
Dare close their Eyes. There Youth to homely fare,
And patient labour, Age to chearfull care
Accustom'd, Sacred rights, and humble fear
Of Gods above, Fair Truth and Justice there
Trod their last footsteps when they left the earth,
Which to a Thousand mischiefs gave a birth.
For me the Muses are my first desire,
Whose gentle favour can with holy fire,
Guide to great Nature's deep mysterious Cells
Through paths untrac'd, 'tis the chaste Muse that tells
Poor groveling mortals how the Stars above
Some keep their Station some unwearied move
[Page 12] Through the vast azure plains, and what obscures
The mid-day Sun, how the faint Moon endures
So many changes, and so many fears
As by the paleness of her face appears.
What shakes the bowels of the groaning earth,
What gives the Thunder, what the Hail a birth,
Why the winds sometimes whistle, sometimes rore,
What makes the raging waves now brave it o'er
The tow'ring Cliffs, now calmly backwards creep
Into the spatious bosome of the deep.
But if cold blood about my heart shall damp
This noble heat of rifling Nature's Camp,
Then give me shady groves, and purling streams
And airy downs, Then far from scorching beams
Of envy, noise, or Cities busie fry,
Careless and nameless let me live and dye.
Oh where! where are the fields, the waving veins
Of gentle mounts amidst the smoother Plains?
[Page 13] The Nymphs fair Walks, Oh! for the shady Vale
Of some proud Hill, some fresh reviving gale;
Oh who will lead me? Whither shall I run,
To find the Woods, and shrowd me from the Sun?
Happy the man that Gods and causes knows,
Nature's and Reasons Laws, that scorns the blows
Of fate or chance, lives without smiles or tears,
Above fond hopes, above distracting fears.
Happy the Swain that knows no higher powers
Than
Pan, or old
Sylvanus, and the bowers
Of rural Nymphs so oft by Satyrs griev'd
(All this unseen perhaps, but well believ'd)
Him move not Princes frowns, nor Peoples heats,
Nor faithless civil jars, nor foreign threats;
Not
Rome's affairs, nor transitory Crowns,
The fall of Princes, or the rise of Clowns,
All's one to him; nor grieves he at the sad
Events he hears, nor envies at the glad.
[Page 14] What fruits the laden boughs, the willing fields;
What pleasures Innocence and Freedom yields,
He safely gathers, neither skills the feat
Of Arms, or Laws, nor labours, but to eat.
Some rove through unknown Seas with swelling Sails;
Some wait on Courts and the uncertain gales
Of Princes favour; others led by charms
Of greedy Honour, follow fatal Arms.
Some mount the Pulpit, others ply the bar,
And make the arts of Peace the arts of War.
One hugs his brooding bags, and feels the woe
He fears, and treats himself worse than his foe.
Another breaks the banks, lets all run out
But to be talkt and gaz'd on by the rout.
Some sow Sedition, blow up civil broils,
And venture Exile, Death, and endless toils,
Onely to sleep in Scarlet, drink in Gold,
Though other fair pretences may be told.
[Page 15] Mean while the Swain rises at early dawn,
And turns his fallow, or breaks up the lawn
With crooked Plough, buries the hopefull grain,
Folds his lov'd flock, and lays a wily Train
For their old foe; prunes the luxurious Vine,
Pleas'd with the thoughts of the next Winters Wine:
Visits the lowing Herd, these for the pale,
Those for the yoke designs, the rest for sale:
Each season of the sliding year his pains
Divides, each season shares his equal gains.
The youthfull
Spring scatters the tender Lambs
About the fields; the parching
Summer crambs
His spatious barns;
Bacchus the
Autumn crowns;
And fair
Pomona; when the
Winter frowns
And curls his rugged brow with hoary frost,
Then are his feasts, then thoughts and cares are lost
In friendly Bowls, then he receives the hire
Of his years labour by a chearfull fire.
[Page 16] Or else abroad he tries the arts and toils
Of War, with trusty Dog, and Spear, he foils
The grizly Boar, with Traps, and Trains, and Nets,
The greedy Wolf, the wily Fox besets.
At home he leaves, at home he finds a Wife
Sharer of all that's good or bad in life;
Prudent and chast, yet gentle, easie, kind,
Much in his eye, and always of his mind;
He feeds no others children for his own;
These have his kisses, these his cares; he's known
Little abroad, and less desires to know;
Friend to himself, to no man else a foe.
Easie his labours, harmless are his plays.
Just are his deeds, healthy, and long his days:
His end nor wisht nor fear'd; he knows no odds
'Tween life and death, but e'en as please the gods.
Among such Swains
Saturn the Sceptre bore;
Such customs made the golden age, before
[Page 17] Trumpets were heard, or Swords seen to decide
Quarrels of Lust, or Avarice, or Pride;
Or cruel men began to stain their feasts
With bloud and slaughter of poor harmless beasts;
Thus liv'd the ancient
Sabines, thus the bold
Etrurians, so renown'd and fear'd of old.
Thus
Romulus, and thus auspicious
Rome
From slender low beginnings, by the doom
Of fates, to such prodigious greatness came,
Bounded by Heav'ns, and Seas, and vaster fame.
But hold! for why the Country Swain alone
Though he be blest, cares not to have it known.
The first of HORACE HIS SERMONS: BEING A Translation, or rather, Imitation of his Way of WRITING, Upon the Desire of My LADY TEMPLE, AND My LADY GIFFARD.
HOw is't,
Mecenas, that no man abides
The lot which Reason gives, or Chance divides
[Page 19] To his own share? Still praises others stars:
Oh happy Merchants! Broken with the Wars
And Age, the Soldier cries. On t'other side
When the Ship's tost by raging winds and tide,
Happy the Wars! There in an hour one dyes
Or conquers, the repining Merchant cryes.
The Lawyer past the fear of being poor,
When early Clients taber at his door,
And break his sleep, forgets his easie gains
And mutters, Oh how blest are Country Swains,
Their time's their own! But when th'unpractis'd Clown
Summon'd by Writ enters the busie Town,
Ev'ry man's prey or jest he meets; oh curst
His hap, he cries, in fields so rudely nurst.
The rest of the same kind would make a Theam
As long and tedious as a Winter's dream;
But to dispatch, if any God shall say
Your Vows are heard, each has his wish, away,
[Page 20] Change all your stations, Soldier go and trade,
Merchant go fight, Lawyer come take the Spade
And Plough in hand; Farmer put on the Gown,
Learn to be civil, and leave off the Clown.
Why what d'ye mean good Sirs! make haste, you'll find
Hardly one God another time so kind.
Soft, and consider, they all stand and stare,
Like what they would be, worse than what they are.
Well, this is mirth, and 'tis confest, though few
Can tell me what forbids jests to be true,
Or gentle Masters to invite their Boys
To spell and learn at first with Plumbs and toys.
But to grow serious, He that follows Arms,
Physick, or Laws, thriving by others harms,
The fawning Host and he that sweats at Plough,
Th'adventrous Merchant, all agree and vow
Their end's the same, they labour and they care
Onely that rest and ease may be their share
[Page 21] When they grow old, and have secur'd the main;
Just so we see the wise and heedfull train
Of busie Ants in restless journeys spend
The Summer-months to gather and to mend
Their little heap, foreseeing Winter's rage,
And in their Youth carefull to store their Age.
But when it comes, they snug at home, and share
The fruits in plenty of their common care.
A Council safe, and wise; when neither fire,
Nor Sea, nor frost, nor steel tames thy desire
Of endless gain, whilst there is any can
So much as tell thee of one richer man.
Where is the pleasure with a tim'rous hand
And heart, to bury treasures in the sand?
Who would be rich must never touch the bank;
You rout an Army if you break a rank.
But if ne'er toucht, what helps the sacred heap
Of hidden Gold? thy sweaty Hinds may reap
[Page 22] Large fields of Corn, and fill whole tuns with Wine;
But yet thy Belly holds no more than mine.
So the tann'd Slave that's made perhaps to stoop
Under the whole Provisions of the Troop,
Upon their way, alas, eats no more bread
Than he that carried none upon his head.
Or tell me what 'timports the man that lives
Within the narrow bounds that Nature gives
To plough a Hundred or a Thousand fields?
Oh! but to draw from a great heap that yields
More than is askt, is pleasant sure: But why,
If mine, though little, gives me more than I
Or you can use, where is the difference?
Why is your fortune better or your sense?
As if some Traveller, upon his way
Wanting one quart of water to allay
His raging thirst, should scorn a little Spring
And seek a River, 'twere a pleasant thing:
[Page 23] And what comes on't, that such as covet more
Than what they need, perhaps are tumbled o'er
Into the stream by failing banks, whilst he
That onely wants what can't be spar'd is free,
And drinking at the Spring, nor water fears
Troubled with mud, nor mingled with his tears.
Yet most men say, by false desire misled,
Nothing's enough, because you're valued
Just so much as you have. What shall one say
Or doe to such a man? Bid him away
And be as wretched as he please himself
Whilst he so fondly dotes on dirty pelf.
A sordid rich
Athenian, to allay
The scorn of all the Peoples Tongues, would say,
They hiss me, but I hug my self at home,
While I among my endless treasures rome.
Tantalus catches at the flying streams
That still beguile him like a Lover's dreams.
[Page 24] Why dost thou laugh? Of thee the Fable's told,
Thou that art plunged in thy heaps of Gold,
And gazest on them with such wakefull Eyes,
And greedy thoughts, yet dar'st not touch the prize
No more than if't were sacred, or enjoy'd
Like Pictures which with handling are destroy'd.
Dost thou not know what mony's worth? what use
It yields? let bread be bought, and chearfull juice
Of grapes, warm easie clothes, and wood to burn,
As much of all as serves kind Nature's turn.
Or else go spend thy nights in broken dreams
Of Thieves or Fire, by day try all extreams
Of pinching Cold and Hunger, make thy fare
Of watchfull thoughts, and heart-consuming care.
Are these thy Treasures! these thy Goods! May I
In want of all such riches live and dye.
But if thy Body shakes with aguish cold,
Or burns with raging fevers, or grows old
[Page 25] Betimes with unkind usage, thou art sped
With friends and Servants that surround thy bed,
Make broaths, and beg Physicians to restore
A health now so bewail'd, so lov'd before
By all thy dear Relations. Wretched man!
Neither thy Wife, nor Child, nor Servant can
Endure thou shouldst recover; all the Boys
And Girls, thy Neighbours hate thee, make a noise
To break thy sleeps, and dost thou wonder, when
Thou lov'st thy Gold far above Gods or Men?
Canst thou teach others love, thy self have none?
Thou maist as well get Children all alone.
Then let there be some end of gain; the more
Thou dost possess, the less fear to be poor.
And end thy labour when thou hast attain'd
What first thou hadst in aim, nor be arraign'd
Like base
Vmidius who was wont to mete
His Money as his Neighbours did their Wheat,
[Page 26] By Bushels; yet a Wretch to such degree
That he was cloath'd and sed as beggarly
As the worst Slave, and to his very last
His fear of downright starving ne'er was past;
But as the Gods would have it, a brave Trull
He kept, with a plain Hatchet cleft his skull.
What is your counsel then, I pray, to swill
Like
Nomentanus, or like
Maenius still
To pinch and cark? Why go'st thou on to join
Things so directly opposite? 'Tis fine,
And does become thee, if I bid thee flye
The Prodigal, a Miser thou must dye:
Nor one nor t'other like my counsel sounds,
There is a mean in things, and certain bounds,
Short or beyond the which the truth and right
Cannot consist, nor long remain in sight.
But to return from whence I parted, where
Is there one Miser does content appear
[Page 27] With what he is or has, and does not hate
His own, or envy at his Neighbour's Fate?
Never regards the endless swarm of those
That so much poorer are, but still outgoes
The next, and then the next, when he is past,
Meeting still one or other stops his hast.
Like a fierce Rider in a numerous Race
That starts and spurs it on with eager pace,
While there is one before him, vext in mind,
But scorning all that he has left behind.
Hence comes it that so seldome one is found
Who says his Life has happy been and sound;
And having fairly measur'd out the span
Of posting-age, dyes a contented man;
Or rises from the Table like a Guest
That e'en has fill'd his belly at the feast.
ODE VII.
THE Snows are melted all away,
The Fields grow flow'ry, green and gay,
The Trees put out their tender leaves,
And all the streams that went astray,
The Brook again into her bed receives.
See! the whole Earth has made a change,
The Nymphs and Graces naked range
About the fields, who shrunk before
Into their Caves. The empty Grange
Prepares its room for a new Summer's store.
Lest thou shouldst hope immortal things,
The changing year Instruction brings,
[Page 29] The fleeting hour that steals away
The Beggar's time, and life of Kings,
But ne'er returns them as it does the day.
The cold grows soft with Western gales,
The
Summer over
Spring prevails,
But yields to
Autumn's fruitfull rain,
As this to
Winter-storms and hails,
Each loss the hasting Moons repair again.
But we when once our race is done,
With
Tullus and
Anchises Son,
(Though rich like one, like t'other good)
To dust and shades without a Sun
Descend, and sink in deep Oblivions flood.
Who knows if the kind Gods will give
Another day to men that live
[Page 30] In hope of many distant years,
Or if one night more shall retrieve
The joys thou losest by thy idle fears?
The pleasant hours thou spend'st in health,
The use thou mak'st of youth and Wealth,
As what thou giv'st among thy friends
Escapes thy heirs, so those the stealth
Of Time and Death, where good and evil ends.
For when that comes, nor Birth, nor Fame,
Nor Piety, nor Honest Name,
Can e'er restore thee.
Theseus bold,
Nor chast
Hippolitus could tame
Devouring Fate, that spares nor young nor old.
ODE XIII.
WHen thou commend'st the lovely Eyes
Of
Telephus, that for thee dyes,
His armes of wax, his neck, or hair,
Oh! how my heart begins to beat,
My Spleen is swell'd with gall and heat,
And all my hopes are turn'd into despair.
Then both my mind and colour change,
My jealous thoughts about me range
In twenty shapes; my Eyes begin
Like Winter-springs apace to fill;
The stealing drops, as from a Still,
Fall down, and tell what fires I feel within.
[Page 32] When his reproaches make thee cry,
And thy fresh cheeks with paleness die.
I burn to think you will be friends;
When his rough hand thy bosom strips,
Or his fierce kisses tear thy lips,
I dye to see how all such quarrel ends.
Ah never hope a youth to hold
So haughty, and in love so bold,
What can him tame in anger keep?
Whom all his fondness can't assuage,
Who even kisses turns to rage
Which
Venus does in her own
Nectar steep.
Thrice happy they whose gentle hearts,
Till death it self their union parts,
[Page 33] An undisturbed kindness holds,
Without complaints or jealous fears,
Without reproach or spited tears,
Which damp the kindest heats with sullen colds.
UPON M RS. Philipp's DEATH: Made at the Desire of My LADY TEMPLE.
WHY all these looks so solemn and so sad!
Who is that one can dye, and none be glad!
The Rich leaves Heirs, the Great makes room, the Wise
Pleases the foolish onely when he dyes.
Men so divided are in hopes and fears,
That none can live or dye with gen'ral tears;
[Page 35] 'Tis sure some Star is fallen, and our hearts
Grow heavy as its gentle influence parts.
Thus said I, and like others hung my head,
When streight 'twas whisper'd 'tis
Orinda's dead:
Orinda! what! the glory of our Stage!
Crown of her Sex, and wonder of the Age!
Gracefull and fair in body and in mind,
She that taught sullen Vertue to be kind,
Youth to be wise, Mirth to be innocent,
Fame to be steddy, Envy to relent;
Love to be cool, and Friendship to be warm,
Praise to do good, and Wit to do no harm!
Orinda! that was sent the World to give
The best example how to write and live!
The Queen of Poets, whosoe'er's the King,
And to whose Sceptre all their homage bring!
Who more than Men conceiv'd and understood,
And more than Women knew how to be good.
[Page 36] Who learnt all young that age could e'er attain,
Excepting onely to be proud and vain;
And made alone so rich amends for all
The faults her Sex committed since the fall,
Can she be dead! Can any thing be great
And safe! Can day advance and not retreat
Into the shady night! But she was young
And might have liv'd to
[...] the World, and sung
Us all asleep that now lament her fall,
And fate unjust, Heav'n unrelenting call.
Alas! can any fruit grow ripe in Spring,
And hang till Autumn? Nature gives this sting
To all below, whatever thrives too fast
Decays too soon, late growths may longer last.
Orinda could not wait on slow pac't time,
Having so far to go, so high to climb;
But like a flash of heavenly fire that falls
Into some earthly dwelling, first it calls
[Page 37] The Neighbours onely to admire the light
And lustre that surprize their wondring sight,
Till kindling all, it grows a noble flame,
Towring and spiring up from whence it came;
But e'er arrived at those azure Walls,
The house that lodg'd it here, to ashes falls:
Such was
Orinda's Soul. But hold! I see
A Troop of Mourners in deep Elegie,
Make room and listen to their charming lays,
For they bring Cypress here to trade for Bays;
And he deserves it who of all the rest
Praises and imitates
Orinda best.
UPON THE Approach of the SHORE AT HARWICH, In January, 1668. Begun under the MAST, At the Desire of My LADY GIFFARD.
WElcome the fairest and the happiest earth,
Seat of my hopes and pleasures, as my birth:
Mother of welborn Souls, and fearless hearts,
In Arms renown'd, and flourishing in Arts.
[Page 39] The Island of good nature and good cheer,
That elsewhere onely pass, inhabit here.
Region of Valour and of Beauty too;
Which shews, the brave are onely fit to woo.
No Child thou hast ever approacht thy shore
That lov'd thee better, or esteem'd thee more.
Beaten with Journeys both of Land and Seas,
Tired with care, the busie man's disease;
Pinched with frost, and parched with the wind,
Giddy with rowling, and with fasting pin'd;
Spighted and vex'd that Winds, and Tides, and Sands,
Should all conspire to cross such great commands
As haste me home with an account that brings
The doom of Kingdoms to the best of Kings.
Yet I respire at thy reviving sight,
Welcome as health, and chearfull as the light▪
How I forget my anguish and my toils,
Charm'd at th'approach of thy delight▪
[Page 40] How like a Mother thou holdst out thy armes
To save thy children from pursuing harms;
And open'st thy kind bosom, where they find
Safety from waves, and shelter from the wind:
Thy cliffs so stately, and so green thy hills,
This with respect, with hope the other fills,
All that approach thee, and believe they find
A Spring for Winter that they left behind.
Thy sweet inclosures and thy scattered farms
Shew thy secureness from thy Neighbours harms;
Their sheep in houses, and their men in towns
Sleep onely safe, thine rove about the downs,
And hills, and groves, and plains, and know no fear
Of foes, or Wolves, or cold throughout the year,
Their vast and frightfull woods seem onely made
To cover cruel deeds and give a shade
To the wild beasts, and wilder men, they prey
Upon whatever chances in their way.
[Page 41] Thy pleasant thickets and thy shady groves
Onely relieve the heats and cover loves,
Sheltring no other thefts or cruelties,
But those of killing or beguiling Eyes.
Their famisht Hinds opprest by cruel Lords,
Flead with hard taxes, aw'd with Soldier's swords,
Know no more ease than just what sleep can give;
Have no more heart or courage but to live:
Thy brawny Clowns and sturdy Seamen fed
With the good Beef that their own fields have bred,
Safe in their Laws, and easie in their rent,
Blest in their King, and in their State content;
When they are call'd away from Herd or Plough
To arms, will make all foreign forces bow,
And shew how much a lawfull Monarch saves,
When twenty Subjects beat an hundred Slaves.
Fortunate Island! if thou didst but know
How much thou dost to Heav'n and Nature owe!
[Page 42] And if thy humour were as good as great
Thy forces, and as blest thy soil and seat;
But then with numbers thou would'st be o'er-run,
Strangers to breathe thy air their own would shun;
And of thy children none abroad would roam,
But for the pleasure of returning home.
Come and embrace us in thy saving armes,
Command the waves to cease their rough alarms,
And guard us to thy Port, that we may see
Thou art indeed the Empress of the Sea.
So may thy Ships about the Ocean course,
And still encrease in number and in force.
So may no storms ever infest thy shores,
But all the winds that blow encrease thy stores.
May never more contagious air arise
To close so many of thy childrens Eyes,
But all about thee health and plenty vye
Which shall seem kindest to thee, Earth or Sky.
[Page 43] May no more fires be seen among thy Towns,
But charitable Beacons on thy Downs,
Or else victorious Bonefires in thy Streets,
Kindled by winds that blow from off thy Fleets.
Maist thou feel no more fits of factious rage,
But all distempers may thy
Charles assuage,
With such well tuned concord of his State,
As none but ill and hated men may hate.
And maist thou from him endless Monarchs see
Whom thou maist honour, who may honour thee.
May they be wise and good, thy happy seat,
And stores, will never fail to make them great.
UPON My LADY GIFFARD's LOORY.
OF all the questions which the curious raise
Either in search of knowledge or of praise,
None seems so much perplexed or so nice
As where to find the seat of Paradise.
But who could once that happy Region name
From whence the fair and charming
Loory came?
To end this doubt would give the best advice,
For this was sure the bird of Paradise.
Such radiant colours from no tainted air,
Such notes and humour from no lands of care,
[Page 45] Such unknown smells cou'd from no common earth,
From no known Climate could receive a birth.
For he alone in these alive outvi'd
All the perfumes with which the Phoenix di'd.
About a gentle Turtle's was the size,
The sweetest shape that e'er surprized eyes.
A longish hawked bill, and yellow brown,
A slick black velvet cap upon the crown.
His back a scarlet mantle cover'd o'er,
One purple sploach upon his neck he wore.
His jetty eyes were circled all with flame.
His swelling Breast was, with his back, the same.
All down his belly a deep violet hue
Was gently shaded to an azure blue.
His spreading wings were green, to brown inclin'd,
But with a sweet pale straw colour were lin'd.
[Page 46] His tail, above was purples mixt with green,
Under, a colour such as ne'er was seen,
When like a Fan it spread, a mixture bold
Of green and yellow grideline and gold.
Thus by fond Nature was he drest more gay
Than Eastern Kings in all their rich array,
For Feather much, as well as Flow'r, outvies
In softness, silk, in colour mortal dies.
But none his beauty with his humour dare,
Nor can his Body with his Soul compare.
If that was wonder, this was Prodigy,
They differ'd as the finest Earth and Sky.
If ever any reasonable Soul
Harbor'd in shape of either brute or fowl,
This was the Mansion, Metamorphosie
Gain'd here the credit lost in Poetrie.
[Page 47] No passion moving in a humane breast
Was plainer seen, or livelier exprest.
No wit or learning, eloquence or song,
Acknowledg'd kindness, or complain'd of wrong
With accents half so feeling as his notes:
Look how he rages, now again he dotes;
Brave like the Eagle, meek as is the Dove,
Jealous as Men, like Women does he love.
With bill he wounds you sudden as a dart,
Then nibling asks you pardon from his heart.
He calls you back if e'er you go away,
He thanks you if you are so kind to stay.
When you return, with exultation high
He raises notes that almost pierce the Sky,
But all in such a language that we guest,
Though he spoke ours, he found his own the best.
[Page 48] Such a
Badeen ne'er came upon the Stage,
So droll, so monkey in his play and rage;
Sprawling upon his back, and pitching pyes,
Twirling his head, and flurring at the flies.
A thousand tricks and postures would he show,
Then rise so pleas'd both with himself and you,
That the amaz'd beholders could not say
Whether the bird was happier, or they.
With a soft brush was tipt his wanton tongue,
He lapt his water like a Tyger young,
His Lady's teeth with this he pickt and prun'd;
With this a thousand various notes he tun'd.
A chagrin fine cover'd his little feet,
Which to wild airs would in wild measures meet.
With these he took you by the hand, his prey
With these he seiz'd, with these he hopt away.
With these held up he made his bold defence,
The arms of safety, love and violence.
[Page 49] With all these charms
Loory endow'd and drest,
Forsaking climates with such creatures blest.
From Eastern regions and remotest strands
Flew to the gentle
Artemisa's hands.
And when from thence he gave the fatal start,
Went to the gentle
Artemisa's heart.
Fed with her hands, and percht upon her head,
From her lips water'd, nested in her bed.
Nurst with her cares, preserved with her fears,
And now, alas! embalmed with her tears.
But sure among the griefs that plead just cause,
This needs must be acquitted by the laws,
For never could be greater passion,
Concernment, jealousie, for Mistress shown,
Content in presence, and at parting grief;
Trouble in absence, by return relief.
Such application, that he was i'th' end
Company, Lover, Play-fellow and Friend.
[Page 50] Could I but hope or live one man to find
As much above the rest of humane kind
As this above the race of all that flie,
Long should I live, contented should I dye.
Had such a Creature heretofore appear'd
When to such various Gods were Altars rear'd,
Who came transformed down in twenty shapes
For entertainment, love, revenge, or rapes:
Loory would then have
Mercury been thought,
And of him sacred Images been wrought:
For between him sure was sufficient odds
And all th'
Egyptian, Gothick, Indian Gods:
Nay, with more reason had he been ador'd
Than Gods that perjur'd, Goddesses that whor'd:
Yet such the greatest Nations chose or found,
And rais'd the highest Plant from lowest ground.
FINIS.
ARISTAEUS. Drawn from the latter part of the FOURTH BOOK OF VIRGIL'S GEORGICKS.
The Argument.
Aristaeus was Son of Cyrene, Daughter to one of the ancient Kings of Arcadia; and by Apollo as was believed or at least reported. His Birth was concealed, and he was sent to be privately brought up among the Shepherds of Arcadia; where grown a Man, he applyed himself wholly to the cares and stores of a Country Life, in all which he succeeded, so as to grow [Page 52] nowned for his Knowledge and Wealth. He was esteemed the first Inventer of Cheese, Oyl and Honey, or rather of the Art of hiving Bees, which before were wild, and their Stocks found only by chance and in hollow Trees. For this he was worshipt among the Arcadians as Son of Apollo, and as other Inventers of things necessary or most useful to humane Life. He fell in love with Euridice newly espoused to Orpheus; and by his pursuit of her, was the occasion of her Death, being bitten by a Snake as she fled from him. This was followed by the death of Orpheus after a long and incurable grief, whereupon Aristaeus was by the Nymphs Companions of Euridice, plagued in all his Stores, but most of all in his Bees, of which he was fondest, till he lost them all, and was in despair ever to recover them: But by the Advice of his Mother and of Proteus, to whom she sent him, he came to find out both the true cause of his loss, and means of retrieving it.
[Page 53] THe Shepherd
Aristaeus grieving, sees
The helpless loss of his beloved Bees;
In vain he with the strong Contagion strives,
The clustering Stocks lye famisht in their Hives;
Some from abroad return with droopy Wing
With empty Thighs, and most without a Sting.
They with Diseases, He with sorrow pines,
And to his spited Grief himself resigns;
Abandons all his wonted Cares and Pains,
His Flocks, his Groves, his Shepherds and his Plains.
Away he goes led by his raving Dreams,
To the clear Head of the
Peneian Streams;
Full of Complaints he there his Sorrow breaks,
And thus reproaching to his Mother speaks.
Cyrene, Sometime Mother, whose Abodes
Are at the Bottom of these Chrystal Floods,
[Page 54] If e're
Apollo charmed thy Desire
As I am told, or was my Sacred Sire,
If ever thou broughtst forth this Child, the hate
And scorn of angry unrelenting Fate;
What is his Care? Or where thy tender Love?
That bid me hope for blessed Seats above:
Is this th' advantage of Immortal-Race?
Are these the Trophies that thy Offspring grace?
Is't not enough, I pass inglorious Life
Among the Country Shades, in Toyl and Strife▪
With my hard Fate, but Thou must envy bear,
That I liv'd private, void of Hope or Fear;
Sprung from such Seed I should a Hero be,
Is it too much to be content and free?
What is the Honour of poor Sheep and Bees?
That thou should'st envy or deny me these;
Thou art a Goddess, I an humble Swain,
And can my Rural-Fortunes give thee Pain?
[Page 55] If so, then come and cut down all my Groves
Parch all my eared Sheaves, and kill my Droves,
Famish my Flocks, and root up all my Vines,
He that is once undone no more repines.
Thus went he on, until at length the Sound
Reacht Fair
Cyrene, she sate circled round
With all her Nymphs, in Vaulted Chambers spread
Under the great and Sacred Rivers Bed;
There was
Cydippe, gentle, sweet and fair,
And bright
Lycorias with Golden Hair;
The first a Virgin free from wanton Stains,
The other newly past
Lucinas Pains;
Clio and
Beroe from the Ocean
Lately arrived each upon a Swan;
Opis and
Ephyre and
Deiopeia,
Drymo, Ligaea and the young
Thaleia;
[Page 56] Swift
Arethusa had her Quiver laid,
And wanton
Speio with her Garland plaid;
Some spin Trilesian Wools, some entertain
The rest with Stories of the pleasing Pain;
The Gay
Climene told the crafty Wiles
Of jealous
Vulcan, how he
Mars beguiles,
How the sweet thefts are
[...], the Train is set,
And how the Lovers struggle in the Net.
Whilst to such Tales they lend a willing Ear
Their Times and Work away together wear;
Till
Aristaeus sad complaint begins
To make them listen, then proceeding wins
All the Attention of the Chrystal Hall;
But
Arethusa moved, before all
The rest starts up, and rears her sprightly Head
Above the Waves that murmur'd as they fled;
[Page 57] And Oh the Gods,
Cyrene, cries she out,
Sister
Cyrene, Sister, here without,
Thy chiefest care, sad
Aristaeus stands,
And Sighs, and swells, and with his gentle hands
Wipes his wet Eyes, then to reproaches falls,
And thee unkind and cruel Mother calls.
She struck, and pale and feeling all the smart
That at such news could pierce a Mothers Heart,
Cries, bring him to us, bring him strait away,
For him 'tis lawful,
Aristaeus may,
Sprung of the Gods, their Sacred Portals tread;
Then she commands the hasty Streams that fled
So fast away, to stop and leave a Room
Where the Sad Youth might to her Palace come.
The Waters hear their Goddesses Command,
And rising from their Bed in Arches stand;
[Page 58] He through the glazed Vaults amaz'd descends,
Guided by two of the kind Nymphs his Friends,
Till the vast spacious Caverns he descries,
Where fair
Cyrenes watry Kingdom lies,
And struck with Wonder, the new Scene beheld,
Where
[...] vast regions mighty Waters sweld;
Her gloomy Groves repeat the hollow sound
Of falling Flouds, the
[...] Rocky Clifts rebound
The fainting Eccho's; here great lakes remain
Enclos'd in Caves, reserv'd to fill some Vein
Of failing Streams; there mighty Rivers roul
In Torrents raging, and without controul;
Here gentle Brooks with a soft murmur glide,
Phasis and
Lycus coasting by his side;
Cold
Cydnus hastning to
Cilician Strands,
Old
Tyber winding through the Tawny Sands;
The troubled
Hypanis and
Anien fair,
All hast to show their Heads in open Air;
[Page 59] That way the rapid
Po in branched Veins
[...] out to water many Fertile Plains.
At length the noble Swain is wondring brought
Into a great and round Pavilion wrought
Out of a Christal Rock with Moss or'egrown,
Within 'twas paved all with Pumice Stone,
The vaulted Roof with Mother Pearl was spread,
Fretted with Coral in white Branches led,
The Wall in grotesque Imag'ry excels,
Wrought in a thousand various colour'd Shells;
Some representing the fierce Sea Gods rapes,
Others the Fair and flying Nymphs escapes;
Here
Neptune with the
Tritons in his Train,
There
Venus rising from the foamy Main.
Twenty eight Ivory Chairs, and cover'd all
With Mossie Cusheons stood about the Hall,
[Page 60] To one of these is
Aristaeus led,
Where sitting down, at first he hung his Head,
Then sighing tells his Story, and his moan
Repeats, but only lets reproach alone.
Cyrene hearing all her Sons Complaints,
Alass poor Youth, she crys, alass he faints;
Is it with fasting or with grief? Go bring
A boul of Water from yon Chrystal Spring,
And bring a Flaggon of Old sparkling Wine;
The Nymphs dispatch, some make the Altar shine
With Spicy Flames, some the white Napkins get
And various dishes on the Table set.
She takes a Cup of one great Pearl, and crys
First to the Ocean let us Sacrifice,
And while she holds it in her Hand, she prays
To the great Ocean; sings the Ocean's praise,
[Page 61] Invokes a hundred Nymphs that him obey
But in a hundred Groves and Rivers sway;
Thrice she pours Wine upon the sacred fires,
And thrice the Flame to th'arched Roof aspires,
With which propitious Signs
Cyrene pleas'd,
She thus her Sons impatient Grief appeas'd.
In the
Carpaethian Gulf blew
Proteus dwells,
Great
Neptunes Prophet, who the Ocean quells;
He in a glittering Chariot courses o're
The foaming Waves, Him all the Nymphs adore,
Old
Nereus too, because He all things knows,
The past, the present, and the future Shows:
So
Neptune pleas'd, who
Proteus thus inspir'd,
And with such Wages to his Service hir'd.
Gave him the Rule of all his briny Flocks,
That feed among a thousand ragged Rocks:
[Page 62] He's coasting now to the
Emathian Shore,
Neer fair
Pallene, where bright
Thetis bore
This Son of th' Ocean, Thou must him pursue,
And seize, and bind, and make him tell the true
Cause and events of thy disastrous chance;
By no fair Words or Pray'rs thou canst advance,
Nor gentle means, hard force will make him bend
And for his own, be glad to serve thy end:
When next the radiant Sun shall scorch the Plain,
And thirsty Cattel seek for shade in vain;
I will my self conduct thee to the Cells,
And close Retreats where this Enchanter dwells;
When he the Ocean leaves and takes his rest;
There seize him tyred, and with sleep opprest,
And bind him fast with Fetters and with Chains;
And still, the more he struggles and he strains,
The faster hold him, and beware his Wiles,
By which he other Mortals still beguiles;
[Page 63] For into twenty various Forms he'l turn
A Marble Pillar, or a carved Urn,
A Flash of Fire, or else a gushing Floud,
A shaggy Lyon smeared all with Bloud,
A Scaly Dragon, or a rugged Bear,
A chafed Boar, or Tyger he'l appear.
But thou the more he shifts his various Shapes,
Take the more care to hinder his escapes,
And hold him faster, till at length he rise
In the same Form thou didst him first surprize;
Then will he tell whose Anger has thee griev'd,
And how thy loss may be again retreiv'd.
Thus said
Cyrene, and with a gentle look
Upon her Son, her Golden Tresses shook,
From whence
Ambrosian Odours were diffus'd
About the Room, by which the Shepherd, us'd
[Page 64] So long to Woe, strait seemed to revive,
And thought his loved Bees again alive;
His Hair and Weed the sweet Perfume retains,
And sprightly vigour runs through all his Veins.
There is a mighty Gulph, which many a Tide
Had eaten out of a great Mountains side;
Sometimes the foaming Waves come braving o're
The ragged Clifts, that all infe
[...]t the Shore,
And a great Sea covers this mighty Bay;
But when with falling Tides it steals away,
Then does a dry and spacious Strand appear,
Which rough and scatter'd Rocks does only bear.
About the midst, one above all the rest
With scraggy Splints raises its lofty Crest;
The spreading Roof has two unequal sides,
Half undermined by the beating Tides,
[Page 65] Which make two hollow Chamberson the Strand
Arched with Rock, and floored with the Sand;
Of these the larger is the cool Retreat
Which
Proteus chooses from the scorching Heat.
Within the lesser fair
Cyrene hides
Bold
Aristaeus, where the Youth abides,
Turn'd from the Light, and casting in his mind
How he may seize the Bard, and how him bind.
Thus all prepar'd, the Nymph no longer stays,
But in a mist away her self conveys;
And as she rises all the Sky grows clear,
Phoebus begins his flaming Head to rear,
Parching the Corn, and scorching up the Blades.
The lowing Cattle seek about for Shades,
The panting Lyons with the Heat opprest,
And Tygers tamed, lay them down to rest,
[Page 66] The thirsty
Indians hasten to their Caves,
And now the briny Flocks forsake the Waves;
Here comes a
Triton on a Dolphin borne,
There a great Sea-horse with his wreathed horn,
The snarling Seals crawl up the sloping Shore,
And deep mouth'd Hounds that in
Charybdis rore,
Calves, Hogs and Bears (all Monsters of the Flouds
But those resembling which frequent the Woods)
Roul on the Sand, or sprawling on their sides
In the hot Sun they tann their tawny Hides.
Then
Proteus wafted or'e the curling Waves,
Leaps on the Shore and hastens to his Caves,
There sitting down, He shakes his briny Locks,
And eyes his Heards scatter'd among the Rocks;
Just as some aged Shepherd e're the Night
Approaches, and the Wolves begin to fright
[Page 67] His tender Lambs, gets on some rising ground,
And gathers all his Flocks about him round,
Views them with care, and numbers all his Sheep,
Then on the Grass securely falls asleep.
But
Proteus scarce is laid upon the Sands,
In easie Slumbers stretching out his Hands,
When the fierce youth in hast upon him runs,
Seizes him fast, and with Amazement stuns
The frighted Captive. Then he claps on Bands
Upon his fainting Legs and trembling Hands.
Yet 'tis not long the
Elfe forgets his Arts,
But at the first surprizing Fright departs,
Come to himself, He is himself no more,
Nothing appears of what he was before;
But into twenty Monstrous shapes he turns,
Gushes like Water, or in Flame he burns,
A Serpent hisses, or a Lyon roars,
A Tygers likeness, or a grizly Boars:
[Page 68] But the warn'd Swain never lets go his hold,
Till
Proteus finding none of all his old
Accustomed Wiles succeed, He silence breaks
And thus in Humane Voice and Shape he speaks.
But who, thou boldest of all Mortal Race,
Has sent thee here, my lonely Steps to trace,
And taught thee, undiscerned, thus to creep
Into the secret Closets of the Deep;
Or what's the thing thou seek'st now I am ty'd,
And in thy Hands? The Shepherd strait reply'd
Thou askest what thou knowest, for none can thee
Deceive, then think not of deceiving me;
'Tis by the Gods Commands we here are come
To thee for Help, or else to know our Doom.
At this the Prophet rowls his fiery Eyes,
And Grinds his Teeth awhile, and then replys▪
[Page 69] 'Tis not in vain, or for light cause decreed
By angry Fates, that thy fond Heart should bleed
As well as his, for whom this punishment
Too too unequal to thy Crime is sent:
'Tis wretched
Orpheus does thy Life infest,
And both have lost what both have loved best;
Thy Heart was set upon thy Rural Stores,
He nothing but
Euridice adores;
Thou wert the cause of her untimely Fate,
And He pursues thee with an endless Hate.
The lovely Bride was wandring o're the Plain,
In hopes to meet her own desired Swain;
When thou bold Youth enflamed by her Charms
Would fain have caught her in thy Lustful Arms,
Away she springs like a light Doe that flys
The bloudy Hound, her nimble Feet she plys
Along the Downs, but whilst away she runs,
And thy pursuit amaz'd and frighted shuns;
[Page 70] Alass! Unwary, she ne're spy'd the Snake,
That, as she past, lay lurking in the brake;
Thus almost hopeless grown and out of Breath
She scapes thy Rage by an untimely Death.
But her last Cries the Ecchoes far report,
The Nymphs about her shreeking all resort;
The hollow Woods in murmur make their moan
Among their Branches all the Tur
[...]es Groan;
The
Thracian Mountains round with Sorrow swell
The very Tygers all about them yell,
The towring Heavens at her Fate complain,
And broken hearted Clouds fall down in Rain;
The following Night her deepest Sable wears,
And the next Morning weeps in dewy Tears.
But woful
Orpheus all in grief excels,
All in Complaints, among the Rocks he dwells,
[Page 71] In Tears dissolving, and with sighing pin'd,
Calling the Heavens unjust, and Gods unkind;
At length he takes up his melodious Lyre,
Which
Phoebus ever used to inspire;
Thinking to charm his Woes and Love-sick Heart,
A cure too hard for either Time or Art;
For now his warbling Harp would yield no sounds,
But lost
Euridice, Euridice rebounds
From every trembling String; Thee still he sung,
Thy gentle Name among the Woods he rung;
Thee on the lonely Shore amidst the Rocks,
Thee on the Hills among the Heards and Flocks,
Thee on the dawning of the Morning gray,
Thee at the closing of the weary Day.
But where alass, thus wretched should he go,
Tyr'd with light, he seeks the Shades below;
[Page 72] To the
Taenarian Caves his course he bends,
And by the deep infernal Gates descends.
Into the ghastly leafless Woods that spread
Over the gloomy Regions of the Dead;
Trunks without Sap, and Boughs that never bare,
Some pale with Fear, some black with deep despair,
He crost the Sooty Plains and miry Lakes,
All full of croaking Toads and hissing Snakes;
Came to the rusty Iron Gates that bring
To the black Towers of the great dreadful King,
Hoping to touch a Heart with his sad care,
That ne're relented yet with Humane Pray'r.
But at his pow'rful Song the very Seats
Of
Erebus were moved, the Retreats
Of all the Ghosts were opened, and they swarm
Like Bees in clusters when the Sun grows warm,
Or when the Evening drives them to the Hive,
Mothers and Virgins now no more alive,
[Page 73] Husbands and Children, Heroes so renown'd,
Mixt with the nameless Crowd, and Monarchs Crown'd,
'Mong sweaty Hinds, and Slaves about him throng,
Admire and listen to his charming Song:
The whole
Tartarian Regions all amaz'd
Stood and attended, or upon him gaz'd;
The Slow
Cocytus stopsits muddy Floud,
And
Styx about him nine times circling stood,
The snaky Tresses of th'
Eumenides
Left off their hissing,
Cerberus at ease
Laid down his threefold Head, and ceas'd to roar
Ixions restless Wheel would turn no more.
And now th'enchanting
Orpheus had prevail'd,
His Songs had more than ever Prayers avail'd,
Euridice's again restor'd to Humane Life,
And He returns close follow'd by his Wife;
[Page 74] Hears, but not sees her, for that Law was made
By
Proserpine, and was upon him layd,
He should not once behold his Lovely Fair,
Till both arriv'd above in open Air.
But when th' Infernal Mansions almost past,
Approaching Day a dawning twilight cast
Upon the Lovers, the unhappy Swain
Forgetting all his Woes and all his Pain,
Spent with desire, and vanquisht of his Mind,
Turn'd his impatient Head, and cast a kind
And longing Look upon his gentle Mate,
Now heedless of the Doom impos'd by Fate;
A venial Fault, if Pitty or if Grace
Had ever grown among the infernal Race.
But here his Labour all run out in vain,
The unrelenting Doom takes place again;
Thrice from the
Avernian Lake a horrid noise
Invades his Ears, and thrice the howling voice
[Page 75] Of
Cerberus, thrice shuck the vaulted Cave,
And for the Nymph opened a second Grave.
She fainting crys, what Fury thee possest,
What frenzy,
Orpheus, seized on thy Brest;
Ah me, once more undone! Behold the Fates
Again recall me to the Iron Gates;
Once more my Eyes are seiz'd with endless sleep;
And now farewel, I sink into the Deep
Oblivions Cells, surrounded all with Night,
No longer thine, in vain to stop my Flight
I stretch my Arms, in vain thou stretchest thine,
In vain thou grievest, and I in vain repine.
Thus said she, and o'th' suddain from his Eyes,
Like Smoak to Air all vanishing she flies,
And leaves him catching at the empty Shade,
In vain he call'd her, and fond Offers made
[Page 76] To follow, for no more hard Fate allows
His wisht return, nor hearkens to his Vows;
Black Guards of
Orcus strongly him withstood,
Nor suffer'd to approach the
Stygian Floud.
What should he do, where pass his woful Life?
Twice had he got, twice lost his Dearest Wife;
With what new Vows should he the Heavens please?
With what new Songs should he the Ghosts apppease?
She now grown pale and cold, was wafting o're
The
Stygian Lake, and near the hated Shore.
Full seven long Months in sad and raving Dreams
Or restless thoughts he past near
Strimon's Streams
Under a lovely Rock, or in wild Dens,
Seeking the Savage Beasts, avoiding Mens
Commerce or sight, but with his doleful lays
He taught the flocking Birds to sing her praise;
[Page 77] His own Despair, the very Stones admire,
And rowling follow his melodious Lyre;
He forc't the Heart of hardest Oak to groan,
And made fierce Tygers leave their Rage, and moan;
So the sweet Nightingale that grieving stood
And sawth' untimely Rape of her young Brood
Snatcht by some Clown out of the downy Nest,
Under a Poplar shade, or else her Brest
Against some Thorn, she spends her longsom Night
In mournful Notes, and shuns th'approaching light
But the dark thickets fils with endless moan
Charming all others sorrow but her own.
No heats new
Venus in him e're could raise,
No Sence e're mov'd him of Reproach or praise,
Along the Streams of
Tanais he goes,
Alone he wanders o're the
Scythian Snows,
[Page 78] Seeks the rough Mountains cover'd all with Frost,
And tells the Trees
Euridice is lost,
Curses the vain Concession of the Fates,
Himself, and angry Gods, and Men he hates,
Women he scorns, since she must be no more,
Whom only he, and ever could adore.
But the
Cyconian Dames too long despis'd,
Too much desiring by him to be priz'd,
Amidst the Sacred Rights of
Bacchus Feast
Ript up his vainly lov'd and loving Brest,
Tore him in Pieces, and about the Fields
Scatter'd his Limbs (what Fruits Religion yields)
And even then, when into
Hebers Streams
They threw his Head, his Eyes had lost their Beams
His Lips their ruddy hue, but still his Voice
Call'd in a Low, and now expiring noise,
Euridice, Euridice his Tongue
In broken Notes, now chill and trembling sung,
[Page 79]
Euridice the Eccho's sounded o're
The Neighbouring Banks, and down the rocky Shore.
Thus
Proteus sung, then leapt into the Main,
For now the foaming Tide return'd again
Among the Rocks. The Shepherd stood amaz'd
But strait
Cyrene came, on whom he gaz'd
Like one enchanted with the dreery Song
Of charming
Proteus, for the fatal Wrong
Of
Orpheus toucht him now, more than his own,
In such sad Notes and lively Colours shown;
She chear'd his troubl'd Thoughts, and thus began
No more complaints, my Son, no more these wan
And careful Looks, the cause of all thy grief
Is now discover'd, so is the Relief.
The angry Nymphs that haunt the Shady Groves
Where
Orpheus, and his Bride, began their Loves;
[Page 80] And many a Dance had
[...]ught her in their Rings
Whilst he so sweetly to their Measures sings;
Tis they have plagued thee in all thy Stores,
Among thy Sheep have caus'd so many Sores,
Blasted thy Corn, and made thy Heifers pine,
Blighted the fruitful Olive and the Vine;
But above all, thy Bees have felt the smart,
Because they knew, thou hadst them most at Heart
Therefore with Offrings thou must them appease
They reconciled once, will give thee ease;
The Nymphs are gentle, may their Rage allay
When thou beginst to Worship and to Pray.
But the whole Order of their Sacred Rights
I must explain, unknown to Mortal Wights;
First choose four Steers, the fairest of thy Heard,
Which on
Lycaean Mountains thou hast rear'd;
Four lovely Heifers yet unhandled take,
Then just as many unhewn Altars make
[Page 81] Within the Grove, where ancient use allows
Arcadian Swains to pay their Holy Vows
Unto the Nymphs. There as the day shall rise
Of all these Offrings make one Sacrifice;
Upon the Altars pour the reeking Blood,
And leave the Bodies in the Shady Wood,
First strowed over with fresh Oaken Boughs;
But when the Ninth Aurora thee shall rouze
From thy soft Sleep,
Lethaean Poppys bring,
And unto
Orpheus solemn Dirgies Sing;
With a black Sheep his angry Ghost appease,
And a white Calf
Euridice to please;
Then to the Grove return with humble Gate,
And Heart devout, and there expect thy Fate.
The Swain instructed, makes no long delay,
Unto the Shrine he strait begins his way,
Raises the Altars, all the Bullocks slays,
Offers his humblest Prayers and his Praise
[Page 82] Unto the angry Nymphs, then home retires
And lays sweet Incense on his Houshold Fires
Full eight long days, but when the dawning light
Upon the ninth restor'd the Morning bright,
He to the Grove returns, and there he sees
(Stupend
[...]ous sight) a thousand thousand Bees;
Out of the melted Bowels of each Stear,
As from a mighty swarming Hive appear,
Bursting from out the Sides with vital Heat,
From whence in Clouds they rise, then take their seat
Upon the leaning Boughs, till all the Trees
Are hung with Bunches of the clustring Bees.
Thus have I sung poor Nymphs and Shepherds dreams
Whilst
Caesar thunders a
[...]
Euphrates streams
With conquering Arms the vanquisht Nations aws,
And to the willing People gives just Laws,
Treads the true Path to great
Olympus Hills,
And wondring Mortals with his Praises fills.
FINIS
Ode the 29th. Lib. III.
1.
MOecena's Off-spring of
Tyrrhenian Kings,
And worthy of the greatest Empires sway,
Unbend thy working mind a while, and play
With softer thoughts and looser Strings,
Hard Iron ever wearing will decay.
2.
A Piece untouch't of old and noble Wine
Attends thee here; soft essence for thy hair,
Of Purple Violets made, or Lillies fair.
The Roses hang their heads and pine,
And till you come in vain perfume the Air.
3.
Be not inveigled by the gloomy shades
Of Tyber, nor cool Aniens Chrystal streams,
The Sun is yet but young, his gentle beams
Revive, and scorch not up the blades.
The Spring like Virtue, dwells between extreams
4.
Leave fulsom plenty for a while, and come
From stately Palaces that towre so high
And spread so far; The dust and business fly,
The smoak and noise of mighty
Rome,
And cares that on Embroider'd Carpets lye.
5.
It is vicissitude that pleasure yields
To Men with greatest wealth and honours blest,
And sometimes homely fare but cleanly drest.
In Country Farms or pleasant Fields;
Clears up a Cloudy brow and thoughtful breast.
6.
Now the cold Winds have blown themselves away,
The Frosts are melted into pearly Dewes;
The Chirping Birds each morning tell the news,
Of chearful Spring, and welcome day.
The tender Lambs follow the bleating Ewes.
7.
The Vernal bloom adorns the fruitful Trees
With various dress; the soft and gentle rains,
Begin with Flowers to enamel all the plains.
The Turtle with her Mate agrees:
And wanton Nymphs with their enamoured swains.
8.
Thou art contriving in thy mind, what State,
And form, becomes that mighty City best:
Thy busie head can take no gentle rest,
For thinking on th'events, and Fate,
Of factious Rage; which has her long opprest.
9.
Thy cares extende to the remotest Shores,
Of her vast Empire, how the
Persian Arms;
Whether the
Bactrians joyn their Troops; what harms
From the
Cantabrians and the
Moores;
May come, or the tumultuous
German swarms.
10.
But the wise Powers above, that all things know,
In sable night have hid the events, and train
Of future things; and with a just disdain,
Laugh when poor mortals here below,
Fear without cause; and break their sleeps in vain
11.
Think how the present thou maist well compose,
With equal mind, and without endless cares
For the unequal course of State affairs,
Like to the Ocean ebbs and flows,
Or rather like our Neighbouring Tyber fares.
12.
Now smooth and silent down her Channel creeps
Now swells and rages, threatning all to drown;
The Banks and Trees, and Houses tumbles down,
Away both Corn and Cattle sweeps.
And fills with noise and horror Fields and Town.
13.
After a while grown calm, retreats again
Into her sandy Bed, and softly glides;
So
Jove sometimes in fiery Chariot rides
With cracks of Thunder, storms of Rain,
Then grows serene, and all our fears derides.
14.
He only lives content, and his own man
Or rather Master; who each night can say:
'Tis well, thanks to the Gods I've liv'd to day.
This is my own, this never can
Like other Goods, be forc't or stoln away.
15.
And for to morrow let me weep or laugh,
Let the Sun shine or Storms and Tempests ring,
Yet 'tis not in the power of Fates, a thing
Should ne're have bin, or not be safe
Which flying time has cover'd with her wing.
16.
Capricious
Fortune plays a scornful game
With humane things; uncertain as the Wind:
Sometimes to thee, sometimes to me is kind.
Throws about Honours, Wealth, and Fame,
At random, heedless, humorous and blind.
17.
He's wise, who when she smiles the good enjoys,
And unallayed with fears of future ill;
But if she frowns can let her have her will.
I can with ease resign the toyes,
And lye wrapt up in my own Virtue still.
18.
I'le make my court to honest Poverty
An easie Wife, although without a dowre,
What Nature asks will yet be in my power:
For without Pride or Luxury,
How little serves to pass the fleeting hour.
19.
'Tis not for me when Winds and Billows rise
And crack the Mast, and mock the Seamens cares,
To fall to poor and Mercenary prayers:
For fear the
Tyrian Merchandize
Should all be lost, and not enrich my Heirs.
20.
I'le rather leap into the little Boat,
Which without fluttering Sails shall waft me o're
The swelling Waves; and then I'le think no more
Of Ship, or fraight; but change my note,
And thank the Gods that I am safe a-shore.
FINIS.