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Discontented with his present condition, and defir. ous to be any thing but what he is, he wishes himself one of the shepherds. He then catches the idea of rural tranquillity; but foon discovers how much happier he should be in these happy regions, with Lycoris at his fide.
Hic gelidi fontes, hic mollia prata, Lj'cori;
Hic nemus; hic ipfo tecum confumerer ævo.
Nunc infanus amor duri me Martis in armis ;
Tela inter media, atque adverfos detinet bostes.
Tu procul a patria (nec fit mibi credere) tantum
Alpinas, ab dura, nives, dos frigore Rbeni
Me fine fola vides. Ah te ne frigora lædant !
An tibi ne teneras glacies fecet afpera plantas !
Here cooling fountains roll through flow'ry meads,
Here woods, Lycoris, lift their verdant heads;
Here could I wear my careless life away,
And in thy arms insensibly decay.
Instead of that, me frantic love detains
'Mid foes, and dreadful darts, and bloody plains ;
While you and can my soul the tale believe,
Far from your country, lonely wand'ring leave
Me, me your lover, barbarous fugitive !
Seek the rough Alps where snows eternal shine,
And joyless borders of the frozen Rhine.
Ah!, may no cold e'er blast my deareft maid,
Nor pointed ice thy tender feet invade!
He then turns his thoughts on every fide, in quest of something that may solace or amuse him : he pro
poses happiness to himself, firit in one scene and then in another; and at last finds that nothing will fatisfy :
Jam neque Hamadryades rurfum, nec carmina nebis
Ipfa placent : ipfe rurfum concedite Sylva.
Non illum noftri poffunt mutare labores;
Nec si frigoribus mediis Hebrumque bibamus,
Scithoniasque nives hyemis fubeamus aquofci
Nech, cum moriens alta liber aret in ulmo,
Æthiopum verfemus oves fub hidere Cancri,
Omnia vincit amor; et nos cedamus amori.
But now again no more the woodland maids,
Nor pastoral songs delight-Farewell, ye ihades
No toils of oufs the cruel god can change,
Tho' loft in frozen deserts we should range ;
Tho we should drink where chilling Hebrus flows,
Endure bleak winter's blasts, and Thracian fnows ;
Or on hot India's plains our flock should feed,
Where the parch'd elm declines his fickening head;
Beneath fierce glowing Cancer's fiery beams,
Far from cool breezes and refreshing streams.
Love over all maintains refiftless fway,
And let us love's all-conquering power obey.
But notwithftanding the excellence of the tenth pastoral, I cannot forbear to give the preference to the first, which is equally natural and more diversified. The complaint of the thepherd, who saw his old companion at ease in the shade, while himself was driving his little flock he knew not whither, is such as, with
variation of circumstances, misery always utters at the light of prosperity :
Nos patriæ fines, doe dulcia linquimus arva ;
Nos patriam fugimus : tu, Tityre, lentus in umbra,
Formosam refonare doces Amaryllida sylvas.
We leave our country's bounds, our much lov'd
We from our country fly, unhappy swains!
You, Tit’rus, in the groves, at leisure laid,
Teach Amaryllis' name to every shade.
His account of the difficulties of his journey, gives a very tender image of paftoral distress :
En ipfe capeHus
Protenus æger ago ; hanc etiam vix, Tityre, duco::
Hic inter densas corylos modo namque gemellos,
Spem gregis, ah. filice in nuda connixa reliquit.
And lo! fad part’ner of the general care,
Weary and faint I drive my goats afar !
While scarcely this my leading hand sustains,
Tir'd with the way, and recent from her pains ;
For 'mid yon tangled hazels as we past,
On the bare flints her hapless twin she caft,
The hopes and promise of my ruin'd fold!
The description of Virgil's happiness in his little. farm, combines almost all the images of rural pleasure ;
and he, therefore that can read it with indifference, has no sense of pastoral poetry:
Fortunate fenex, argo tua rura manebunt,
Et tibi magna fatis ; quamvis lapis omnia nudus,
Limofoque palus obducat pascua juncto,
Non infueta gravis tentabunt pabula fætas,
Nec mala vicini pecoris contagia lædent.
fenex, bis inter
Et fontes facros, frigus captabis opacum, .
Hinc tibi, quæ femper vicino ab limite sepes,
Hyblæis apibus florem depasta faličti,
fomnum fuadebit inire fufurro.
Hinc alta fub rupe canet frondator ad auras;
Nec tamen interea rauce, tua cura, palumbes,
Nec gemere aëria celabit turtur ab ulmo.
Happy old man! then still thy farms restor'd,
Enough for thee, shall bless thy frugal board.
What thorough ftones the naked foil o'erspread,
Or marshy bulrush rear its wat'ry head,
No foreign food thy teeming ewes shall fear,
No touch contagious spread its influence here.
Happy old man! here 'mid th' accustom'd Ireams
And sacred springs, you'll shun the scorching
While from yon willow-fence thy pasture's bound,
The bees that fuck their flow'ry stores around,
Shall sweetly mingle, with the whispering boughs,
Their lulling murmurs, and invite repose :
While from steep rocks the pruner's song is heard;
Nor the soft.cooing dove, thy fav'rite bird,
Mean while shall cease to breathe her melting
strain, Nor turtles from th' aerial elm to'plain.
It may be observed, that these two poems were produced by events that really happened ; and may, therefore, be of use to prove, that we can always feel more than we can imagine, and that the most artful fiction must give way to truth.