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Nor chefnuts fhall 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 pafs your own decree:
Behold their swelling dugs; the sweepy 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 nest.
I walk'd the mountains, and two cubs I found, Whofe dam had left 'em on the naked ground; VOL. IV.
So like, that no diftinction could be feen;
So pretty, they were prefents for a queen;
And so they shall; 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 fize:
Not Jove, the Jove you dream, that rules the skies,
Bears such 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 bristling hair,
My shape deform'd: what fouler fight can be,
Than the bald branches of a leaflefs 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 fhield.
The glorious lamp of heav'n, the radiant sun, Is Nature's eye; and she's content with one. Add, that my father sways your feas, and I, Like you, am of the watry family.
I make you his, in making you my own; You I adore, and kneel to you alone: Jove, with his fabled thunder, I defpife, And only fear the lightning of your eyes. Frown not, fair nymph; yet I could bear to be Difdain'd, if others were difdain'd with me. But to repulfe the Cyclops, and prefer The love of Acis, heav'ns! I cannot bear. But let the stripling please himself; nay more, Please you, tho that's the thing I most abhor; The boy shall find, if e'er we cope in fight, These giant limbs endu'd with giant might. His living bowels from his belly torn, And scatter'd limbs, fhall on the flood be born, Thy flood, ungrateful nymph; and fate shall find That way for thee and Acis to be join'd. For oh! I burn with love, and thy disdain Augments at once my paffion, and my pain. Tranflated Ætna flames within my heart, And thou, inhuman, wilt not eafe my fmart.
Lamenting thus in vain, he rofe, and strodo With furious paces to the neighb'ring wood: Reflefs his feet, distracted was his walk; Mad were his motions, and confus'd his talk. Mad as the vanquish'd bull, when forc❜d to yield His lovely miftrefs, and forfake the field.
Thus far unfeen I faw: when, fatal chance His looks directing, with a fudden glance, Acis and I were to his fight betray'd; Where, nought fufpecting, we fecurely play'd. From his wide mouth a bellowing cry he caft; I fee, I fee, but this fhall be your last. A roar fo loud made Etna to rebound; And all the Cyclops labour'd in the found. Affrighted with his monftrous voice, I fled, And in the neighb'ring ocean plung'd my head. Poor Acis turn'd his back, and, Help, he cry'd, Help, Galatea, help, my parent Gods, And take me dying to your deep abodes. The Cyclops follow'd; but he fent before A rib, which from the living rock he tore : Though but an angle reach'd him of the ftone, The mighty fragment was enough alone, To crush all Acis; 'twas too late to fave, But what the fates allow'd to give, I gave:
That Acis to his lineage fhould return;
And rowl, among the river Gods, his urn.
Straight iffu'd from the ftone a stream of blood;
Which loft the purple, mingling with the flood.
Then like a troubled torrent it appear'd :
The torrent too, in little space, was clear'd.
The stone was cleft, and thro the yawning chink
New reeds arose, on the new river's brink.
The rock, from out its hollow womb, disclos'd
A found like water in its courfe oppos'd:
When (wond'rous to behold) full in the flood,
Up ftarts a youth, and navel-high he stood.
Horns from his temples rife; and either horn
Thick wreaths of reeds (his native growth) adorn.
Were not his ftature taller than before,
His bulk augmented, and his beauty more,
His colour blue, for Acis he might pass:
And Acis chang'd into a stream he was.
But, mine no more, he rowls along the plains
With rapid motion, and his name retains.