University of Virginia Library


335

BOOK IV.

Next heavenly honey, and ambrosial dews,
This too Maecenas hear! my song pursues;
Great wonders of an insect-race imparts,
Their manners, mighty leaders, arms, and arts;
The subject trivial, but not low the praise,
If heav'n should smile, and Phoebus aid the lays.
First for your bees a shelter'd station find,
Impervious to the gusts of rushing wind;
Rude blasts permit them not, as wide they roam,
To bring their food and balmy treasures home.
To tread the sweets of neighb'ring flow'rs forbid
The sportful lambkin, and exulting kid;

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Nor springing herbs let roving heifers crush,
Nor nibbling sheep the morning dew-drops brush,
Nor scaly lizards near their walls be found,
Nor ravenous birds, nor merops flit around,
Nor Progne, markt her breast with hands of blood;
Each wandering insect they destroy for food,
Arrest the lab'ring bees, a luscious prey,
And to th'expectant hungry nests convey.
But near, let fountains spring, and rivulets pass,
Meand'ring thro' the tufts of moss and grass;
Let spreading palm before the portal grow,
Or olive wild his sheltering branches throw;
That when the youthful swarms come forth to play,
Beneath the vernal sun's unclouded ray,
The kings may lead them to this cool retreat,
Where flow'ry banks invite, and boughs defend from heat.
Hast thou a living rill, or stagnant lake,
With willows and huge stones the waters break;
On which the wanderers safely may alight,
When rains or winds retard their destin'd flight;
On which emerging from the waves, may land,
And their wet wings to tepid suns expand.
Let cassia green and thyme shed sweetness round,
Savoury, and strongly-scented mint abound,
Herbs that the ambient air with fragrance fill;
While beds of violets drink the freshening rill.

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Whether your hive you frame of woven boughs,
Or rear with pliant bark the concave house,
Strait be its entrance; lest the varying year
Congeal the golden combs with frost severe,
Or melt the mass in summer's scorching beams;
Baneful alike to bees are both extremes.
For this around the chinks by nature led,
Soft wax and flowers and fucus' juice they spread:
For this their stores with potent glews enrich,
More tough than bird-lime or Idean pitch.
And oft in caverns as tradition tells,
They fix their bower, and form their secret cells,
Oft in cleft stone their hoarded sweets are laid,
Or moss-green oaken trunks with age decay'd.
Thou too with mud the chinky sides o'erlay,
And thinly shade them with the leafy spray.
Ne'er by their walls let yews unwholsome grow,
Nor let the red'ning crabs in embers glow,
Ne'er trust them near the fen, or stagnate flood,
Nor rank pernicious stench of reeking mud,
Nor where your voice from hollow rocks rebounds,
And hill to hill returns the mimic sounds.
Now cloth'd in gold, when the bright sun hath driv'n
Pale winter down, and op'd the smiling heav'n
With cloudless lustre, strait abroad they rove,
Around each lawn, around each verdant grove,
And sip the purple flowers, and lightly skim
Across the dimpled brook and river's brim:
Hence inexpressive fondness fills their breast,
For their young progeny and rising nest;
With joy their waxen labours they renew,
Thick'ning to honey their nectareous dew.

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Burst from their cells if a young troop be seen,
That sails exulting through the blue serene,
Driv'n by the winds, in clouds condens'd and dark,
Observe them close, the paths they steer remark;
They seek fresh fountains, and thick shady bowers,
'Tis then the time to scatter fragrant flowers.
Bruis'd baum, and vulgar cerinth spread around,
And ring the tinkling brass, and sacred cymbals sound:
They'll settle on the medicated seats,
And hide them in the chambers' last retreats.
But if intent on war they seek the foe,
'Twixt two contending kings when discords glow,
The peoples' troubled minds you soon presage,
Burning for battle, swoln with eager rage;
Hark! a rough clangor calls the hosts to arms,
A voice, like the deep trumpet's hoarse alarms!
Furious they meet, and brandishing their wings,
Fit all their claws and sharpen all their stings,
Around their monarch's high pavilion croud,
And call the lagging foe with shoutings loud.

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Now when a day serene and bright they gain,
From the vext city rush both battles main,
Dire is the conflict, loud resounds the sky,
Close in one cluster they contend on high,
And headlong fall, as thick as clattering hail,
Or acorns strew, from shaken oaks, the vale.
The kings shine glorious 'mid the thickest war,
And mighty souls in narrow bosoms bear:
Stedfast in fight, unknowing how to yield,
Till these or those forsake the deathful field.
These fierce contentions, this pernicious fray,
A little dust flung upwards will allay.
When now both chiefs have left the doubtful strife,
The vanquish'd wretch shall yield his forfeit life;
Lest he consume the stores, an useless drone;
While uncontroll'd the victor mounts the throne.
Two diff'rent kinds of regal bees, behold,
The better bears a coat that glows with gold;
More delicate proportions grace his frame,
And radiant scales o'er all his body flame:
While in the other, sloth's foul hues prevail,
Groveling he scarce his breadth of paunch can trail.
Alike a different form the people wear,
These squalid to the sight, and rough appear:
As when the traveller, all spent with thirst,
Spits from parch'd lips the froth-attemper'd dust.
The better race refulgent hues unfold,
Bedropt with even spots of glistening gold;
At stated seasons, theseshall plenteous pour
From their swoln combs the sweet nectareous show'r;
Yet pure as sweet, and potent to diffuse
New flavours mild o'er Bacchus' harsher juice.

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But when the swarms in aether idly play,
And from their emptied hives uncertain stray;
From the vain sport their giddy minds restrain,
Nor great to check the fugitives the pain:
Be it thy care, from these high-reverenc'd kings,
Conductors of their flight, to clip the wings;
The troops to march without their leaders fear,
Nor dare the standard from the camp to bear.
Let gardens gay, with saffron flowers, invite
The fickle wanderers, and retard their flight:
Safe let them live beneath Priapus' eye,
Whose hook rapacious birds and robbers fly.
But let the swain who makes the hive his care,
Sweet thyme and pines from the steep mountains bear:
Nor should himself refuse, their straw-built house
Far round to shade with thickly-woven boughs;
Himself should plant the spreading greens, and pour
Thick o'er the thirsting beds the friendly show'r.
And here, but that I hasten to the shore,
Prepar'd to strike my sails, and launch no more;
Perhaps the gardens' culture I might sing,
Teach Paestum's doubly-blooming rose to spring;
How celery and endive love to grow
On verdant banks where gurgling rivulets flow;
How best the creeping cucumber may swell;
Nor daffadil's late bloom would fail to tell;
Acanthus' bending stalks, nor ivy hoar,
Nor myrtles green, that love the breezy shore.
For once beneath Oebalia's lofty towers,
Where black Galesus thro' rich pastures pours,

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An old Corycian yeoman I beheld,
Lord of a little, and forsaken field,
Too poor to nourish sheep, or fatning kine,
The golden corn, or Bacchus' joyous vine;
Yet he thin sallads 'mid the bushy ground,
And vervain planted, and white lillies round;
And late at eve returning home to rest,
His frugal board with unbought dainties blest,
Nor wish'd to be the richest monarch's guest.
When spring with flowers, with fruits when autumn glows,
He first could pull the apple, crop the rose;
When winter drear had clove the rocks with cold,
And chain'd in ice the rivers as they roll'd,
Ev'n then acanthus' tender leaves he shear'd,
Slow zephyr blam'd, and a late summer fear'd.
He the first swarms could boast and pregnant bees,
From the full combs could richest honey squeeze:
Tall were his pines and limes, and fruitful all his trees.
Whatever buds the bending branches wore,
So many fruits in autumn swell'd his store.
He too could high-grown elms transplant in rows,
Or harden'd pear-trees from their place transpose,
Or plumbs with all their fruits, or lofty planes
That shelter'd with broad shades the quaffing swains.
But since too narrow bounds my song confine,
To future bards these subjects I resign.

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Now listen while the wond'rous powers I sing,
And genius giv'n to bees by heav'n's almighty king,
Whom in the Cretan cave they kindly fed,
By cymbals' sound, and clashing armour led.
They, they alone a general interest share,
Their young committing to the public care;
And all concurring to the common cause,
Live in fixt cities under settled laws:
Of winter mindful and inclement skies,
In summer hoard, for all the state, supplies:
Alternate some provide the nation's food,
And search it o'er each forest, field, and flood;
Some for the comb's foundations gather glew,
And temper gums with daffadil's rich dew;
Then with nice art the waxen arches bend,
Or with nectareous sweets the fret-work cells distend;
Commission'd some, th'important office bear,
To form the youth, the nation's hope, with care;
Some, by joint compact, at the city's gate
Intent, and watchful of heav'n's changes, wait,
Examine ev'ry motion of the skies,
What show'rs approach, what storms or winds arise;
Or ease the burden'd lab'rers limbs, or drive
The drones, a race of sluggards, from the hive;

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The crowded dome with toil intensely glows,
And from the breathing sweets a blended fragrance flows.
As when Jove's bolts to frame, the Cyclops sweat,
The rough and stubborn ore subdue with heat,
While chiming hammers in just order beat;
Some turn the weighty mass with griping tongs,
While others heave the puffing bellows' lungs,
Or the red bars in hissing water lave,
Deep Aetna groans below, thro' many an echoing cave:
No less (small things with greater to compare)
Toil the Cecropian bees with ceaseless care;
Each knows his task: the old their towns attend,
Shape their nice cells, their daedal works defend;
But late at evening those of youthful prime
Return fatigu'd, their thighs surcharg'd with thyme;
They prey on arbutes, willow-buds devour,
Sweet cassia, and the saffron's glowing flow'r;
From fruitful limes sip rich mellifluous dew,
And suck soft hyacinths, of purple hue.
All rest together, all together toil:
At morn they rush abroad, the flow'rs to spoil;
When twilight evening warns them to their home,
With weary wings and heavy thighs they come,
And crowd about the gate, and mix a drowsy hum.
At last, into their inmost chambers creep,
And silent lie dissolv'd in balmy sleep.

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When east winds blow, or gathering rains impend,
The skies they trust not, nor their flights extend;
But drink of streams that flow their city nigh,
Work near the walls, and short excursions try;
Poize their light bodies, like a ballanc'd boat,
With sands, as through tempestuous air they float.
But chief, this circumstance may wonder move,
That none indulge th'enfeebling joys of love,
None pangs of child-birth bear, but leaves among,
And fragrant flow'rs, they gather all their young;

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Hence their great king and citizens create,
And build their waxen realms, and courts of state.
On rugged rocks, oft as abroad they fly
They tear their wings, sink with their loads and die;
Such love of flow'rs inflames their little hearts,
So great their glory in these wond'rous arts.
Tho' seven short years are to one race decreed,
Still they continue an exhaustless breed,
From age to age encrease, and sires to sires succeed.

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Lydian nor Mede so much his king adores,
Nor those on Nilus' or Hydaspes' shores:
The state united stands, while he remains,
But should he fall, what dire confusion reigns!
Their waxen combs, and honey late their joy,
With grief and rage distracted, they destroy:
He guards the works, with awe they him surround,
And crowd about him with triumphant sound;
Him frequent on their duteous shoulders bear,
Bleed, fall, and die for him, in glorious war.
Led by such wonders, sages have opin'd,
That bees have portions of an heavenly mind:
That God pervades, and like one common soul,
Fills, feeds, and animates the world's great whole;
That flocks, herds, beasts, and men from him receive
Their vital breath, in him all move and live;
That souls discerpt from him shall never die,
But back resolv'd to god and heaven shall fly,
And live for ever in the starry sky.
When of its sweets the dome thou would'st deprive,
Diffuse warm-spirted water thro' thy hive,
Or noxious smoke thro' all their dwellings drive.
Twice the sweet artists plenteous honey make,
Thou twice each year th'ambrosial treasures take;
First when Taygete shews her beauteous head,
Disdaining Oceans' melancholy bed;
And when with sudden flight the fish she leaves,
Descending pensive to the wintry waves.

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Fierce rage and choler in their bosoms glow,
With venom'd stings they dart upon their foe,
Their subtle poison creeps the veins around,
In sweet revenge they die upon the wound.
But if in winter bleak, their broken state,
And drooping spirits you commiserate,
Who doubts, regardful of the pinching time,
To fumigate their hives with fragrant thyme,
And pare their empty wax? The lizard lurks,
Or slow-pac'd beetle in their inmost works,
Or oft their golden hoards the fat drones spoil,
A race that riots on another's toil;
Or the fierce hornet, sounding dire alarms,
Provokes the lab'rers to unequal arms;
Or baneful moths, or she whom Pallas hates,
Suspends her filmy nets before their gates.
The more they loose, the more with ceaseless care,
They strive the state's destruction to repair;
Their plunder'd wealth and wasted combs renew,
And swell their granaries with thicken'd dew.
But when, as human ills descend to bees,
The pining nation labours with disease;
Chang'd is their glittering hue to ghastly pale,
Roughness and leanness o'er their limbs prevail;
Forth the dead citizens with grief are borne,
In solemn state the sad attendants mourn.
Clung by the feet they hang the live-long day
Around the door, or in their chambers stay,
Hunger and cold and grief their toils delay.
'Tis then in hoarser tones their hums resound,
Like hollow winds the rustling forest 'round,

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Or billows breaking on a distant shore;
Or flames in furnaces that inly roar.
Galbanean odours here I would advise;
And thro' a reed to pour the sweet supplies
Of golden honey, to invite the taste
Of the sick nation, to their known repast:
Bruis'd galls, dry'd roses, thyme and centuary join,
And raisins ripen'd on the Psithian vine:
Besides, in meads the plant Amellus grows,
And from one root thick stalks profusely throws,
Which easily the wand'ring simpler knows:
Its top a flow'r of golden hue displays,
Its leaves are edg'd with violet-tinctur'd rays;
Rough is the taste; round many an holy shrine
The sacred priests its beauteous foliage twine,
This, where meand'ring Mella laves the plains,
Or in the new-shorn valley, seek the swains,
Its roots infuse in wine, and at their door
In baskets hang the medicated store.
But should your stock decay thro' dire disease,
Nor hope remain new families to raise,
Hear the strange secret I shall now impart,
The great Arcadian master's matchless art;
An art to reproduce th'exhausted store
From a slain bullock's putrifying gore:
I'll to its distant source the wond'rous tale explore.
Where happy the Canopian nation dwells,
Where Nile with genial inundation swells,

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Where swains, the meadows while he largely floats,
Around their pastures glide in painted boats,
From tawny India while he rolls his tides,
And into seven huge mouths his stream divides,
And pressing close on quiver'd Persia's clime,
Green Egypt fattens with prolific slime;
These swains, when grows extinct their honied race,
Sure hope and refuge in this practice place.
First for the work they chuse a narrow ground,
With streighten'd walls and roof embrac'd around:
Fronting the winds four windows add, to strike
Athwart the twilight space their beams oblique:
Then seek in prime of youth a lusty steer,
Whose forehead crooked horns begins to wear,

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His mouth and nostrils stop, the gates of breath,
And buffet the indignant beast to death;
Till the bruis'd bowels burst with many a stroke:
But still th'external skin remains unbroke.
Then leave him dead; his putrid limbs below,
Green twigs and thyme, and recent cassia strew.
Be this perform'd when zephyr's balmy breeze
First curls the surface of the smiling seas,
Ere bloom the meads in crimson vesture drest,
Ere swallows twitter o'er the new-built nest.
The tainted juices, in this prison pent,
Begin to boil, and thro' the bones ferment;
A wond'rous swarm strait from the carcase crawls,
Of feetless and unfinish'd animals;
Anon their infant buzzing wings they try,
And more and more attempt the boundless sky:
At last embody'd from their birth-place pour,
Thick as from copious clouds a summer-show'r,
Or flight of arrows, when with twanging bows
The Parthians in fierce onset gall their foes.
What god, ye nine, this art disclos'd to man,
Say whence this great experiment began?
Sad Aristaeus from sweet Tempe fled,
His bees with famine and diseases dead,
And at the spring of sacred Peneus' flood,
Thus plaining to his sea-green parent stood.
Mother, Cyrene! mother, you who keep
Your wat'ry court beneath this crystal deep,

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Why did you bear me of a race divine,
Yet stain with sorrows my celestial line?
If Phoebus be my sire, as you relate,
Why am I doom'd the sport of angry fate?
How have I lost, O how! your former love?
Why did you bid me hope to rise to heav'n above?
Lo! all I gain'd, by cattle, fields and corn,
(Those works which best this mortal state adorn)
The fruits of toil and thought intense are lost,
Tho' for my mother I a goddess boast!
Come then, with your own hand uproot my groves,
My stalls and stables burn, infect my droves,
My harvests murder, cut each blooming vine,
Since at my rising honours you repine.
His wondering mother heard the mournful sound,
Low in the chambers of the waves profound.
The nymphs around her plac'd, their spindles ply'd,
And spun Milesian wool, in verdure deeply dy'd.
Ligea, Xantho, Drymo, Spio, fair;
Thalia, and Phyllodoce, whose hair
Wav'd o'er their snowy shoulders in the air;
Nesaea, Ephyre, with Opis, thee!
And, her that calms the waves, Cymmodoce:
The yellow maid, Lyeorias, and the bride
Cydippe, who Lucina's pangs had try'd,
Clio, and Beroë, sea-born both, behold,
Both clad in spotted skins and radiant gold,
Deïope, and Arethuse, the chaste,
No more intent to pierce the flying beast.
There Clymene sung Vulcan's fruitless cares,
The luscious thefts, and soft deceits of Mars,

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And how from Chaos old, all-mighty Love
Had fill'd the bosom of each god above.
While thus they toil'd, enchanted with the strain,
His voice alarm'd his mother's ears again;
The listening sisters heard unusual groans
Amaz'd, and started from their crystal thrones:
But Arethuse first heav'd her beauteous head
Above the waves; and, O Cyrene, said,
Well might'st thou fear these echoing sounds of woe,
These sorrows from thy Aristaeus flow;
Thy darling care mourns by thy father's flood,
And calls thee cruel, and complains aloud.
Pitying the youth, the fear-struck mother said,
My son, O quickly, quickly hither lead,
To him 'tis given the courts of gods to tread.
At once she bids the swelling rivers cleave,
Th'obedient floods an ample entrance leave;
Down thro' the deeps he goes, on either hand
The congregated waves like mountains stand.
Now wondering at the wat'ry realms he went,
At dashing lakes in hollow caverns pent,
His mother's palace, and the sounding woods,
And deaf'ning roar of subterraneous floods.
Amaz'd he saw, this spacious globe below,
Deep in its bed each mighty river flow,

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Phasis, and Lycus, and the fruitful head,
Whence burst Enipeus' streams, whence father Tiber's spread,
Whence Hypanis, that swiftly-pouring roars
With thundering billows on his rocky shores,
Whence Anio's and Caicus' copious urns,
Whence bull-fac'd Po adorn'd with gilded horns,
Than whom no river, thro' such level meads
Down to the sea with swifter torrents speeds.
Now to the vaulted chamber was he come,
Where hanging pumice form'd an awful dome;
When fond Cyrene ask'd him of his woe,
And whence those bitter tears began to flow.

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The sisters, water from the purest spring,
And towels soft, with haste officious bring;
Prepare full bowls, and heap up choicest meats;
The altars blaze with rich Arabian sweets.
Of Lydian wine, she cry'd, these goblets take,
To Ocean let us due libations make;
At once to Ocean old, in ritual lays,
Parent of all things, she devoutly prays;
And to the sister nymphs, whose gentle sway
An hundred groves, an hundred streams obey;
Thrice o'er the fire the liquid nectar throws,
Thrice to the shining roof the flames arose.
She thus—with that auspicious omen fir'd—
In the Carpathian gulf there dwells retir'd
The prophet Proteus; o'er the wat'ry way,
Whose car the finny, two-legg'd steeds convey:
Now to his distant country he resorts,
Emathia seeking, and Pallene's ports;
The sea-nymphs this caerulean seer adore,
And him reveres ev'n hallow'd Nereus hoar;
All things he knows, tho' hid in time's dark womb,
What is, what long is past, and what shall come:
So Neptune will'd; whose monstrous herds he keeps,
Of squalid calves, beneath the rolling deeps.
Him must thou chain, and force him to disclose
The cause and cure of thy distracting woes.
Nought he'll unfold, except the god thou bind,
Nor prayers, nor tears can move his stedfast mind.
With force and chains, my son, his limbs surround,
These can alone his treacherous wiles confound.
When the parcht herbage fades with mid-day heat,
And fainting cattle to cool shades retreat,

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Myself will lead thee to the close abode,
Where stretcht in slumber, thou may'st seize the god.
Instant he'll try, elusive of the rape,
The varied force of every savage shape;
Become a bristly boar, or tyger fell,
Or like a scaly bloated dragon swell;
Like a gaunt lion shake a tawny mane,
Or in loud crackling fire escape thy chain;
Or while thou closely grasp'st thy fraudful prey,
Chang'd to a flowing stream glide swift away.
Yet still retentive with redoubled might,
Thro' each vain fleeting form constrain his flight;
Till the same shape, all changes past, appear,
That e'er the senior slept, thou saw'st him wear.
She spoke, and o'er him rich ambrosia shed,
With liquid odours bath'd his breathing head,
And thro' his glowing limbs celestial vigour spread.
Deep in the mountain lies a spacious cave,
Worn by the workings of the restless wave,
Whither vast waters drive before the wind,
And shatter'd ships commodious shelter find.
There, far within a grot, old Proteus dwells,
And draws a vast rock o'er his secret cells.
She plac'd her son beneath the darksome roof,
Herself, involv'd in clouds, retires aloof.
Now rabid Sirius scorcht the gasping plains,
And burnt intense the panting Indian swains;
In his 'mid course the sun all fiery stood,
Parcht was the grass, the rivers bak'd to mud;
When Proteus, weary of the waters, sought
The cool retirement of his 'custom'd grott;

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The finny race exulting round him play,
And in wild gambols dash the bitter spray,
The scaly phocae, sunk in sleep profound,
Along the shore their guardian god surround.
He (like a peasant skill'd the herds to keep,
When evening homeward warns the calves and sheep,
When hungry wolves, with pleasure listening, hear,
And mark for prey, the lambs that bleat from far)
With watchful eyes, high seated on a rock,
Reviews and counts the numbers of his flock.
The lucky youth with this occasion blest,
Just as the seer compos'd his limbs to rest,
Rush'd on him with a mighty threatening sound,
And fast, the weary, slumbering senior bound.
He, every various art dissembling tries,
And many a monster's direful shape belies;
Roars horrid like a prowling savage, glows
Like crackling fire, or like a river flows;
But when no fraud could further his escape,
He spoke, return'd to human voice and shape:
Rash youth! who bade thee to my court repair
With impious boldness? what thou seek'st, declare!
O Proteus! well thou know'st the cause, he cry'd,
Nought from thy piercing eyes can mortals hide;
Obedient to the gods, I seek to know
What fate decrees, and how to heal my woe.
The prophet, while his bosom boil'd with ire,
And while his green eyes shot indignant fire,
Gnashing his teeth, with fury in his look,
Compell'd, at length, the fates disclosing, spoke:
Thou suffer'st for atrocious crimes—on thee
Falls the just vengeance of a deity;

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Unhappy Orpheus on thy guilt hath sent,
And more dost thou deserve, this punishment;
And more shalt feel, unless by fate deny'd,
For still he rages for his murder'd bride.
She from thy arms, by headlong fear misled,
Swift o'er the river's verdant margin fled;
Nor at her feet the fated fair descry'd
The dreadful snake that kept its grassy side.
But with loud shrieks hersister-dryads moan'd,
And high Pangaea's utmost mountains groan'd;
Their cries to Rhodope and Thrace were borne,
The Getae, Hebrus, Orithyïa mourn.
He on the desart shore all lonely griev'd,
And with his concave shell his love-sick heart reliev'd;
To thee, sweet wife, still pour'd the piteous lay,
Thee, sung at dawning, thee at closing day!

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Ev'n hell's wide jaws he ventur'd to explore,
Deep gates of Dis, and Death's tremendous shore;
Down to the Manes went, and chearless plains,
The grove where horror frowns, and hell's dread monarch reigns;
Obdurate hearts! to whom unmov'd by woes
Pray'rs plead in vain, and sorrow useless flows.
Struck with his song, from Erebus profound,
Thin flitting ghosts, and spirits flock'd around;
Thick as the birds to leafy groves descend,
When evening clouds, or wintry storms impend;
Mothers and husbands, heroes' awful shades,
Sweet infant boys, and pure unmarried maids,
Youths whose fond parents saw their bloom expire,
And sorrowing plac'd them on the funeral pyre;
Whom black Cocytus' sullen waters bound,
Foul shores of mud with reeds unsightly crown'd,
And the nine streams of winding Styx around.
Ev'n these dread mansions listen'd with amaze;
With awe, death's deepest dungeons heard his lays;
Struck were the snake-crown'd Furies, Cerberus shews
His jaws wide-gaping, yet in act to close;
A pause of rest the sad Ixion found,
His wheel stopt sudden at the powerful sound.
And now at length no farther toil remain'd,
The upper air Eurydice regain'd,
Behind she came, so Proserpine ordain'd:
When strait a frenzy the fond lover caught,
(Could Hell forgive, 'twas sure a venial fault)
Ev'n on life's confines, too, too weak of mind,
He stopt, alas! and cast one look behind.

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Fell Pluto's terms he broke! his hopes were lost!
A groan thrice echoed o'er Avernus' coast.
Ah! who destroys us both, she sadly cry'd,
What madness, Orpheus, tears thee from thy bride?
The cruel fates force me again away!
My swimming eyes no more discern the day;
Adieu! no longer must thou bless my sight—
I go! I sink! involv'd in thickest night!
In vain I stretch my feeble arms to join
Thy fond embrace; ah! now no longer thine!
Swift from his ardent gaze, while thus she spoke,
She vanish'd into air, like subtile smoke,
And left him catching at her empty ghost,
Desiring much to say, in speechless sorrow lost:
The rigid ferryman of hell no more
Would deign to waft him to the gloomy shore:
What should he do? where turn? how seek relief?
Twice lost his consort, how appease his grief?
How move the Manes, with what doleful note?
She sail'd, already cold, in Charon's boat.
For seven long months, by desart Strymon's side,
Beneath a lofty rock, he mourn'd his bride,
And stretcht in gelid caverns, with his song
Made tygers tame, and drew hard oaks along.
As Philomel in poplar shades, alone,
For her lost offspring pours a mother's moan,
Which some rough ploughman marking for his prey,
From the warm nest, unfledg'd, hath stol'n away,
Percht on a bough, she all night long complains,
And fills the grove with sad repeated strains.

385

No second fair, no nuptial rites could move,
Nought soften his distracted mind to love:
The Hyperborean ice he wander'd o'er,
And solitary roam'd round Tanais' shore,
And Scythia's desarts of eternal frost,
Lamenting his lost bride, and Pluto's favours lost.
The Thracian dames enrag'd to be despis'd,
As Bacchus' midnight feasts they solemniz'd,
Inspir'd with frantic fury seiz'd the swain,
And strew'd his mangled carcase o'er the plain:
His pale head from his ivory shoulders torn,
Adown Oeagrian Hebrus' tide was borne;
As in the rapid waves it roll'd along,
Ev'n then with faultering voice and feeble tongue,
To name his poor Eurydice he try'd,
Eurydice, with parting breath he cry'd,
Eurydice! the rocks and echoing shores reply'd.
He spoke—and 'mid the waves his body hurl'd,
About his head the foaming waters curl'd.
Not so Cyrene—to asswage his fears,
My son, she cries, allay thy restless cares;
Behold the cause of all this dire disease;
The nymphs have sent destruction on thy bees,
With whom Eurydice was wont t'advance,
And lead in lofty groves the sacred dance.
Thou suppliant offer gifts, and sue for peace,
The mild Napaeans will their anger cease;

387

But hear me first in order due declare,
The means to sooth their rage, and frame thy pray'r:
Select four large and beauteous bulls that crop
Thy verdant pastures on Lyceaus' top,
Four heifers too, that ne'er have plough'd the field,
Four altars in the Dryads' temples build;
From the slain victims pour the sacred blood,
And leave their bodies in the shady wood:
When the ninth morn o'er dewy hills shall spring,
To Orpheus' ghost Lethean poppies bring;
With a black ewe Eurydice adore,
And shed for her a victim-heifer's gore:
Revisit then the grove.—Without delay
He speeds his mother's precepts to obey;
Hastes to the temple, there his altars builds,
Four bulls, four heifers leads, that ne'er had plough'd the fields:
At the ninth morning's dawn, to Orpheus bears
Th'appointed gifts, and to the grove repairs:
When lo! a wond'rous prodigy they found,
An host of bees rush'd forth with humming sound,
By the slain bullocks' putrid bowels form'd,
From whose burst sides, in clouds immense they swarm'd;
Then from a tree's high top, conglob'd depend,
Whose branches with the bellying cluster bend.
Thus, have I sung the labours of the swain,
Of trees, of flocks, of cattle and of grain;
While mighty Caesar to Euphrates bears
His conquering arms, the thunder of his wars;
To all the willing world new laws decrees;
And ardent presses on, th'Olympian heights to seize.

389

Then me, Parthenope's soft pleasures blest,
And learned leisure and less glorious rest;
Who warm in youth, once sung the shepherds loves,
Sung thee, O Tityrus, stretcht beneath the beechen groves.
The End of the Fourth Georgic.
 

Ver. 1. Honey.] The poet calls honey aërial and heavenly, according to the opinion of the old philosophers, who believed that it was derived from the dew of heaven. This heavenly dew they thought was received by the flowers, and thence gathered by the bees, Every reader of taste perceives how Virgil exalts and dignifies these wonderful insects, by ascribing to them thro' this whole book, the manners, passions, and actions of men. I have before said, that the characteristic of this book is elegance, and of the former, sublimity. Virgil has borrowed most of his observations upon bees from Varro, and Aristotle's treatise of animals. Modern philosophy has cleared up many mistakes which these ancients fell into, with regard to bees and other animals.

12. Sportful lambkin.] Which puts me in mind of those sweet lines of Euripides, Hippol. Coron. 73.

Σοι τονδε πλεκτον στεφανον εξ ακηρατο
Λειμνος, ω δεσποινα, κοσμησας φερω,
Ενθ ουτε ποιμην αξιοι φερβειν βοτα,
Ουδ ηλθε πω σιδηρος, αλλ ακηρατον
Μελια λειμων ηρινον διερχεται.

An author (whose meanest praise is his critical taste and judgment) instead of ηρινον in the last verse, would read ηρινος the vernal bee. Jortin on Ecclesiastical Hist. 387. vol. 2.

16. The merops.] Apiaster, or Bee-eater, is shaped like a king-fisher. It is about the size of a black-bird. Progne the daughter of Pandion was turned into a swallow, which has the feathers of its breast stained with red.

23. Palm.] Dr. Martyn observes that the palm-tree is of several sorts; but believes the species cultivated in Italy (and consequently that meant in this place) to be the date tree.

30. Willows.] In the original tranversas salices. Varro would have a small stream near the apiary not above 2 or 3 fingers deep, with several shells or small stones standing a little above the surface of the water, that the bees may drink.

36. Savoury.] The thymbra of the ancients is generally thought, says Dr. Martyn, to be some species of satureia, or savoury. Serpyllum is wild thyme. Cassia is not rosemary, as some have supposed.

56. The red'ning crabs.] This must sound very odd to modern readers. The Romans were wont to burn crabs to ashes, and used them as a remedy for scalds and burns.

61. The poet proceeds to speak of the swarming of bees, and points out the method of making them settle.

77. Cerinth, &c.] Trita melisphylla, et cerinthae ignobile gramen, says the original. Dr. Martyn, who is very accurate and full in explaining the botanical part of the Georgics, says, that the first plant seems to be a contraction of melissophyllon; and that the description of it agrees very well with the melissa or baum, a common herb in the English gardens. Cerinthe (which is derived from κηριον, a honey-comb) is the cerinthe flavo fiore asperior, or yellow flowered honey-wort. The stalks are about the thickness of one's finger, round, smooth, whiteish, and divided into several branches. The leaves embrace the stalks and branches with their bases, and diminish gradually to a point. They are of a bluish colour marked with white spots, set on both sides with prickles, and neatly indented. Dr. Martyn in his quarto edition has given a beautiful print of the cerinthe finely coloured.

78. Cymbals,] Tinitusque cie, &c. This custom is still used. Aristotle mentions it likewise, and questions whether they hear or not, and whether it be delight or fear that causes the bees to be quieted with such noises. For my own part I believe it to be of no manner of service in this case. Martyn.

85. Hosts to arms.] This battle is described with as much spirit and strength, and the fury of the combatants is painted in terms as bold and majestic, as if it were an engagement between the greatest heroes. One cannot but observe how Virgil exalts his bees by giving them all the warlike apparatus of a Roman army. Such are the expressions.—Aeris rauci canor, spicula, and praetoria, magnisque vocant clamoribus hostem, per medias acies, erumpunt portis— concurritur.

115. Spits from parch'd lips.] 'Tis observable that this is the only low, or droll image, that Virgil hath admitted into the Georgics; so careful was he of keeping up a dignity and majesty throughout his poem.

144. Teach Paestum's.] We learn from Servius, that Paestum is a town in Calabria, where the roses blow twice a year.

145. How celeri.] These exquisite lines make us wish the poet had enlarged upon the subject of gardening. We have no poem on it but an insipid one of F. Rapin, written in pure Latin indeed, but with no poetical spirit, and indeed I think not comparable to an old fragment of Columella on this subject. Considering the many great improvements made in this science, perhaps the garden is the properest and most fruitful subject for a didactic poem of any whatsoever. Especially as this art hath been lately so much improv'd by Mr. Kent, who with great taste banished the regular, strait walks, Dutch work, and unnatural uniformity, formerly so much admir'd.

151. Once.] Who that reads this, says Dr Trapp, despises not the wealth, and pities not the persons of all the great ones upon earth?

158. Lillies.] The original is, albaque circum lilia. Tho' the white lilly be the most common species of that flower, among us, yet it was the most celebrated, and best known among the ancients. Thus Virgil does not produce the epithet alba in this place, without reason. In other passages our poet has taken care to insist on the whiteness of the lilly; as in Aen. lib. 12.

------ Mixta rubent ubi lilia multa
Alba rosa. ------

And Aen. 6.

------ Candida circum
Lilia funduntur. ------
&c. See Martyn.

170. Pines.] Columella observes that limes are hurtful to bees, but mentions the pine as agreeable to them.

175. Planes.] This relates to the Corycians having the art of removing even large trees.

177.] Columella has endeavoured to supply what Virgil has here omitted concerning gardens, in a poem on that subject, which gives us room to wish Virgil had wrote it on this subject.

180. King.] The poet here insinuates, that Jupiter gave the bees a degree of reason, as a reward for their feeding him, when an infant, with honey, while he was conceal'd in a cave from his father Saturn.

198. Intent and watchful.] Vaniere, in his book on the management of bees, relates the following extraordinary circumstance, which he says he takes from M. Maraldi, Histoire de l' Academie Royale de Sciences, 16 Nov. 1712. sur les abeilles, p. 299.

Excutias vigilum fallens, impune penates
Cum semel intrasset limax cornutus, eosque
Turparet fluidae crasso lentore salivae;
Obstupuere domi gerulum, stimulisque frequentes
Invasere fero retrahentem corpus ab ictu,
Seque suæ vallo testae, spumisque tegentem;
Irrita jam cum tela forent; apis advocat artes
Ingeniosa suas; et cerae prodiga totam
Incrustat cochleam; monsirum fatale recondens
Hoc veluti tumulo, ne tetrum afflaret odorem.
Praedii Rustici, lib. 14. p. 257.

This is an instance, if it be true, of more astonishing sagacity than any mentioned by Virgil.

205. Cyclops.] Mr. Pope observes with fine taste on this passage: “That the use of the grand style on little subjects, is not only ludicrous, but a sort of transgression against the rules of proportion and mechanics: I believe, now I am upon this head, it will be found a just observation, that the low actions of life cannot be put into a figurative style without being ridiculous, but things natural can. Metaphors raise the latter into dignity, as we see in the Georgics; but throw the former into ridicule, as in the Lutrin. I think this may be very well accounted for; laughter implies censure; inanimate and irrational beings are not objects of censure; therefore these may be elevated as much as you please, and no ridicule follows: but when rational beings are represented above their real character, it becomes ridiculous in art, because it is vicious in morality. The bees in Virgil, were they rational beings, would be ridiculous, by having their actions represented on a level with creatures so superior as men; since it would imply folly or pride, which are the proper objects of ridicule.” Pope, Postscript to the Odyssey.

236. Enfeebling joys of love.] Vaniere, who received new lights on this subject from the observations of modern philosophers, describes the queen laying her eggs in the following manner:

Explorans paritura toros regina paratos;
Inserit alvelis caput, ut quae nixibus edet,
Unis ova parens deponat singula nidis.
Circumstat stipata cohors, uteroque dolentem
Reginam mulcet pennis; et murmure blando
Hortatur duros partus tolerare labores.
Illa retro gradiens, averso corpore nidos,
Ingreditur; parientem abdit sexangula cera;
Turba ministra, tamen pennes limina tensas
Explicat, obducens faetae quasi vela parenti,
Virginibus tantum pudor atque modestia cordi est.
Praedii Rustici, lib. 14. pag. 260.

237. Bear.] The modern philosophers are much better acquainted with the nature of insects, than were Aristotle or Theophrastus, from whom Virgil borrowed largely in his account of bees. They assert and prove that no animal (nay no plant) is produced without a concurrence of the two sexes, and that consequently equivocal generation is an idle and most groundless opinion: See Redi de insectis. With regard to the generation of bees, I shall present the reader with a large but entertaining extract from a French author lately publish'd. The matter of the treatise is taken from the works of the learned Mr. Maraldi, and Mr. de Reaumer, and is flung into a very sprightly dialogue.

It begins with a general view of the hive. The glass hive represents a city of sixteen or eighteen thousand inhabitants. This city is a monarchy, consisting of a queen, of grandees, soldiers, artizans, porters, houses, streets, gates, magazines, and a most strict civil policy. The queen dwells in a palace in the inner part of the city; some of the cells (which run perpendicular from the top of the hive) are larger than the rest, and belong to those, who after the queen, hold the first rank in the commonwealth; the others are inhabited by the common people. The cells are all publick buildings, which belong to the society in common; for among this people there is no meum nor tuum. Some cells are close magazines for a store of honey; others for the daily nourishment of the labouring bees; others are destin'd to receive eggs, and to lodge the worm from which the young bee springs.

In the hive there is usually but one queen, six or eight hundred, or even a thousand males called drones, and from fifteen to sixteen thousand or upwards, of bees without sex, who carry on the whole policy and manufacture of the hive. The mother-bee, or the queen-mother, is the soul of the community, and but for her, every thing would languish; when she is secreted from the hive, the other bees lose all care of posterity, and make neither honey nor wax, so that the city soon becomes desolate and empty.—The rest of the bees pay her the most dutiful respect, and follow her whereever she goes, or is carried from home. Her subjects perform their several functions without any instructions, and without giving her the least trouble. Her only business is to people the hive; and this she fulfils so perfectly, as well to deserve the most honourable of all political titles, that of Parent of her country. To merit the love of her subjects, 'tis necessary she should produce from ten to twelve thousand children in the space of seven weeks, and one year with another, from thirty to forty thousand. She is easily distinguish'd from the other bees, by the form of her body, which is longer and slenderer. Her wings are shorter, in proportion to her length: in the other bees, they cover the whole body; in her, they terminate about half way, at the third ring of her trunk. She has like the rest, a sting and bladder of poison; but is with much more difficulty provoked to use them; though when she does, the wound is larger and much more painful.

The drones, or the thousand husbands of this single queen, are found in the hive only from the beginning of May to the end of July. Their number increases every day during that space of time, and is greatest when the queen is breeding; in a few days after which period they die a violent death. Their way of living is very different from the rest: for excepting the single moment when they pay their duty to the queen, they are quite idle, and enjoy a most luxurious fare; being fed only with the finest honey, whereas the common bees live in a great measure upon wax. These go out early in the morning, and don't return till they are loaded with honey and wax, for the good of the society: The drones, on the contrary, don't go abroad till about eleven o'clock to take the air, and return punctually before six at night. They have no stings, nor those long elastic teeth with which the other bees work up the honey; nor those kind of hollows, which serve them for baskets to bring it home to the hive. The other bees, or the manufacturers (as we may call them) have an infinite number of strange particularities about them, of which we can only impart a few to the reader.

Their head seems triangular, and the point of the triangle is formed by the meeting of two long elastic teeth, which are concave on the inside. In the second and third pair of their legs, is a part called the brush, of a square figure, with its outward surface polish'd and sleek, and its inward hairy, like a common brush. With these two instruments they prepare their wax and honey. The materials of their wax lie in the form of dust, upon the amina of flowers. When the bee would gather this dust, she enters into the flower, and takes it up by means of her brush, to which it easily adheres. She comes out all covered with it, sometimes yellow, sometimes red, or according to the native colour of the dust. If this dust be inclosed in the Capsulae of a flower, she pierces the Capsulae, with her long moveable teeth, and then she gathers it. When it is quite loaded with dust, she rubs herself to collect it, and rolls it up in a little mass. Sometimes she performs this part of her business by the way; sometimes she stays till she comes to the hive. As soon as it is formed into a ball about the size of a grain of pepper, she lodges it in her basket, and returns home with a joy proportionable to the quantity she brings. The honey of the bees is found in the same place with the wax. It is lodged in little reservoirs, placed at the bottom of the flower,

241. Rugged rocks.] These lines in the original are certainly misplaced; they seem to come in more properly, says Martyn, after ver. 196 of the original. I am indebted for this observation to the learned Sir Daniel Molyneux, Bart. F. R. S.

227. Taygetae.] Virgil in speaking of the rising of the Pleiades, speaks of them in the singular number, and that personally.

Taygete simul os terris ostendit honestum
Pleias ------

'Tis probable, that on the ancient globes this was a distinct constellation from Taurus, and represented by one of the sisters only, that named by Virgil. Aratus and Erastothenes both speak of it as distinct from Taurus; and the latter calls it Πλειας, and not Πλειαδες. Spence.

279. Die upon.] It is said to be a vulgar error, that bees lose their lives with their stings. Martyn.

280. Winter.] He now proceeds regularly to tell us, how to manage those hives in which the honey is left for supporting the bees through the winter, and likewise enumerates the particular vermin, and plagues that infest them.

326. But should,] The poet having already spoken of the ways of driving noxious animals from the bees, and of the method of curing their diseases; now proceeds to describe the manner after which the total loss of them may be repaired; which, he tells us was practiced by the Egyytians. Martyn.

333. Canopus.] The commentators are prodigiously divided about the meaning of these four verses. Dr. Martyn takes Virgil to mean only a description of the Delta or lower Egypt. Canopus is the west angle of that triangular region; Pelusium is the east angle, being nearest to Persia, and the south angle is the point where the Nile is divided to form the Delta. Δ. The circumstance,

Circum pictis vehitur sua rura phaselis

is a very agreeable picture of that country, which during the inundation of the Nile resembles a vast level lake.

340. Green Egypt.] The Nile is the greatest wonder of Egypt. As it seldom rains there, this river, which waters the whole country by its regular inundations, supplies that defect, by bringing, as a yearly tribute, the rains of other countries; which made a poet say iugeniously, The Egyptian pastures, how great foever the drought may be, never implore Jupiter for rain.

Te propter nullos tellus tua postulat imbres,
Arida nec pluvio supplicat herba Jovi.

To multiply so beneficent a river, Egypt was cut into numberless canals, of a length and breadth proportioned to the different situation and wants of the lands. The Nile brought fertility every where with its salutary streams; united cities one with another, and the Mediterranean with the Red sea; maintained trade at home and abroad, and fortified the kingdom against the enemy; so that it was at once the nourisher and protector of Egypt. The fields were delivered up to it; but the cities that were raised with immense labour, and stood like islands in the midst of the waters, look down with joy on the plains which were overflowed, and at the same time enriched by the Nile.

This is a general idea of the nature and effects of this river, so famous among the ancients.

There cannot be a finer sight than it affords at two seasons of the year. For if a man ascends some mountain, or one of the largest pyramids of Grand Cairo, in the months of July and August, he beholds a vast sea, in which numberless towns and villages appear, with several causeys leading from place to place, the whole interspers'd with groves and fruit trees, whose tops are only visible, all which forms a delightful prospect. This view is bounded by mountains and woods, which terminate, at the utmost distance the eye can discover, the most beautiful horizon that can be imagined. On the contrary, in winter, that is to say, in the months of January and February, the whole country is like one continued scene of beautiful meadows, whose verdure enamell'd with flowers charms the eye. The spectator beholds, on every side, flocks and herds dispersed over all the plains, with infinite numbers of husbandmen and gardeners. The air is then perfumed by the great quantity of blossoms on the orange, lemon, and other trees; and is so pure, that a wholsomer and more agreeable is not found in the world: so that nature, being then dead, as it were, in all other climates, seems to be alive only for so delightful an abode. Rollin's Ancient History, page 13, 8 vo, 1749.

355. Zephyris primum in the original. This little description of the spring diversifies the subject, and enlivens the dryness of the preceding paragraph.

360. Begin to boil.] Nothing can be expressed in a livelier manner, than this generation of the bees;

Interea teneris tepefactus in ossibus humor.

Such lines as these on a low and indeed a gross subject, shew Virgil's prodigious command of language; the two similes at the end add an ornament and an elegance likewise to the passage. It must be observed, that insects cannot be generated by putrefaction; carcases are only a proper nidus and receptacle for their young: and therefore, says Dr. Martyn, the female parent chuses there to lay her eggs, that the warmth of the fermenting juices may help to hatch them.

See Redi de Insectis.

395. Ligea, Xantho] There are but eighteen nymphs mentioned by Virgil in this account of Cyrene's grotto; including Clymene and Cyrene herself; of which passage Mr. Dryden says, The poet here records the names of fifty river nymphs, and for once I have translated them all. Polymetis, page 316. note 46.

406. Vulcan's fruitless cares.] Some of the graver critics make an observation, which the ladies must needs think unjust and satyrical. When Dido gives a feast to Aeneas, her physician Iopas entertains the company, which were chiefly composed of men and strangers, with a song on a philsophical subject. But, say they, where Virgil introduces a nymph singing to her mistress Cyrene, and to her fellow virgins, she describes to them the loves of Mars and Venus: the dulcia furta were the subject that sweetened their labours at the loom. The poet hints at the topics which employ the conversation of the ladies when they are alone by themselves. The commentators, who make such unfair reflections, must doubtless be a set of ill-bred, abusive fellows, that know very little of the world, and less of the ladies.

423. River.] The descent of Aristaeus into the earth, is founded on an ancient superstition of the Egyptians. Servius tells us, that on certain days sacred to the Nile, boys born of holy parents, were delivered to the nymphs by the priests; who, when they were grown up, and returned back, reported, that there were groves under the earth, and an immense water containing all things, and from whence every thing is procreated.

432. Deep.] This is one of the most sublime passages in Virgil. Nothing can strike the imagination more strongly, than to conceive a person entering the bowels of the earth, and at once hearing and seeing the most celebrated rivers in the world bursting forth from their several sources. The rough and more amazing scenes of rocks, caves, and altars which Aristaeus passes thro', are at last finely softened by the kind reception he meets with from his mother, and the beautiful appearance of the nymphs spinning and singing the loves of the gods. Fracastorius has a descent into the earth in search of metals, where, no doubt, he had Virgil in his eye; and in which he has been followed by Dr. Garth.

438. Eridanus—the Po.] This passage cannot be better explained than by quoting the following words from Mr. Spence in his Polymetis:

“But there is another thing in it, with which I am not yet satisfied; and that is, Virgil's calling the Po here, the most violent of all rivers. I know one of the most celebrated and most ingenious writers of our age has endeavoured to soften this, by understanding it only of the rivers in Italy. But, (not to enquire at all whether the Po be really the most violent of all the rivers in Italy) how can Virgil be understood of the rivers of one country only, where he is expresly speaking of all the rivers of the world? and of one common point, from whence all their sources were anciently supposed to be derived?

“I am not quite clear as to that expression, replied Polymetis: but to answer you as far as I can, I must give you the opinion of a man whom you both know; and whose name I need not mention to you, when I have told you it is the person who understands Virgil in a more masterly manner, than perhaps any one in this age. It is his opinion, (with all that modesty, with which he generally offers his opinions) that the difficulty you mention may possibly be got over, by the expression joined with it; per pinguia culta. The most violent rivers in the world are such as run, or fall, through a chain of mountains; and (not to speak of any of the Apennine rivers, or rather torrents, in Italy itself) the Isar which we cross so often in the two or three last days journey before we enter Italy, is (in all that part of its course,) much more violent and more disturbed than the Po: but the Po, you know, very soon after its source, flows on thro' the vale of Piedmont, and afterwards traverses all the rich vale of Lombardy. These are the pinguia culta, which Virgil speaks of: almost the whole course of the Po is through such rich low ground: and perhaps there may not be any river in the world, which has almost all its course through so fat and rich a soil, which is so violent as the Po is.

Polymetis, Dial. 14, p. 232.

454. An hundred groves.] I follow the sense given to this passage in the Arcadia del Sannazaro, Prosa 10.

459. Proteus.] This fable of Proteus is imitated by Virgil, from the fourth book of the Odyssey; where Menelaus is sent to consult the same deity, by the advice and assistance of his own daughter Eidothea.

509. Spray.] The circumstance of these monsters scattering the spray of the sea about them, greatly enlivens this beautiful sea-piece,

512. Like a peasant.] Virgil has imitated Homer so nicely in his adventure with Proteus, that he has not forgot this simile of the shepherd, in his copy. Lupos acuunt is wonderfully expressive, and short.

548. But with loud shrieks.] Virgil does not at length describe the serpents stinging and killing Eurydice. This from the pen of a lesser genius, would have taken up twenty lines. He contents himself with saying—alta non vidit herba; and adds immediately,

At chorus aequalis Dryadum.

554. To thee.] There are few things in the ancient poetry more moving than the story of Orpheus and Eurydice. It hath acquired new beauties by falling into the hands of the tender and passionate Virgil; and is told by him in so melting a strain, that some of the touches he hath given it can hardly be read without tears. When we are wrought up to such a temper, it naturally leads us to compassionate the hard fate of the unhappy lovers; and we begin to feel some indignation at the captious condition, upon which he was to possess his beauty, or lose her for ever: not to look at his loved Eurydice. Arbitrary and capricious! unbefitting the just brother of Jove, and unlike the bounties of a divine, unenvious nature: unless indeed there be something else understood than appears: some truth in life or morals that lies latent under this circumstance of the tale.

The great and unhappy Lord Verulam, who was sensible of the incongruity, has given an explication of the fable; but seems not to have hit upon the real meaning. What he says is entertaining and beautiful: for he was a spirit of that high order that go ingeniously wrong, and who cannot err without instruction. But I incline to think that the moral of the fiction is rather to be learned at an ordinary music-meeting, or an unmeaning opera, than, where his lordship direct us, in the recesses of an abstruse philosophy.

Orpheus's mistress was music. The powers of it are enchanting. It lulls the reason, and raises the fancy in so agreeable a manner, that we forget ourselves while it lasts. The mind turns dissolute and gay, and hugs itself in all the deluding prospects and fond wishes of a golden dream. Whilst every accent is warbled over by a charming voice, a silly song appears sound morality, and the very words of the opera pass for sense, in presence of their accompagnament. But no sooner does the music cease, than the charm is undone, and the fancies disappear. The first sober look we take off it breaks the spell; and we are hurried back with some regret to the common dull road of life, when the florid illusion is vanish'd. Blackwall's enquiry concerning the life and writings of Homer, Sect. 11.

585. He stopt—and cast.] The philosophic goddess of Boethius having related the story of Orpheus, who when he had recovered his wife from the dominions of death, lost her again by looking back upon her in the confines of light, concludes with a very elegant and forcible application; Whoever you are that endeavour to elevate your mind to the illuminations of heaven, consider yourselves as represented in this fable; for he that is once so far overcome, as to turn back his eye towards the infernal caverns, loses, at the first sight, all that influence that attracted him on high.

Vos haec fabula respicit,
Quicunque in superum diem,
Mentem ducere quaeritis.
Nam qui tartareum in specus,
Victus lumina flexerit,
Quicquid praecipuum trahit,
Perdit, dum videt inferos.
The Rambler, Numb. 178.

587. Thrice echoed.]—Terque fragor stagnis auditus Avernis, says the original very finely. A certain dismal and hollow sound was heard through the vaults of hell. Some imagine, but I think groundlessly, that it was the shout of ghosts rejoicing for Eurydice's return. Surely the other sense is far the more poetical and more strongly imagined.

610. As Philomel.] Is not Proteus too great a poet in this simile?

633. He spoke.] Though the episode of Orpheus and Eurydice be so admirable in itself, that we thank the poet for having introduced it at any rate: yet, after all is it not stitch'd in a little inartificially? Is it to be conceived that Proteus, who, being made a prisoner, and speaking by constraint, is in no very good humour, should tell this long story (which is not very material to the point neither) to entertain Aristaeus, who has offered that violence to him? Was it not enough to inform him, that his misfortune was occasioned by Eurydice's death, without telling all these circumstances consequent of it? Perhaps it may be reply'd, that it is more material to the point than is commonly imagined. These consequences greatly aggravate the guilt of Aristaeus; and so it was proper enough, if not absolutely necessary, to recite them. Whether this answer be sufficient, or not, I neither know, nor much care. Be it as it will, I would not lose this episode, to be the author of all the best criticisms that ever were, or shall be, written upon the classics. Trapp.

663. Putrid bowels.] Observe how the poet has varied his expressions on a subject so difficult to be ornamentally expressed as this birth of the bees, for,

------ liquefacta boum per viscera toto ------
------ et ruptis effervere costis ------ &c.

is quite newly expressed from what it was before in the passage above, Interea teneris tepefactus in ossibus humor .

673. Parthenope.] There may be a propriety in this that is not generally remarked. Naples was a town of indolence and pleasure, and was therefore, as some suppose, said to have been founded by Parthenope one of the Sirens, who were goddesses of indolence and pleasure:

Improba siren
Desidia ------ ------
Otiosa Neapolis.
Hor.

This idea too makes the contrast between Augustus and Virgil much the stronger. Spence.

673. Then me.] I cannot forbear being of opinion that the four concluding lines of the Georgics, illo Virgilium, &c. &c. are of the same stamp and character with the four justly exploded ones, which are prefixed to the Aeneid. Audaxque juventa is, I think, an expression entirely unworthy of Virgil, and a mere botch. Besides nothing can be a more complete and sublime conclusion than that compliment to Augustus —Viamque affectat Olympo.

676. Groves.] Each book of Virgil's Georgics is in a different stile (or has a different colouring) from all the rest. That of the first is plain; of the second, various; of the third, grand; and of the fourth, pleasing. Holdsworth.