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But if my Lycidas will ease my pains,
And often visit our forsaken plains,

To him the towering ash shall yield in woods;
In gardens pines, and poplars by the floods.

MEL. These rhymes I did to memory commend,
When vanquish'd Thyrsis did in vain contend;
Since when 'tis Corydon among the swains,
Young Corydon without a rival reigns.

THE EIGHTH PASTORAL;

OR,

PHARMACEUTRIA.

THE ARGUMENT.

THIS pastoral contains the songs of Damon and Alphesibus. 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 Daphnis in love with

her.

THE mournful Muse of two despairing swains,
The love rejected, and the lover's 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 th' 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.

drew; Searce from the world the shades of night withScarce 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 Menalus, 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 asswage

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 Mænalian strain.
O, Nisa! justly to thy choice condemn'd!
Whom hast thou taken, whoin hast thou contemn'd;
For him, thou hast refus'd my browsing herd,
Scorn'd my thick eyebrows, 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 Manalian 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.

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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: [strains.
Begin with me, my flute, the sweet Manalian
"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 unhappy thou.
Alien of birth, usurper of the plains: [strains.
Begin with me, my flute, the sweet Manalian
"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."

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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 transform'd, the last by hate.
A beauteous maid above, but magic arts,
With barking dogs deform'd her nether parts:
What vengeance on the passing fleet she pour'd,
The master frighted, and the mates devour'd.
Then ravish'd Philomel the song express'd;
The crime reveal'd; the sisters' cruel feast:
And how in fields the lapwing Tereus reigns;
The warbling nightingale in woods complains.
While Progne makes on chimney-tops her moan;
And hovers o'er the palace once her own.
Whatever songs besides, the Delphian god
Had 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 warn'd the swain
To call his counted cattle from the plain:
Yet still th' unweary'd sire pursues the tuneful
strain,

Till unperceiv'd the Heavens with stars were hung:
And sudden night surpris'd the yet unfinish'd song.

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With all my Codrus O inspire my breast,
For Codrus, after Phoebus, sings the best.
Or if my wishes have presum'd too high,
And stretch'd their bounds beyond mortality,
The praise of artful numbers 1 resign:
And hang my pipe upon the sacred pine.

THYR. Arcadian swains, your youthful poet crown
With ivy wreaths: though surly Codrus frown.
Or if he blast my Muse with envious praise,
Then fence my brows with amulets of bays:
Lest his ill arts, or his malicious tongue,
Should poison or bewitch my growing song.

COR. These branches of a stag, this tusky boar,
(The first essay of arms untry'd before)
Young Mycon offers, Delia, to thy shrine;
But speed his hunting with thy power divine.
Thy statue then of Parian stone shall stand;
Thy legs in buskins with a purple band.

THYR. This bowl of milk, these cakes, (our coun
try fare)

For thee, Priapus, yearly we prepare,
Because a little garden is thy care.
But if the falling lambs increase my fold,
Thy marble statue shall be turn'd to gold.

COR. Fair Galatea, with thy silver feet,
O, whiter than the swan, and more than Hybla
Tall as a poplar, taper as the bole, [sweet;
Come, charm thy shepherd, and restore my soul.
Come when my lated sheep at night return;
And crown the silent hours, and stop the rosy morn

THYR. May I become as abject in thy sight, As seaweed on the shore, and black as night: Rough as a bur, deform'd like him who chaws Sardinian herbage to contract his jaws; Such and so monstrous let thy swain appear, If one day's absence looks not like a year. Hence from the field, for shame; the flock deserv No better feeding, while the shepherd starves.

COR. Ye mossy springs, inviting easy sleep, Ye trees, whose leafy shades those mossy fountai keep,

Defend my flock; the summer heats are near,
And blossoms on the swelling vines appear.

THYR. With heapy fires our cheerful hearth
crown'd;

And firs for torches in the woods abound:
We fear not more the winds, and wintry cold,
Than streams the banks, or wolves the bleating f
COR. Our woods with juniper and chesnuts

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With falling fruits and berries paint the ground And lavish Nature laughs, and strows her sto But if Alexis from our mountains fly, [aror Ev'n running rivers leave their channels dry. THYR. Parch'd are the plains, and frying is

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