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AMARYLLI S:

OR, THE}

THIRD IDYLLIUM OF

THEOCRIT U S, Paraphrased.

T

Amaryllis love compels my way,

My browzing goats upon the mountains
ftray :

O Tityrus, tend them well, and see them fed
In pastures fresh, and to their watering led;
And 'ware the ridgling with his budding head.
Ah beauteous nymph! can you forget your love,
The conscious grottos, and the fhady grove;
Where stretch'd at eafe 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 scorn:
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 streaks appear!
Far-off you view'd them with a longing eye
Upon the topmost 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 shade.
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 flaves
your sport!
Unheeded ruin! treacherous delight!

O polish'd hardness soften'd to the fight!

Whose radiant eyes your

ebon brows adorn,

Like midnight thofe, and these 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 parsly, with a wreath of ivy bound,
And border'd with a rofy edging round.
What pangs I feel, unpity'd and unheard!
Since I must die, why is my fate deferr'd!
I strip my body of my shepherd's frock:
Behold that dreadful downfal of a rock,
Where yon old fisher views the waves from high!
"Tis that convenient leap I mean to try.

You would be pleas'd to see me plunge to shore,
But better pleas'd if I fhould rife no more.
I might have read my fortune long ago,
When, seeking my success in love to know,
I try'd th' infallible prophetic way,

A poppy-leaf upon my palm to lay: