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ELEGY THE FIRST.

[Attend! and favour! as our Sires ordain]

Attend! and favour! as our Sires ordain;
The Fields we lustrate, and the rising Grain:
Come, Bacchus, and thy Horns with Grapes surround;
Come, Ceres, with thy wheaten Garland crown'd;
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This hallow'd Day suspend each Swain his Toil,
Rest let the Plough, and rest th'uncultur'd Soil:
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Unyoke the Steer, his Racks heap high with Hay,
And deck with Wreaths his honest Front To-day.
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Be all your Thoughts to this grand Work apply'd!
And lay, ye thrifty Fair, your Wool aside!
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Hence I command you Mortals from the Rite,
Who spent in amorous Blandishment the Night,
The vernal Powers in Chastity delight.
But come, ye Pure, in spotless Garbs array'd!
For you the solemn Festival is made!
Come! follow thrice the Victim round the Lands!
In running Water purify your Hands!
See! to the Flames the willing Victim come!
Ye Swains with Olive crown'd, be dumb! be dumb!
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“From Ills, O sylvan Gods, our Limits shield,
“To-day we purge the Farmer and the Field;
“O let no Weeds destroy the rising Grain;
“By no fell Prowler be the Lambkin slain;
“So shall the Hind dread Penury no more;
“But gaily smiling o'er his plenteous Store,
“With liberal Hand shall larger Billets bring,
“Heap the broad Hearth, and hail the genial Spring.
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“His numerous Bond-slaves all in goodly Rows,
“With wicker Hutts your Altars shall inclose.
“That done, they'll cheerly laugh, and dance, and play,
“And praise your Goodness in their uncouth Lay.”
The Gods assent! see! see! those Entrails show,
That Heaven approves of what is done below!
Now quaff Falernian, let my Chian Wine,
Pour'd from the Cask in massy Goblets shine!
Drink deep, my Friends; all, all, be madly gay,
'Twere Irreligion not to reel To-day!
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Health to Messala, every Peasant toast,
And not a Letter of his Name be lost!
O come, my Friend, whom Gallic Triumphs grace,
Thou noblest Splendor of an antient Race;
Thou whom the Arts all emulously crown,
Sword of the State, and Honour of the Gown;
My Theme is Gratitude, inspire my Lays!
O be my Genius! while I strive to praise
The rural Deities, the rural Plain,
The Use of foodful Corn they taught the Swain.
They taught Man first the social Hut to raise,
And thatch it o'er with Turf, or leafy Sprays:
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They first to tame the furious Bull essay'd,
And on rude Wheels the rolling Carriage laid.
Man left his savage Ways; the Garden glow'd,
Fruits not their own admiring Trees bestow'd,
While thro' the thirsty Ground meandring Runnels flow'd.
There Bees of Sweets dispoil the breathing Spring,
And to their Cells the dulcet Plunder bring.
The Ploughman first to sooth the toilsome Day,
Chanted in measur'd Feet his sylvan Lay:
And, Seed-time o'er, he first in blythsome Vein,
Pip'd to his Houshold Gods the hymning Strain.
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Then first the Press with purple Wine o'er-ran,
And cooling Water made it fit for Man.
The Village-Lad first made a Wreath of Flowers
To deck in Spring the tutelary Powers:
Blest be the Country, yearly there the Plain
Yields, when the Dog-star burns, the golden Grain:
Thence too thy Chorus, Bacchus, first began,
The painted Clown first laid the tragic Plan.
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A Goat, the Leader of the shaggy Throng,
The Village sent it, recompenc'd the Song.
There too the Sheep his woolly Treasure wears;
There too the Swain his woolly Treasure shears;
This to the thrifty Dame long Work supplies;
The Distaff hence, and Basket took their Rise.
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Hence too the various Labours of the Loom,
Thy Praise, Minerva, and Arachne's Doom!
Mid Mountain Herds Love first drew vital Air,
Unknown to Man, and Man had nought to fear;
'Gainst Herds, his Bow th'unskilful Archer drew;
Ah my pierc'd Heart, an Archer now too true!
Now Herds may roam untouch'd, 'tis Cupid's Joy,
The Brave to vanquish, and to fix the Coy.
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The Youth whose Heart the soft Emotion feels,
Nor sighs for Wealth, nor waits at Grandeur's Heels;
Age fir'd by Love is touch'd by Shame no more,
But blabs its Follies at the Fair One's Door!
Led by soft Love, the tender trembling Fair
Steals to her Swain, and cheats Suspicion's Care,
With out-stretch'd Arms she wins her darkling Way,
And Tiptoe listens that no Noise betray!
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Ah wretched those, on whom dread Cupid frowns!
How happy they, whose mutual Choice he crowns!
Will Love partake the Banquet of the Day?
O come—but throw thy burning Shafts away.
Ye Swains, begin to mighty Love the Song,
Your Songs, ye Swains, to mighty Love belong!
Breathe out aloud your Wishes for my Fold,
Your own soft Vows in Whispers may be told.
But hark! loud Mirth and Musick fire the Crowd—
Ye now may venture to request aloud!
Pursue your Sports; Night mounts her curtain'd Wane;
The dancing Stars compose her filial Train;
Black muffled Sleep steals on with silent Pace,
And Dreams flit last, Imaginations Race!
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