The poetical works of Sir William Jones With the life of the author ... in two volumes |
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ARCADIA,
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 | The poetical works of Sir William Jones |  |
207
ARCADIA,
A PASTORAL POEM.
208
In those fair plains, where glitt'ring Ladon roll'd
His wanton labyrinth o'er sands of gold,
Menalcas reign'd: from Pan his lineage came;
Rich were his vales, and deathless was his fame.
When youth impell'd him, and when love inspir'd,
The list'ning nymphs his Doric lays admir'd:
To hear his notes the swains with rapture flew;
A softer pipe no shepherd ever blew.
But, now, oppress'd beneath the load of age,
Belov'd, respected, venerable, sage,—
Of heroes, demigods, and gods he sung;
His reed neglected on a poplar hung:
Yet all the rules, that young Arcadians keep,
He kept; and watch'd each morn, his bleating sheep.
Two lovely daughters were his dearest care;
Both mild as May, and both as April fair:
Love, where they mov'd, each youthful breast inflam'd;
And Daphne this, and Hyla that was nam'd.
The first was bashful as a blooming bride,
And all her mien display'd a decent pride;
Her tresses, braided in a curious knot,
Were close confin'd, and not a hair forgot,—
Where many a flower, in mystic order plac'd,
With myrtle twin'd, her silken fillet grac'd;
Nor with less neatness was her robe dispos'd,
And every fold a pleasing art disclos'd;
Her sandals of the brightest silk were made,
And, as she walk'd, gave lustre to the shade;
A graceful ease in every step was seen,
She mov'd a shepherdess, yet look'd a queen.
Her sister scorn'd to dwell in arching bowers,
Or deck her locks with wreaths of fading flowers;
O'er her bare shoulder flow'd her auburn hair,
And, fann'd by Zephyrs, floated on the air;
Green were her buskins, green the vest she wore,
And in her hand a knotty crook she bore.
The voice of Daphne might all pains disarm:
Yet, heard too long, its sweetness ceas'd to charm:
But none were tir'd when artless Hyla sung,
Though something rustic warbled from her tongue.
His wanton labyrinth o'er sands of gold,
Menalcas reign'd: from Pan his lineage came;
Rich were his vales, and deathless was his fame.
When youth impell'd him, and when love inspir'd,
The list'ning nymphs his Doric lays admir'd:
To hear his notes the swains with rapture flew;
A softer pipe no shepherd ever blew.
But, now, oppress'd beneath the load of age,
Belov'd, respected, venerable, sage,—
Of heroes, demigods, and gods he sung;
His reed neglected on a poplar hung:
Yet all the rules, that young Arcadians keep,
He kept; and watch'd each morn, his bleating sheep.
209
Both mild as May, and both as April fair:
Love, where they mov'd, each youthful breast inflam'd;
And Daphne this, and Hyla that was nam'd.
The first was bashful as a blooming bride,
And all her mien display'd a decent pride;
Her tresses, braided in a curious knot,
Were close confin'd, and not a hair forgot,—
Where many a flower, in mystic order plac'd,
With myrtle twin'd, her silken fillet grac'd;
Nor with less neatness was her robe dispos'd,
And every fold a pleasing art disclos'd;
Her sandals of the brightest silk were made,
And, as she walk'd, gave lustre to the shade;
A graceful ease in every step was seen,
She mov'd a shepherdess, yet look'd a queen.
Her sister scorn'd to dwell in arching bowers,
Or deck her locks with wreaths of fading flowers;
O'er her bare shoulder flow'd her auburn hair,
And, fann'd by Zephyrs, floated on the air;
Green were her buskins, green the vest she wore,
And in her hand a knotty crook she bore.
210
Yet, heard too long, its sweetness ceas'd to charm:
But none were tir'd when artless Hyla sung,
Though something rustic warbled from her tongue.
Thus, both in beauty grew, and both in fame,
Their manners different, yet their charms the same.
The young Arcadians, tuneful from their birth,
To love devoted, and to rural mirth,
Beheld, and fondly lov'd the royal maids,
And sung their praise in valleys, lawns, and glades;—
From morn to latest eve they wept, and sigh'd;
And some for Daphne, some for Hyla, died:
Each day new presents to the nymphs they bore,
And in gay order spread the shining store;
Some beechen bowls and polish'd sheephooks brought,
With ebon knots, and studs of silver wrought;
Some led in flowery bands the playful fawn,
Or bounding roe, that spurn'd the grassy lawn;
The rest on nature's blooming gifts relied,
And rais'd their slender hopes on beauty's pride:
—But the coy maids, regardless of their pain,
Their vows derided, and their plaintive strain.
Hence some, whom love with lighter flames had fir'd,
Broke their soft flutes, and in despair retir'd;
To milder damsels told their amorous tale,
And found a kinder Daphne in the vale.
Their manners different, yet their charms the same.
The young Arcadians, tuneful from their birth,
To love devoted, and to rural mirth,
Beheld, and fondly lov'd the royal maids,
And sung their praise in valleys, lawns, and glades;—
From morn to latest eve they wept, and sigh'd;
And some for Daphne, some for Hyla, died:
Each day new presents to the nymphs they bore,
And in gay order spread the shining store;
Some beechen bowls and polish'd sheephooks brought,
With ebon knots, and studs of silver wrought;
211
Or bounding roe, that spurn'd the grassy lawn;
The rest on nature's blooming gifts relied,
And rais'd their slender hopes on beauty's pride:
—But the coy maids, regardless of their pain,
Their vows derided, and their plaintive strain.
Hence some, whom love with lighter flames had fir'd,
Broke their soft flutes, and in despair retir'd;
To milder damsels told their amorous tale,
And found a kinder Daphne in the vale.
It happen'd, on a cheerful morn of May,
When every meadow smil'd in fresh array,
The shepherds, rising at an early hour,
In crowds assembled round the regal bower,
There hail'd in sprightly notes the peerless maids;
And tender accents trembled through the glades.
Menalcas, whom the larks with many a lay
Had call'd from slumber at the dawn of day,
By chance was roving through a bordering dale,
And heard the swains their youthful woes bewail.
He knew the cause; for long his prudent mind
To sooth their cares indulgently design'd;
Slow he approach'd; then wav'd his awful hand,
And, leaning on his crook, address'd the list'ning band:—
When every meadow smil'd in fresh array,
The shepherds, rising at an early hour,
In crowds assembled round the regal bower,
There hail'd in sprightly notes the peerless maids;
And tender accents trembled through the glades.
Menalcas, whom the larks with many a lay
Had call'd from slumber at the dawn of day,
By chance was roving through a bordering dale,
And heard the swains their youthful woes bewail.
He knew the cause; for long his prudent mind
To sooth their cares indulgently design'd;
Slow he approach'd; then wav'd his awful hand,
And, leaning on his crook, address'd the list'ning band:—
‘Arcadian shepherds! to my words attend;
‘In silence, hear your monarch, and your friend.
‘Your fruitless pains, which none can disapprove,
‘Excite my pity, not my anger move.
‘Two gentle maids, the solace of my age,
‘Fill all my soul, and all my care engage;
‘When death shall join me to the pale-ey'd throng,
‘To them my sylvan empire will belong;
‘But, lest with them the royal line should fail,
‘And civil discord fill this happy vale,
‘Two chosen youths the beauteous nymphs must wed,
‘To share their power, and grace the genial bed;
‘So may the swains our ancient laws obey,
‘And all Arcadia own their potent sway.
‘But what sage counsel can their choice direct?
‘Whom can the nymphs prefer, or whom reject?
‘So like your passion, and so like your strain,
‘That all deserve, yet cannot all obtain.
‘Hear then my tale: as late, by fancy led
‘To steep Cyllene's ever-vocal head,
‘With winding steps I wander'd through the wood,
‘And pour'd wild notes; a Faun before me stood;
‘A flute he held, which as he softly blew,
‘The feather'd warblers to the sound he drew;
‘Then to my hand the precious gift consign'd,
‘And said, “Menalcas, ease thy wond'ring mind:
“This pipe, on which the god of shepherds play'd,
“When love inflam'd him, and the viewless maid,
“Receive: ev'n Pan thy tuneful skill confess'd,
“And after Pan thy lips will grace it best.
“Thy daughter's beauty every breast inspires,
“And all thy kingdom glows with equal fires:
“But let those favor'd youths alone succeed,
“Who blow with matchless art this heavenly reed.”
‘This said, he disappear'd. Then hear my will;
‘Be bold, ye lovers, and exert your skill;
‘Be they my sons, who sing the softest strains,
‘And tune to sweetest notes their pleasing pains:
‘But mark! whoe'er shall, by too harsh a lay,
‘Offend our ears, and from our manners stray,
‘He, for our favor, and our throne unfit,
‘To some disgraceful penance must submit.’
‘In silence, hear your monarch, and your friend.
212
‘Excite my pity, not my anger move.
‘Two gentle maids, the solace of my age,
‘Fill all my soul, and all my care engage;
‘When death shall join me to the pale-ey'd throng,
‘To them my sylvan empire will belong;
‘But, lest with them the royal line should fail,
‘And civil discord fill this happy vale,
‘Two chosen youths the beauteous nymphs must wed,
‘To share their power, and grace the genial bed;
‘So may the swains our ancient laws obey,
‘And all Arcadia own their potent sway.
‘But what sage counsel can their choice direct?
‘Whom can the nymphs prefer, or whom reject?
‘So like your passion, and so like your strain,
‘That all deserve, yet cannot all obtain.
‘Hear then my tale: as late, by fancy led
‘To steep Cyllene's ever-vocal head,
213
‘And pour'd wild notes; a Faun before me stood;
‘A flute he held, which as he softly blew,
‘The feather'd warblers to the sound he drew;
‘Then to my hand the precious gift consign'd,
‘And said, “Menalcas, ease thy wond'ring mind:
“This pipe, on which the god of shepherds play'd,
“When love inflam'd him, and the viewless maid,
“Receive: ev'n Pan thy tuneful skill confess'd,
“And after Pan thy lips will grace it best.
“Thy daughter's beauty every breast inspires,
“And all thy kingdom glows with equal fires:
“But let those favor'd youths alone succeed,
“Who blow with matchless art this heavenly reed.”
‘This said, he disappear'd. Then hear my will;
‘Be bold, ye lovers, and exert your skill;
214
‘And tune to sweetest notes their pleasing pains:
‘But mark! whoe'er shall, by too harsh a lay,
‘Offend our ears, and from our manners stray,
‘He, for our favor, and our throne unfit,
‘To some disgraceful penance must submit.’
He ends: the shepherds at his words rejoice,
And praise their sovereign with a grateful voice.
Each swain believes the lovely prize his own,
And sits triumphant on th'ideal throne;
Kind Vanity their want of art supplies,
And gives indulgent what the Muse denies;
Gay vests and flowery garlands each prepares,
And each the dress, that suits his fancy, wears.
And praise their sovereign with a grateful voice.
Each swain believes the lovely prize his own,
And sits triumphant on th'ideal throne;
Kind Vanity their want of art supplies,
And gives indulgent what the Muse denies;
Gay vests and flowery garlands each prepares,
And each the dress, that suits his fancy, wears.
215
Now deeper blushes ting'd the glowing sky,
And evening rais'd her silver lamp on high;
When in a bower, by Ladon's lucid stream,
Where not a star could dart his piercing beam,
So thick the curling eglantines display'd,
With woodbines join'd, an aromatic shade,—
The father of the blooming nymphs reclin'd,
His hoary locks with sacred laurel twin'd:
The royal damsels, seated by his side,
Shone like two flow'rs in summer's fairest pride:
The swains before them crowded in a ring,
Prepar'd to blow the flute, or sweetly sing.
And evening rais'd her silver lamp on high;
When in a bower, by Ladon's lucid stream,
Where not a star could dart his piercing beam,
So thick the curling eglantines display'd,
With woodbines join'd, an aromatic shade,—
The father of the blooming nymphs reclin'd,
His hoary locks with sacred laurel twin'd:
The royal damsels, seated by his side,
Shone like two flow'rs in summer's fairest pride:
The swains before them crowded in a ring,
Prepar'd to blow the flute, or sweetly sing.
First, in the midst a graceful youth arose,
Born in those fields where crystal Mele flows:
His air was courtly, his complexion fair;
And rich perfumes shed sweetness from his hair,
That o'er his shoulder wav'd in flowing curls,
With roses braided, and inwreath'd with pearls:
A wand of cedar for his crook he bore;
His slender foot th'Arcadian sandal wore,
Yet that so rich, it seem'd to fear the ground,
With beaming gems and silken ribands bound;
The plumage of an ostrich grac'd his head,
And with embroider'd flow'rs his mantle was o'erspread.
He sung the darling of th'Idalian queen,
Fall'n in his prime on sad Cythera's green;
When weeping graces left the faded plains,
And tun'd their strings to elegiac strains;
While mourning Loves the tender burden bore,
‘Adonis, fair Adonis, charms no more.’
The theme displeas'd the nymph, whose ruder ear
The tales of simple shepherds lov'd to hear.
The maids and youths, who saw the swain advance,
And take the fatal pipe, prepar'd to dance:
So wildly, so affectedly, he play'd,
His tune so various and uncouth he made,
That not a dancer could in cadence move,
And not a nymph the quaver'd notes approve:
They broke their ranks, and join'd the circling train,
While bursts of laughter sounded o'er the plain.
Menalcas rais'd his hand, and bade retire
The silken courtier from th'Arcadian choir:
Two eager shepherds, at the king's command,
Rent his gay plume, and snapp'd his polish'd wand;
They tore his vest, and o'er his bosom threw
A weed of homely grain and russet hue;
Then fill'd with wither'd herbs his scented locks,
And scornful drove him to the low-brow'd rocks;
There doom'd to rove, deserted and forlorn,
Till thrice the moon had arch'd her silver-horn.
Born in those fields where crystal Mele flows:
216
And rich perfumes shed sweetness from his hair,
That o'er his shoulder wav'd in flowing curls,
With roses braided, and inwreath'd with pearls:
A wand of cedar for his crook he bore;
His slender foot th'Arcadian sandal wore,
Yet that so rich, it seem'd to fear the ground,
With beaming gems and silken ribands bound;
The plumage of an ostrich grac'd his head,
And with embroider'd flow'rs his mantle was o'erspread.
He sung the darling of th'Idalian queen,
Fall'n in his prime on sad Cythera's green;
When weeping graces left the faded plains,
And tun'd their strings to elegiac strains;
While mourning Loves the tender burden bore,
‘Adonis, fair Adonis, charms no more.’
The theme displeas'd the nymph, whose ruder ear
The tales of simple shepherds lov'd to hear.
217
And take the fatal pipe, prepar'd to dance:
So wildly, so affectedly, he play'd,
His tune so various and uncouth he made,
That not a dancer could in cadence move,
And not a nymph the quaver'd notes approve:
They broke their ranks, and join'd the circling train,
While bursts of laughter sounded o'er the plain.
Menalcas rais'd his hand, and bade retire
The silken courtier from th'Arcadian choir:
Two eager shepherds, at the king's command,
Rent his gay plume, and snapp'd his polish'd wand;
They tore his vest, and o'er his bosom threw
A weed of homely grain and russet hue;
Then fill'd with wither'd herbs his scented locks,
And scornful drove him to the low-brow'd rocks;
There doom'd to rove, deserted and forlorn,
Till thrice the moon had arch'd her silver-horn.
The next that rose, and took the mystic reed,
Was wrapp'd, ungraceful, in a sordid weed;
A shaggy hide was o'er his shoulder spread;
And wreaths of noxious darnel bound his head;
Unshorn his beard, and tangled was his hair;
He rudely walk'd, and thus address'd the fair:
‘My kids I fondle, and my lambs I kiss;
‘Ah! grant, sweet maid, a more delightful bliss.’
The damsels blush with anger and disdain,
And turn indignant from the shameless swain;
To Pan in silence, and to Love, they pray,
To make his music hateful as his lay.
The gods assent: the flute he roughly takes,
And scarce, with pain, a grating murmur makes:
But when, in jarring notes, he forc'd his song,
Just indignation fir'd the rural throng:
Shame of Arcadia's bowers! the youths exclaim,
Whose tuneless lays disgrace a shepherd's name,
The watchful heralds, at Menalcas' nod,
Pursued the rustick with a vengeful rod;
Condemn'd three summers on the rocky shore
To feed his goats, and touch a pipe no more.
Was wrapp'd, ungraceful, in a sordid weed;
218
And wreaths of noxious darnel bound his head;
Unshorn his beard, and tangled was his hair;
He rudely walk'd, and thus address'd the fair:
‘My kids I fondle, and my lambs I kiss;
‘Ah! grant, sweet maid, a more delightful bliss.’
The damsels blush with anger and disdain,
And turn indignant from the shameless swain;
To Pan in silence, and to Love, they pray,
To make his music hateful as his lay.
The gods assent: the flute he roughly takes,
And scarce, with pain, a grating murmur makes:
But when, in jarring notes, he forc'd his song,
Just indignation fir'd the rural throng:
Shame of Arcadia's bowers! the youths exclaim,
Whose tuneless lays disgrace a shepherd's name,
The watchful heralds, at Menalcas' nod,
Pursued the rustick with a vengeful rod;
219
To feed his goats, and touch a pipe no more.
Now to the ring a portly swain advanc'd,
Who neither wholly walk'd nor wholly danc'd;
Yet mov'd in pain, so close his crimson vest
Was clasp'd uneasy o'er his straining breast:
‘Fair nymph!’ said he, ‘the roses, which you wear,
‘Your charms improve not, but their own impair.’
The maids, unus'd to flowers of eloquence,
Smil'd at the words, but could not guess their sense.
When in his hand the sacred reed he took,
Long time he view'd it with a pensive look;
Then gave it breath, and rais'd a shriller note
Than when the bird of morning swells his throat;
Through every interval, now low, now high,
Swift o'er the stops his fingers seem'd to fly:
The youths, who heard such music with surprise,
Gaz'd on the tuneful bard with wond'ring eyes:
He saw with secret pride their deep amaze,
Then said, ‘Arcadia shall resound my praise,
‘And every clime my powerful art shall own;
‘This, this, ye swains, is melody alone:
‘To me Amphion taught the heavenly strains,
‘Amphion, born on rich Hesperian plains.’
To whom Menalcas: ‘Stranger! we admire
‘Thy notes melodious, and thy rapturous fire;
‘But ere to these fair valleys thou return,
‘Adopt our manners, and our language learn:
‘Some aged shepherd shall thy air improve,
‘And teach thee how to speak, and how to move.’
Who neither wholly walk'd nor wholly danc'd;
Yet mov'd in pain, so close his crimson vest
Was clasp'd uneasy o'er his straining breast:
‘Fair nymph!’ said he, ‘the roses, which you wear,
‘Your charms improve not, but their own impair.’
The maids, unus'd to flowers of eloquence,
Smil'd at the words, but could not guess their sense.
When in his hand the sacred reed he took,
Long time he view'd it with a pensive look;
Then gave it breath, and rais'd a shriller note
Than when the bird of morning swells his throat;
220
Swift o'er the stops his fingers seem'd to fly:
The youths, who heard such music with surprise,
Gaz'd on the tuneful bard with wond'ring eyes:
He saw with secret pride their deep amaze,
Then said, ‘Arcadia shall resound my praise,
‘And every clime my powerful art shall own;
‘This, this, ye swains, is melody alone:
‘To me Amphion taught the heavenly strains,
‘Amphion, born on rich Hesperian plains.’
To whom Menalcas: ‘Stranger! we admire
‘Thy notes melodious, and thy rapturous fire;
‘But ere to these fair valleys thou return,
‘Adopt our manners, and our language learn:
‘Some aged shepherd shall thy air improve,
‘And teach thee how to speak, and how to move.’
Soon to the bow'r a modest stripling came,
Fairest of swains; and Tityrus his name:
Mild was his look: an easy grace he show'd;
And o'er his beauteous limbs a decent mantle flow'd:
As through the crowd he press'd, the sylvan choir
His mien applauded, and his neat attire;
And Daphne, yet untaught in amorous lore,
Felt strange desires, and pains unknown before.
He now begins: the dancing hills attend,
And knotty oaks from mountain-tops descend:—
He sings of swains beneath the beechen shade,
When lovely Amaryllis fill'd the glade;
Next, in a sympathizing lay, complains
Of love unpitied, and the lover's pains:
But when with art the hallow'd pipe he blew,
What deep attention hush'd the rival crew!
He play'd so sweetly, and so sweetly sung,
That on each note th'enraptur'd audience hung;
Ev'n blue-hair'd nymphs, from Ladon's limpid stream,
Rais'd their bright heads, and listen'd to the theme;
Then, through the yielding waves, in transport glanc'd;
Whilst on the banks the joyful shepherds danc'd:
‘We oft,’ said they, ‘at close of evening flow'rs,
‘Have heard such music in the vocal bow'rs:
‘We wonder'd: for we thought some amorous god,
‘That on a silver moonbeam swiftly rode,
‘Had fann'd with starry plumes, the floating air,
‘And touch'd his harp, to charm some mortal fair.’
Fairest of swains; and Tityrus his name:
221
And o'er his beauteous limbs a decent mantle flow'd:
As through the crowd he press'd, the sylvan choir
His mien applauded, and his neat attire;
And Daphne, yet untaught in amorous lore,
Felt strange desires, and pains unknown before.
He now begins: the dancing hills attend,
And knotty oaks from mountain-tops descend:—
He sings of swains beneath the beechen shade,
When lovely Amaryllis fill'd the glade;
Next, in a sympathizing lay, complains
Of love unpitied, and the lover's pains:
But when with art the hallow'd pipe he blew,
What deep attention hush'd the rival crew!
He play'd so sweetly, and so sweetly sung,
That on each note th'enraptur'd audience hung;
Ev'n blue-hair'd nymphs, from Ladon's limpid stream,
Rais'd their bright heads, and listen'd to the theme;
222
Whilst on the banks the joyful shepherds danc'd:
‘We oft,’ said they, ‘at close of evening flow'rs,
‘Have heard such music in the vocal bow'rs:
‘We wonder'd: for we thought some amorous god,
‘That on a silver moonbeam swiftly rode,
‘Had fann'd with starry plumes, the floating air,
‘And touch'd his harp, to charm some mortal fair.’
He ended; and, as rolling billows loud,
His praise resounded from the circling crowd.
The clamorous tumult softly to compose,
High in the midst, the plaintive Colin rose,
Born on the lilied banks of royal Thame,
Which oft had rung with Rosalinda's name;
Fair, yet neglected; neat, yet unadorn'd;
The pride of dress, and flowers of art, he scorn'd:
And, like the nymph who fir'd his youthful breast,
Green were his buskins, green his simple vest:
With careless ease his rustic lays he sung,
And melody flow'd smoothly from his tongue:
Of June's gay fruits and August's corn he told,
The bloom of April, and December's cold;
The loves of shepherds, and their harmless cheer
In every month that decks the varied year.
Now on the flute with equal grace he play'd,
And his soft numbers died along the shade;
The skilful dancers to his accents mov'd,
And every voice his easy tune approv'd:
Ev'n Hyla, blooming maid, admir'd the strain,
While through her bosom shot a pleasing pain.
His praise resounded from the circling crowd.
The clamorous tumult softly to compose,
High in the midst, the plaintive Colin rose,
Born on the lilied banks of royal Thame,
Which oft had rung with Rosalinda's name;
Fair, yet neglected; neat, yet unadorn'd;
The pride of dress, and flowers of art, he scorn'd:
223
Green were his buskins, green his simple vest:
With careless ease his rustic lays he sung,
And melody flow'd smoothly from his tongue:
Of June's gay fruits and August's corn he told,
The bloom of April, and December's cold;
The loves of shepherds, and their harmless cheer
In every month that decks the varied year.
Now on the flute with equal grace he play'd,
And his soft numbers died along the shade;
The skilful dancers to his accents mov'd,
And every voice his easy tune approv'd:
Ev'n Hyla, blooming maid, admir'd the strain,
While through her bosom shot a pleasing pain.
Now all were hush'd: no rival durst arise;
Pale were their cheeks, and full of tears their eyes.
Menalcas, rising from his flowery seat,
Thus, with a voice majestically sweet,
Address'd th'attentive throng: ‘Arcadians hear!
‘The sky grows dark, and beamy stars appear:
‘Haste to the vale: the bridal bowers prepare:
‘And hail with joy Menalcas' tuneful heir.
‘Thou, Tityrus, of swains the pride and grace,
‘Shalt clasp soft Daphne in thy fond embrace:
‘And thou, young Colin, in thy willing arms
‘Shalt fold my Hyla, fair in native charms.
‘O'er these sweet plains divided empire hold,
‘And to your latest race transmit an age of gold.
‘What splendid visions rise before my sight,
‘And fill my aged bosom with delight!
‘ Henceforth of wars and conquests shall you sing,
‘Arms and the Man in every clime shall ring:
‘Thy muse, bold Maro, Tityrus no more,
‘Shall tell of chiefs that left the Phrygian shore,
‘Sad Dido's love, and Venus' wandering son,
‘The Latians vanquish'd, and Lavinia won.
‘And thou, O Colin! heaven-defended youth,
‘Shalt hide in fiction's veil the charms of truth;
‘Thy notes the sting of sorrow shall beguile,
‘And smooth the brow of anguish till it smile;
‘Notes, that a sweet Elysian dream can raise,
‘And lead th'enchanted soul through fancy's maze;
‘Thy verse shall shine with Gloriana's name,
‘And fill the world with Britain's endless fame.’
Pale were their cheeks, and full of tears their eyes.
Menalcas, rising from his flowery seat,
Thus, with a voice majestically sweet,
Address'd th'attentive throng: ‘Arcadians hear!
‘The sky grows dark, and beamy stars appear:
‘Haste to the vale: the bridal bowers prepare:
‘And hail with joy Menalcas' tuneful heir.
‘Thou, Tityrus, of swains the pride and grace,
‘Shalt clasp soft Daphne in thy fond embrace:
‘And thou, young Colin, in thy willing arms
‘Shalt fold my Hyla, fair in native charms.
224
‘And to your latest race transmit an age of gold.
‘What splendid visions rise before my sight,
‘And fill my aged bosom with delight!
‘ Henceforth of wars and conquests shall you sing,
‘Arms and the Man in every clime shall ring:
‘Thy muse, bold Maro, Tityrus no more,
‘Shall tell of chiefs that left the Phrygian shore,
‘Sad Dido's love, and Venus' wandering son,
‘The Latians vanquish'd, and Lavinia won.
‘And thou, O Colin! heaven-defended youth,
‘Shalt hide in fiction's veil the charms of truth;
‘Thy notes the sting of sorrow shall beguile,
‘And smooth the brow of anguish till it smile;
‘Notes, that a sweet Elysian dream can raise,
‘And lead th'enchanted soul through fancy's maze;
‘Thy verse shall shine with Gloriana's name,
‘And fill the world with Britain's endless fame.’
To Tityrus, then, he gave the sacred flute,
And bade his sons their blushing brides salute;
Whilst all the train a lay of triumph sung,
Till mountains echo'd, and till valleys rung.
And bade his sons their blushing brides salute;
225
Till mountains echo'd, and till valleys rung.
While thus, with mirth, they tun'd the nuptial strain,
A youth, too late, was hastening o'er the plain,
Clad in a flowing vest of azure hue;
Blue were his sandals, and his girdle blue:
A slave, ill-dress'd and mean, behind him bore
An osier-basket, fill'd with fishy store,—
The lobster with his sable armour bold;
The tasteful mullet, deck'd with scales of gold;
Bright perch, the tyrants of the finny breed;
And greylings sweet, that crop the fragrant weed:
Among them shells of many a tint appear;
The heart of Venus, and her pearly ear;
The nautilus, on curling billows born;
And scallops, by the wandering pilgrim worn;
Some dropp'd with silver, some with purple dye;
With all the race that seas or streams supply:—
A net and angle o'er his shoulder hung:
Thus was the stranger clad:—and thus he sung:
‘Ah! lovely damsel, leave thy simple sheep;
‘'Tis sweeter in the sea-worn rock to sleep;
‘There, shall thy line the scaly shoals betray,
‘And sports, unknown before, beguile the day:
‘To guide o'er rolling waves the dancing skiff,
‘Or pluck the samphire from th'impending cliff:
‘My rapturous notes the blue-ey'd Nereids praise,
‘And silver-footed Naiads hear my lays.’
‘To them,’ Menalcas said, ‘thy numbers pour;
‘Insult our flocks and blissful vales no more.’
He spoke: the heralds knew their sovereign's will,
And hurl'd the fisher down the sloping hill:
Headlong he plung'd beneath the liquid plain;
(But not a nymph receiv'd the falling swain;)
Then, dropping, rose; and, like the rushing wind,
Impetuous fled, nor cast a look behind;
He sought the poplar'd banks of winding Po,
But shunn'd the meads where Ladon's waters flow.
A youth, too late, was hastening o'er the plain,
Clad in a flowing vest of azure hue;
Blue were his sandals, and his girdle blue:
A slave, ill-dress'd and mean, behind him bore
An osier-basket, fill'd with fishy store,—
The lobster with his sable armour bold;
The tasteful mullet, deck'd with scales of gold;
Bright perch, the tyrants of the finny breed;
And greylings sweet, that crop the fragrant weed:
Among them shells of many a tint appear;
The heart of Venus, and her pearly ear;
226
And scallops, by the wandering pilgrim worn;
Some dropp'd with silver, some with purple dye;
With all the race that seas or streams supply:—
A net and angle o'er his shoulder hung:
Thus was the stranger clad:—and thus he sung:
‘Ah! lovely damsel, leave thy simple sheep;
‘'Tis sweeter in the sea-worn rock to sleep;
‘There, shall thy line the scaly shoals betray,
‘And sports, unknown before, beguile the day:
‘To guide o'er rolling waves the dancing skiff,
‘Or pluck the samphire from th'impending cliff:
‘My rapturous notes the blue-ey'd Nereids praise,
‘And silver-footed Naiads hear my lays.’
‘To them,’ Menalcas said, ‘thy numbers pour;
‘Insult our flocks and blissful vales no more.’
He spoke: the heralds knew their sovereign's will,
And hurl'd the fisher down the sloping hill:
227
(But not a nymph receiv'd the falling swain;)
Then, dropping, rose; and, like the rushing wind,
Impetuous fled, nor cast a look behind;
He sought the poplar'd banks of winding Po,
But shunn'd the meads where Ladon's waters flow.
Ere through nine radiant signs the flaming sun
His course resplendent in the Zodiac run,
The royal damsels, bashful now no more,
Two lovely boys on one glad morning bore;
From blooming Daphne fair Alexis sprung,
And Colinet on Hyla's bosom hung;
Both o'er the vales of sweet Arcadia reign'd,
And both the manners of their sires retain'd:
Alexis, fairer than a morn of May,
In glades and forests tun'd his rural lay,
More soft than rills that through the valley flow,
Or vernal gales that o'er the violets blow;
He sung the tender woes of artless swains,
Their tuneful contests, and their amorous pains;
When early spring has wak'd the breathing flow'rs,
Or winter hangs with frost the silv'ry bow'rs:—
But Colinet in ruder numbers tells
The loves of rustics, and fair-boding spells:
Sings how they simply pass the livelong day,
And softly mourn, or innocently play.
His course resplendent in the Zodiac run,
The royal damsels, bashful now no more,
Two lovely boys on one glad morning bore;
From blooming Daphne fair Alexis sprung,
And Colinet on Hyla's bosom hung;
Both o'er the vales of sweet Arcadia reign'd,
And both the manners of their sires retain'd:
Alexis, fairer than a morn of May,
In glades and forests tun'd his rural lay,
228
Or vernal gales that o'er the violets blow;
He sung the tender woes of artless swains,
Their tuneful contests, and their amorous pains;
When early spring has wak'd the breathing flow'rs,
Or winter hangs with frost the silv'ry bow'rs:—
But Colinet in ruder numbers tells
The loves of rustics, and fair-boding spells:
Sings how they simply pass the livelong day,
And softly mourn, or innocently play.
Since them no shepherd rules th'Arcadian mead,
But silent hangs Menalcas' fatal reed.
But silent hangs Menalcas' fatal reed.
This couplet alludes to the higher Idyllia of Theocritus; as the Εγκωμιον εις Πτολεμαιον, the Διοσκουροι, and others which are of the heroic kind.
See Tasso, Guarini, Fontinelle, Camoens, Garcilasso, and Lope de la Vega; and other writers of pastorals in Italian, French, Portuguese, and Spansih.
| The poetical works of Sir William Jones | |