PASTORAL VIII.

OR,

PHARMACEUTRIA.

ARGUMENT.

This pastoral contains the songs of Damon and Alphesibæns. The first of them bewails the loss of his mistress, and repines at the success of his rival Mopsus. The other repeats the charms of some enchantress, who endeavoured by her spells and magic to make Daphuis in love with her.

THE mournful muse of two despairing swains,
The love rejected, and the lovers' pains;
To which the savage lynxes listening stood;
The rivers stood on heaps, and stopp'd the running

flood;

The hungry herd their needful food refuse-
Of two despairing swains, I sing the mournful muse.
Great Pollio! thou, for whom thy Rome prepares
The ready triumph of thy finish'd wars,
Whether Timavus or the' Illyrian coast,
Whatever land or sea, thy presence boast;
Is there an hour in fate reserv'd for me,
To sing thy deeds in numbers worthy thee?
In numbers like to thine, could I rehearse
Thy lofty tragic scenes, thy labour'd verse;

The world another Sophocles in thee,
Another Homer should behold in me.
Amidst thy laurels let this ivy twine:

Thine was my earliest muse; my latest shall be thine. Scarce from the world the shades of night withdrew,

Scarce were the flocks refresh'd with morning dew,
When Damon, stretch'd beneath an olive shade,
And wildly staring upwards, thus inveigh'd
Against the conscious gods, and curs'd the cruel maid:
'Star of the morning, why dost thou delay?
Come, Lucifer, drive on the lagging day,
While I my Nisa's perjur'd faith deplore-
Witness, ye powers, by whom she falsely swore!
The gods, alas! are witnesses in vain ;

Yet shall my dying breath to heaven complain.
Begin with me, my flute, the sweet Mænalian
strain.

The pines of Mænalus, the vocal grove,
Are ever full of verse, and full of love:
They hear the hinds, they hear their god complain,
Who suffer'd not the reeds to rise in vain.

Begin with me, my flute, the sweet Mænalian

strain.

'Mopsus triumphs; he weds the willing fair. When such is Nisa's choice, what lover can despair? Now griffons join with mares; another age Shall see the hound and hind their thirst assuage, Promiscuous at the spring. Prepare the lights, O Mopsus! and perform the bridal rites. Scatter thy nuts among the scrambling boys: Thine is the night, and thine the nuptial joys. For thee the sun declines: O happy swain! Begin with me, my flute, the sweet Manalian strain.

'O Nisa! justly to thy choice condemn'd! Whom hast thou taken, whom hast thou contemn'd? For him, thou hast refus'd my browzing herd, Scorn'd my thick eye-brows and my shaggy beard. Unhappy Damon sighs and sings in vain,

While Nisa thinks no god regards a lover's pain.
Begin with me, my flute, the sweet Mænalian

strain.

'I view'd thee first (how fatal was the view!), And led thee where the ruddy wildings grew, High on the planted hedge, and wet with morning dew.

Then scarce the bending branches I could win ;
The callow down began to clothe my chin.
I saw; I perish'd; yet indulg'd my pain.
Begin with me, my flute, the sweet Mænalian strain.
I know thee, Love! in deserts thou wert bred,
And at the dugs of savage tigers fed;

Alien of birth, usurper of the plains!

Begin with me, my flute, the sweet Manalian strains. 'Relentless Love the cruel mother led

The blood of her unhappy babes to shed:
Love lent the sword; the mother struck the blow;
Inhuman she; but more inhuman thou :

Alien of birth, usurper of the plains!

Begin with me, my flute, the sweet Mænalian strains.
Old doting Nature, change thy course anew;
And let the trembling lamb the wolf pursue:
Let oaks now glitter with Hesperian fruit,
And purple daffodils from alder shoot;
Fat amber let the tamarisk distil,

And hooting owls contend with swans in skill;
Hoarse Tityrus strive with Orpheus in the woods,
And challenge fam'd Arion on the floods.

Or, oh! let Nature cease, and Chaos reign!
Begin with me, my flute, the sweet Mænalian strain,
'Let earth be sea; and let the whelming tide
The lifeless limbs of luckless Damon hide :
Farewell, ye secret woods, and shady groves,
Haunts of my youth, and conscious of my loves!
From yon high cliff I plunge into the main :
Take the last present of thy dying swain ;
And cease, my silent flute, the sweet Mænalian
strain.

Now take your turns, ye Muses, to rehearse His friend's complaints, and mighty magic verse. Bring running water; bind those altars round With fillets, and with vervain strow the ground: Make fat with frankincense the sacred fires, To re-inflame my Daphnis with desires.

"Tis done: we want but verse.-Restore, my charms, My lingering Daphnis to my longing arms.

'Pale Phoebe, drawn by verse, from heaven descends:

And Circe chang'd with charms Ulysses' friends.
Verse breaks the ground, and penetrates the brake,
And in the winding cavern splits the snake.
Verse fires the frozen veins.-Restore, my charms,
My lingering Daphnis to my longing arms.
'Around his waxen image first I wind

Three woollen fillets, of three colours join'd;
Thrice bind about his thrice-devoted head,
Which round the sacred altar thrice is led.
Unequal numbers please the gods.-My charms,
Restore my Daphnis to my longing arms.

'Knit with three knots the fillets: knit them strait Then say, These knots to love I consecrate.'

6

Haste, Amaryllis, haste !-Restore, my charms,
My lovely Daphnis to my longing arms.

'As fire this figure hardens, made of clay, And this of wax with fire consumes away: Such let the soul of cruel Daphnis beHard to the rest of women, soft to me. Crumble the sacred mole of salt and corn: Next in the fire the bays with brimstone burn; And, while it crackles in the sulphur, say, 'This I for Daphnis burn; thus Daphnis burn away! This laurel is his fate.'-Restore, my charms, My lovely Daphnis to my longing arms.

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

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

These poisonous plants, for magic use design'd (The noblest and the best of all the baneful kind), Old Moris brought me from the Pontic strand, And cull'd the mischief of a bounteous land. Smear'd with these powerful juices, on the plain, He howls a wolf among the hungry train; And oft the mighty necromancer boasts, With these to call from tombs the stalking ghosts,