Sidor som bilder



CRITUS, Paraphrased. .

T.My browzing goats upon the mountains fray:



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 shady grove;
Where stretch'd at ease your tender limbs were laid,
Your nameless beauties nakedly display'd ?
Then I was call'd your darling, your desire,
With kisses such as set my soul on fire :
But you are chang’d, yet I am still the same ;
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 forsworn!
I die, and death will finish all my pain ;
Yet, ere I die, behold me once again :
Am I so much deform'd, so 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 fiverv’d,
And for to-morrow have ten more reserv'd.
Look on me kindly, and some pity fhew,
Or give me leave at leait to look on you.

[ocr errors][ocr errors][ocr errors]

Some God transform me by his heav'nly pow's
Ev'n to a bee to buzz within your bow's,
The winding ivy-chaplet to invade,
And folded fern that your fair forehead fhade. 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 foften’d to the fight!
Whose radiant eyes your ebon brows adorn,
Like midnight those, 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 kiss my foul away.
Ah, why am I from empty joys debarr'd ?
For kisses 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 ftrip 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 Mould rise 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 :


[ocr errors][merged small]



I ftruck, and yet no lucky crack did follow;
Yet I ftruck hard, and yet the leaf lay hollow :
And which was worse, if any worse could prove,
The with’ring leaf foreshew'd your with’ring love.
Yee farther (ah, how far a lover dares !)
My last recourse I had to sieve and sheers;
And told the witch Agreo my disease :
Agreo, that in harvest us’d to lease :
But harvest done, to chare-work did aspire ;
Meat, drink, and two-pence was her daily hire,
To work she went, her charms she mutter'd o'er,

yet the resty fieve wagg'd ne'er the more ;
I wept for woe, the testy beldame swore,
And, foaming with her God, foretold my fate;
That I was doom'd to love, and you to hate.
A milk-white goat for you I did provide ;
Two milk-white kids run frisking by her side,
For which the nut-brown lass, Erithacis,
Full often offer'd many a favoury kiss.
Hers they shall be, fince you refuse the price :
What mad man would o'erstand his market twice!
My right eye itches, some good-luck is near,
Perhaps my Amaryllis may appear;
I'll set up such a note as the shall hear,
What nymph but my

melodious voice would move : She must be fint, if the refuse my

Hippomenes, who ran with noble ftrife
To win his lady, or to lose his life,
(What shift fome men will make to get a wife ?)
Threw down a golden apple in her way;
For all her hafte the could not choose but stay :
Renown said, Run; the glittring bribe cry'd, Hold;
The man might have been hang'd, but for his gold,
Yet some suppose 'twas love (some few indeed)
That stopt the fatal fury of her speed :
She favý, she figh’d; her nimble feet refuse
Their wonted speed, and she took pains to lose.



A Prophet fome, and some a Poet cry,
(No matter which, so neither of them lye)
From steepy Othry's top to Pylus drove
His herd; and for his pains enjoy'd his love :
If such another wager should be laid,
I'll find the man, if you can find the maid.
Why name I men, whom love extended finds
His pow'r on high, and in cælestial minds;
Venus the Mepherd's homely habit took,
And manag'd something else besides the crook;
Nay, when Adonis dy'd, was heard to roar,
And never from her heart forgave the boar,
How bleft was fair Endymion with his moon,
Who fleeps on Latmos' top from night to noon!
What Jason from Medea's love poffeft,
You hall not hear, but know 'tis like the reft,
My aking head can scarce fupport the pain ;
This cursed love will surely turn my brain ;
Feel how it shoots, and yet you take no pity ;
Nay then 'tis time to end my doleful ditty.
A clammy sweat does o'er my temples creep;
My heavy eyes are urg'd with iron feep:
I lay me down to gafp my latest breath,
The wolves will get a break fait by my death;
Yet scarce enough their hunger to supply,
For love has made me carrion ere I die.

[ocr errors]




From the 18th Idyllium of THEOCRITUS.


Welve Spartan virgins, noble, young, and fair,

With violet wreaths adorn’d their flowing hair; And to the pompous palace did resort, Where Menelaus kept his royal court. Their hand in hand a comely choir they led; To fing a blesfing to his nuptial bed, With curious needles wrought, and painted flowers

Jove's beauteous daughter now his bride must be,
And Jove himself was less a God than he :
For this their artful hands instruct the lute to sound,
Their feet assist their hands, and justly beat the ground.
This was their song : Why, happy bridegroom, why,

yet the stars are kindled in the sky,
Ere twilight shades, or evening dews are shed,
Why doft thou steal so soon away to bed ?
Has Somnus brush'd thy eye-lids with his rod,
Or do thy legs refuse to bear their load,
With flowing bowls of a more generous God?
If gentle slumber on thy temples creep,
(But; naughty man, thou doft not mean to sleep)
Betake thee to thy bed, thou drowzy drone,
Sleep by thyself, and leave thy bride alone:
Go, leave her with her maiden mates to play
At sports more harmless till the break of day:
Give us this evening; thou hast morn and night,
And all the year before thee, for delight.

« FöregåendeFortsätt »