Thus, warn'd in vain, with ftalking pace he

strode,

And stamp'd the margin of the briny flood
With heavy steps; and, weary, fought agen
The cool retirement of his gloomy den.

A promontory, fharp'ning by degrees,
Ends in a wedge, and overlooks the feas:
On either fide, below, the water flows:
This airy walk the giant-lover chofe;
Here on the midst he fate; his flocks, unled,
Their fhepherd follow'd, and fecurely fed.
A pine fo burly, and of length fo vast,
That failing ships requir'd it for a mast,
He wielded for a staff, his steps to guide:
But laid it by, his whistle while he try'd.
A hundred reeds, of a prodigious growth,
Scarce made a pipe proportion'd to his mouth:
Which when he gave it wind, the rocks around,
And wat'ry plains, the dreadful hifs refound.
I heard the ruffian fhepherd rudely blow,
Where, in a hollow cave, I fat below;
On Acis' bosom I my head reclin'd:
And still preserve the poem in

O lovely Galatea, whiter far

my mind.

Than falling fnows, and rifing lilies are;

More flow'ry than the meads, as crystal bright;
Erect as alders, and of equal height:

More wanton than a kid; more fleek thy skin,
Than orient shells, that on the shores are feen:
Than apples fairer, when the boughs they lade;
Pleafing, as winter fans, or fummer shade:
More grateful to the fight, than goodly plains;
And fofter to the touch, than down of fwans,
Or curds new turn'd; and fweeter to the taste,
Than swelling grapes, that to the vintage haste:
More clear than ice, or running ftreams, that stray
Thro garden plots, but ah! more swift than they.
Yet, Galatea, harder to be broke

}

Than bullocs, unreclaim'd to bear the yoke:
And far more stubborn than the knotted oak:
Like fliding streams, impoffible to hold;
Like them fallacious; like their fountains, cold:
More warping, than the willow, to decline
My warm embrace; more brittle than the vine;
Immoveable, and fixt in thy disdain :

Rough, as these rocks, and of a harder grain ;
More violent, than is the rifing flood:
And the prais'd peacock is not half fo proud:
Fierce as the fire, and fharp as thistles are;
And more outrageous, than a mother-bear:

Deaf as the billows to the vows I make;
And more revengeful than a troden snake:
In fwiftnefs fleeter than the flying hind,
Or driven tempefts, or the driving wind.
All other faults with patience I can bear;
But swiftness is the vice I only fear.

Yet if you knew me well, you would not fhun
My love, but to my wifh'd embraces run:
Would languifh in your turn, and court my stay;
And much repent of unwife delay.

your

My palace, in the living rock, is made
By nature's hand; a fpacious pleafing shade;
Which neither heat can pierce, nor cold invade.
My garden fill'd with fruits you may behold,
And grapes in clufters, imitating gold;
Some blushing bunches of a purple hue:
And these, and thofe, are all referv'd for you.
Red strawberries in fhades expecting stand,
Proud to be gather'd by fo white a hand.
Autumnal cornels latter fruit provide,

And plumbs, to tempt you, turn their gloffy

fide:

Not those of common kinds; but fuch alone,

As in Phæacian orchards might have

grown :

Nor

;

;

}

Nor chefnuts shall be wanting to your food,
Nor garden-fruits, nor wildings of the wood
The laden boughs for you alone shall bear
And yours shall be the product of the year.
The flocks, you fee, are all my own; befide
The reft that woods and winding vallies hide;
And those that folded in the caves abide.
Ask not the numbers of my growing store;
Who knows how many, knows he has no more.
Nor will I praise my cattle; truft not me,
But judge yourself, and pass your own decree:
Behold their swelling dugs; the fweepy weight
Of ewes, that fink beneath the milky freight;
In the warm folds their tender lambkins lie;
Apart from kids, that call with human cry.
New milk in nut-brown bowls is duly ferv'd
For daily drink; the reft for cheese referv'd.
Nor are these houfhold dainties all my store :
The fields and forefts will afford us more;
The deer, the hare, the goat, the favage boar.
All forts of ven'fon; and of birds the best;
A pair of turtles taken from the neft.

I walk'd the mountains, and two cubs I found,
Whose dam had left 'em on the naked ground;

}

So like, that no diftinction could be feen;
So pretty, they were presents for a queen;
And fo they fhall; I took them both away;
And keep, to be companions of your play.

Oh raise, fair nymph, your beauteous face above
The waves; nor fcorn my presents, and my love.
Come, Galatea, come, and view my
face;

I late beheld it, in the watry glass,

And found it lovelier, than I fear'd it was.
Survey my tow'ring ftature, and my size:

Not Jove, the Jove you dream, that rules the fkies,
Bears fuch a bulk, or is fo largely spread :
My locks (the plenteous harvest of my head)
Hang o'er my manly face; and dangling down,
As with a fhady grove, my fhoulders crown.
Nor think, because my limbs and body bear
A thick-fet underwood of briftling hair,
My shape deform'd: what fouler fight can be,
Than the bald branches of a leafless tree?
Foul is the fteed without a flowing mane;

And birds, without their feathers, and their train.
Wool decks the sheep; and man receives a grace
From bushy limbs, and from a bearded face.
My forehead with a fingle eye is fill'd,
Round as a ball, and ample as a shield.