 | The eclogues and georgics of Virgil (1753) |  |
ECLOGUE the Second. ALEXIS.
ARGUMENT.
The doubts and fears, the pains and uneasinesses of a desponding lover, are here painted in the most glowing colours. But the object is unfortunately a beautiful youth; on which account Virgil hath been suspected and accused of an abominable vice. Mr. Bayle hath defended him against this charge with great justness and solidity.
“The passion for boys (says he) was not less common in the pagan times than that for girls, so that a writer of eclogues might make his shepherds talk, according to this fashion, as we at present make the heroes and heroines of romances speak; that is to say, without its being a sign that he related his own adventures, or approved the passions he mentioned. Our best French romances have been composed by maids or married women. Would it be reasonable to say that they write the history of their own amours, or that they approve their heroines suffering themselves to be so sensibly affected with the passion of love?”
Bayle's Dict. Art. Virg.The fair Alexis, fav'rite of his lord.
Mid' shades of thickest beech he pin'd alone,
To the wild woods and mountains made his moan,
Still day by day, in incoherent strains,
'Twas all he could, despairing told his pains.
Unmindful of my verse, my vows, and truth?
Still dear Alexis, from my passion fly?
Unheard and unregarded must I die?
Now flocks in cooling shades avoid the heats,
And the green lizard to his brake retreats,
Now Thestylis the thyme and garlick pounds,
And weary reapers leave the sultry grounds,
Thee still I follow o'er the burning plains
And join the shrill Cicada's plaintive strains:
Proud Amaryllis' or Menalcas' scorn?
Tho' he was black, and thou art heav'nly fair?
Too much to trust thy beauteous hue beware!
The privet's silver flow'rs we still neglect,
But dusky hyacinths with care collect.
Thou know'st not whom thou scorn'st—what snowy kine,
What luscious milk, what rural stores are mine!
Mine are a thousand lambs in yonder vales,
My milk in summer's drought, nor winter fails;
Nor sweeter to his herds Amphion sung,
While with his voice Boeotia's mountains rung;
Nor am I so deform'd! myself I view'd
On the smooth surface of the glassy flood,
By winds unmov'd, and be that image true,
I dread not Daphnis' charms, tho' judg'd by you.
To dwell with me in bowers, and lowly cots,
To drive the kids to fold, the stags to pierce;
Then should'st thou emulate Pan's skilful verse,
Warbling with me in woods; 'twas mighty Pan
To join with wax the various reeds began;
Pan, the great god of all our subject plains,
Protects and loves the cattle and the swains;
Nor thou disdain, thy tender rosy lip
Deep to indent with such a master's pipe.
To gain that art how much Amyntas try'd!
This pipe Damoetas gave me as he dy'd;—
Amyntas envious sigh'd, and hung the head—
Besides, two dappled kids, which late I found
Deep in a dale with dangerous rocks around,
For thee I nurse; with these, O come and play!
They drain two swelling udders every day.
These Thestylis hath begg'd, but begg'd in vain;
Now be they her's, since you my gifts disdain.
Come, beauteous boy! the nymphs in baskets bring
For thee the loveliest lillies of the spring;
Behold for thee the neighb'ring Naiad crops
The violet pale, and poppy's fragrant tops,
Narcissus' buds she joins with sweet jonquils,
And mingles cinnamon with daffodils;
With tender hyacinths of darker dyes,
The yellow marigold diversifies.
Thee, with the downy quince, and chesnuts sweet,
Which once my Amaryllis lov'd, I'll greet;
These shall be honour'd if they gain thy smile.
Ye myrtles too I'll crop and verdant bays,
For each, so plac'd, a richer scent conveys.
O Corydon, a rustic hind thou art!
Thy presents ne'er will touch Alexis' heart!
Give all thou canst, exhaust thy rural store,
Iolas, thy rich rival offers more;
What have I spoke? betray'd by heedless thought,
The boar into my crystal springs have brought!
Wretch that I am! to the tempestuous blast
O I have given my blooming flowers to waste!
And Trojan Paris deign'd in woods to rove;
Let Pallas build, and dwell in lofty towers,
Be our delight the fields and shady bowers:
Lions the wolves, and wolves the kids pursue,
The kids sweet thyme—and I still follow you.
Lo! labouring oxen spent with toil and heat,
In loosen'd traces from the plough retreat,
The sun is scarce above the mountains seen,
Lengthening the shadows o'er the dusky green;
But still my bosom feels not evening cool,
Love reigns uncheck'd by time, or bounds, or rule.
What frenzy, Corydon, invades thy breast?
Thy elms grow wild, thy vineyard lies undrest;
No more thy necessary labours leave,
Renew thy works, and osier-baskets weave:
If this Alexis treat thee with disdain,
Thoul't find another, and a kinder swain.
13. Garlick pounds.] We are told by Pliny that garlick was very much used in the country as an excellent medicine; Allium ad multa, ruris praecipuè, medicamenta prodesse creditur. It must in Italy be a very nutritious food for husbandmen.
16. Shrill Cicada.] I don't know how every body almost in England came to imagine, that the Cicada in the Roman writers was the same with our grashopper; for their characters are different enough to have prevented any such mistake. The Cicada is what the Italians now call Cicala, and the French Cigale. They make one constant uniform noise all day long in summer-time, which is extremely disagreeable and tiresome, particularly in the great heats. Their note is sharp and shrill in the beginning of the summer, but hoarse and harsh towards the latter part of it. They are supposed to feed on the morning dew, and then fix on some sunny branch of a tree, and sing all day long. It is hence that this insect is opposed to the ant in the old Æsopian fables, which is as industrious and inoffensive as the other is idle and troublesome. Virgil calls the Cicada querulae and raucae; Martial, argutae and inhumanae. Their note is the more troublesome, because in the great heats they sing alone. Any one who has passed a summer in Italy, or in the south of France, will not think the epithet inhumanae too severe for them. Spence.
18. Amaryllis.] Servius informs us, that the true name of Amaryllis was Leria, a beautiful girl whom Maecenas gave to Virgil, as he also did Cebes, whom the poet mentions under the person of Menalcas. Catrou thinks this story of Servius is a fiction: but adds another fiction of his own, that Rome is meant by Amaryllis.
28. View'd.] La Cerda has very fully vindicated Virgil, against those who deny the possibility of an image being reflected by the sea. When it is perfectly calm it is quite a mirrour.
47. Kids.] These were undoubtedly wild kids, taken from their proper dam, and not kids which Corydon had lost, and now recovered again. Servius says, kids at first have white spots, which alter and lose their beauty afterwards.
53. The nymphs in baskets bring.] These lines are of an exquisite beauty, and contain the sweetest garland that ever was offered by a lover. He concludes this description of his presents by saying that, alas! Alexis would not regard any of his gifts, as he was only a poor rustic, and that his rival Iolas was able to make far richer presents. At the mention of his rival's name he stops short, and cries, Fool that I am, to put Alexis in mind of him,—who will certainly prefer him to me! This seems to be the true meaning of quid volui misere mihi? tho' several commentators give a different interpretation. The agitation and doubts of a lover's mind are finely painted in this passage and the succeeding lines. At last the shepherd seems to come to himself a little, and reflects on the bad condition of his affairs, which his passion has occasioned, semiputata tibi, &c.—and finally resolves to leave the obdurate Alexis, and go in search of another object.
60. Marigold.] Dr. Martyn has taken great pains to explain the true names of the flowers here mentioned by Virgil, and from his skill in botany one may imagine he has justly ascertained them. I follow him.
61. Chesnuts sweet.] There are still in Italy, garlands intermixt with fruits as well as flowers like that described by Virgil in his Eclogues. I have seen some of these carried about the streets of Florence, the Sunday before Christmas-day: They were built up in a pyramid of ever-greens, chiefly of bays, and faced with apples, grapes, and other fruits. Spence.
| The eclogues and georgics of Virgil (1753) | |