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In Nine Piscatory Eclogues. A New Attempt To introduce a more pleasing Variety and Mixture of Subjects and Characters into Pastoral. On the Plan of its primitive Rules and Manners. Suited to the Entertainment of Retirement, and the Lovers of Nature in rural Scenes. With an Essay in Defence of this Undertaking. By Moses Browne. The Third Edition, Corrected, and very much improved

Browne, Moses (1704-1787)

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THE DEDICATION.

PISCATORY ECLOGUES.

ECLOGUE I. ANGLING SEASONS:

II.

ECLOGUE II. NIGHT-FISHING:

III.

ECLOGUE III. THE RIVER ENEMIES.

IV.

ECLOGUE IV. THE SEA SWAINS.

ECLOGUE V. RENOCK's DESPAIR.

VI.

ECLOGUE VI. THE ANGLERS SONGS.

VII.

ECLOGUE VII. THE STRIFE.

VIII.

ECLOGUE VIII. THE FOWLERS.

IX.

ECLOGUE IX. THE COMPLAINTS:

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THE DEDICATION.

With Genius blest, with Sciences adorn'd,
Free Dodington! polite in gen'rous arts,
A Muse, allow'd to boast thy gracing smile,
Courts, thus indulg'd, thy mild, familiar ear.
Physician of the melancholy mind,
Deprest by Fortune's weight, sure comforter
Of drooping merit lab'ring in despair.—
Nobility! be better than a name.
Nobility!—pure Mirrour of all good!
Or of all bad extreme! words cannot paint
The pow'r of thy beneficence divine,
When freely flowing from the open heart;
Extract of highest worth without alloy.
Pleas'd, could I wish with devious steps enlarg'd
To visit here a full illustrious train,
Endear'd by ties of soft humanity;
A Court where brightest constellations shine.
Nor, Patron, let thy prais'd humility

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Suspect this strain, the sycophantic wile
Of Bard insidious: Me, nor learnt in arts
Of servile fraud, to barter truth for smiles;
Grateful where once oblig'd—but far remov'd
From hateful flattery, with low submiss
To sue to empty title, and debase
Her steady principles, for sordid praise
Of the Great Vulgar: Happy to persist
Unvarying, only to the foremost names
Of choice observant, self-devoted—Yours,
And Hertford's, lov'd of ev'ry gentle Muse.

O, haste the gen'rous work that waits thy hands!
The Muse's sons, a hapless suff'ring race,
Loyal to Courts and Kings; be these thy care
To succour, from an ill-requiting age.
But far away be the rude rout repell'd
Of trading Poetasters, pest'ring swarm,
That ever at the gates of palaces
With their loose-fashion'd rhimes, officious throng
Obtrusive, and the lib'ral ear restrain
From merit—friendless—aw'd—abash'd—deign these
Distinction; and the modest genius prompt

Encourage. By this gentle pattern form'd,
Gallus and Pollio, ancient names, inclin'd
To worthy Verse a fav'ring ear; nor less
Mæcenas, and Agrippa, and renown'd
Augustus, glory of Saturnian climes.
Thus Britain too may boast of equal fame;
Patriots, to cherish worth and lib'ral arts.
Somers nor thought it scorn, nor Halifax,
Great Names, to patronize deserving Song;
Nor Dorset, who so well could grace the Lyre.
Thou too, indulgent of poetic worth
The Muse attests, and of her favour'd train
Not one be found unwitness to thy praise.
Nor, of the rural theme contemptuous, scorn
An humble Verse, tho' of the wat'ry race,
And Fisher's sports descriptive, labour new.
The fam'd Sicilian Swain his oaten reed
To Ptolemy attun'd, and Maro's Song
Made lowly shades deserve a Consul's care.

So might but thine the piscatory Strain
Engage, and to its aid invok'd appear
His present Genius, while I sing to thee.
Nor less delightful shou'd th' unlofty lay
Be then esteem'd, that sings of Fishy Lakes
Bank'd with green shade; Peace-visited retreats,
The Anglers Haunts, and lonely-loving Bard's
Tranc'd, in sweet musing: Hither led of old,
Prophetic of celestial truth, fam'd Seers
Were wont, observant of th' inspiring call,
To hasten and, with vacant minds enlarg'd,
Attend the heav'nly charge; and mightiest Kings
Have here their careful Diadems exchang'd.
—Ah me! will ever the unpitying Fates
To Poets most disast'rous, with one wish,
One humble wish! so might it but succeed,
Suffice my ling'ring hopes; desirous long
Of Solitude, soft Banisher of care—
Enrapt I languish for the wish'd retreat,
Deny'd to my unhappy choice—For me

Hard-lotted hours with chearless round renew.
Except, when by the Poet's page enlarg'd,
I wander far thro' classic shades renown'd;
O'er, Helicon, thy hallow'd walk, and thine
Green Ida, seat of desolated Troy:
Eternal names in antiquated Song.
O! lead me where the Cypress high embow'rs
With pleasing shade, where thick'ning groves surround,
The Lotus and the all-obscuring Pine.
To fruitful Chios, or th' Arvisian shade,
Plenteous of chearing Bacchus: or thy shores,
Kind Latium, let my loosen'd fancy range:
Præneste, Mother of the genial Vine,
Cool Bajæ, and Peligni, rich in streams,
And Cuma, nam'd of rest and sweet repose.
Here, to the rural choice at large resign'd,
Hortensius liv'd, fam'd Orator; and erst
The Senate's and the Consul's lasting pride
Fam'd Cicero, retir'd from Toils and Rome.
Pleas'd with his change he bid adieu to courts,

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Nor, oft the humble Angle wou'd disdain
To tend at hours contemplative; to thought
Kind minister. Shall I forget to hail
Linternum, where, devote to solitude,
Immortal Scipio spent his peaceful days:
Lov'd Scipio, darling of the Roman name!
Thus haply Thou, might Britain so permit,
Would pass thy smooth unruffled hours; nor so
Should she be wanting of thy patriot cares,
For ever wakeful found —

My Lyre untun'd,
Unstrung—I on thy sacred Laurel here
Suspend —

An off'ring, votive to thy Fame.

PISCATORY ECLOGUES.

ECLOGUE I. ANGLING SEASONS:

OR, THE WEATHER.

THE ARGUMENT.

Lalet and Argel, two young Anglers, relate to the Herdsman Mico, who is observing their Diversion, the Inconveniencies from long Droughts and land Floods, the Signs and Changes of Weather, Seasons best for this Recreation, and the Methods of Summer and Winter Angling. The Swain makes each a suitable Present, and invites them, on an Appearance of Rain, to take a friendly Entertainment and homely Lodging, at his Cottage.

LALET. ARGEL. MICO.

Tho' Maro, in renown'd Augustan days,
To Rome's first Patriots tun'd the rural lays;
Aw'd must the Muse attempt her feeble strain,
To nobler Patriots in a greater reign.

Thou, Dodington, of British courts the boast,
In whom the Poet's hope is never lost;
While I by streams in lowly plains rejoice,
And bashful try in shades my artless voice,
Blest with no gifts—in Nature's plainest guise
Her forms to picture, simply, as they rise;

Wilt thou, best Poet, best of Patrons, heed
This homely tribute of my rustic reed.
Yet, if the Muse this humbler labour grace,
That sings of rivers and the watry race,
Tho' unattempted themes the strains pursue,
Untry'd the subject, and the manners new,
Beneath thy influence, shall our isle no more
The envied arts of Greece and Rome adore;
O'er ev'ry clime her Genius shall prevail,
And classic Bards unborn their own Apollo hail.

By a lone stream that wash'd the village side,
Two social youths the heedful angle ply'd;
No fisher-lads did e'er their skill exceed,
Or knew more sweet to blow the tuneful reed:
The herdsman Mico, from a hilly ground,
Close at their sports the busy artists found,
And to the flood with hast'ning steps drew near;
For much he lov'd their mirthful songs to hear.
Safe in their stalls his lowing herds were laid,
And Bruma dress'd green lentiles in the shade:

For nigh at hand his lowly hut was rear'd,
And thro' the trees the dusky thatch appear'd,
Close at its side the winding river ran:
The swains he smiling join'd, and thus began.

MICO.
What sport, ye pair of fisher-friends, relate;
Or feed the shoals—or pass, th' unrelish'd bait?

LALET.
When droughts like these the slack'ning streams repress
How, Mico, can the angler hope success?
The fish with sick'ning looks their food refrain,
And seek the coolness of the deeps in vain;
No kindly rains the scanty pools supply,
And running brooks have ebb'd their channels dry;
On muddy banks their fishy trains they leave,
And with the heat their parchy bottoms cleave;
A russet dye embrowns the wasted fields,
And the scorch'd grove its wither'd verdure yields.

ARGEL.
And yet, oft' times, the neighbouring meads I've known
With bursting show'rs, and welt'ring tides o'erflown,
The rising floods o'ertop the mounding shores,
And leave on distant plains their scaly stores,
While from steep hills the oozy moisture drains,
By sweepy torrents wash'd, or driz'ling rains;
O'er the clear streams a dark'ning cloud it spreads,
And drives the earth-worms from their slimy beds;
In swarming shoals resort the finny brood,
And glut insatiate on the fatt'ning food.
Then vainly waves the Angler's lengthen'd cane,
And costly baits allure the droves in vain.

MICO.
Nor wants the Angler, pre-advis'd, to know
When certain signs disfavouring hours foreshow:
Oft' times he views, awarn'd by adverse skies,
His Fly or gliding Cork with hopeless eyes;
When the dry East wind parches up the plain,
Or the wet South pours down the drenching rain.

LALET.
To flatt'ring skies no certain credit lend,
Nor on precarious signs too far depend;
The sportsman oft a ruddy morning sees,
The air unclouded, and without a breeze,

When sudden winds with height'ning gusts arise,
And pitchy clouds veil thick the dark'ning skies;
Then mizzly rains descend in ceaseless show'rs,
And sullen Auster shakes the dripping bow'rs;
The Anglers homeward o'er the meads repass,
And journey, sad, a-through the plashy grass—
And oft when clouds a threat'ning storm display,
The omen issues in a radiant day.

ARGEL.

Happy the Fisher, when in sportive hours,
No droughts prevent him, nor intemp'rate show'rs;
When mildest zephyrs thro' the Æther fly,
Or South winds spread their fleeces o'er the sky,
While vary'd sun-shine and alternate rains,
Temper the streams, and verdure all the plains;
Then fish rise eager at the floating bait,
Or sink the cork with their entangled weight.
—But warn th' unpractis'd Angler not to ply
In shallows then amid the swarming fry,

Lest haply they on the hid ruin feed,
And of their tribes prevent the future breed:

Thus both by turns the list'ning swain amuse,
Both pause, then each the varying song renews.

LALET.
When rotting weeds the thick'ning floods distain,
And to the deeps retire the finny train;
Seek, Angler, then no more th' uncertain prize,
Ensuing frosts expect, and wintry skies.

ARGEL.
When mulb'ries first their budding verdures wear,
And wormy baits the hungry Perch ensnare,

Securely then the peaceful streams explore;
Ceas'd are the snows, and frosts offend no more.

LALET.
If, Anglers, while the summer's sports persuade,
Ye hope your toil with kindly hours repay'd,
With mingling threads be artful flies design'd,
If unprovided of the native kind;
From sedgy brooks the husky cadews bear,
And from the sord the bedded worm prepare;

Or watch where wasps their infant brood display,
And from their hives the stingless young convey;
Nor less may in the blended choice avail,
To hoard th' autumnal bee and dewy snail:
For oft invited by the vary'd bait,
The heedless fish are lur'd to tempt their fate;
Whether in depths retir'd obscure they lie,
Or leap expos'd to snatch the plunging fly.

ARGEL.
Ye Anglers, if in wintry hours ye chuse
By lonely floods the bending reed to use,
Observe at Autumn, when the lab'ring swain
The yielding green-sward plows or sandy plain,
If crows in troops attend the passing share,
Pursue the track, and eye the turfs with care;

A worm within the parted clods you'll find
Of whitish hue, the beetle's early kind;
For there the pregnant tribe their brood repose,
Which when mature their parent-form disclose:
Of these be careful in your stores to place,
A food delicious to the wat'ry race.

MICO.
Harmonious pair, ye pride of fisher-swains,
What thanks are due for such unequall'd strains!
Not sweeter sound the whistling breezes make,
Nor floods that on the rocky margin break.

And lo! the while, my hands have well design'd,
Two wreaths, of flow'rs and fragrant myrtle twin'd,
For either brow a rural trophy made;
Both victors, both with equal gifts repaid.
And if you'll teach me, if the skill impart,
To sing like you, and fish with peerless art,
Two rods of smoothest cane shall wait your care,
With lines of twisted silk, and purest hair.
But now with me dispend the louring night,
Till bloomy morn renew the cheering light;
For see! apace the ev'ning shadows rise,
And gath'ring clouds enwrap the sable skies;
Your homeward course 'twere vent'rous to pursue,
When warning signs the hast'ning show'r foreshew:
Now flies the trunks of shadiest trees surround,
And ants are in their closest coverts found,
The sportful fish above the current spring,
And swallows brush the wave with level wing;

From weedy pools the croaking frogs complain,
And flocking jays await the coming rain;
And see! afar the melting show'r distills,
And breaks in mists around the smoaking hills;
By chearful fires the gloomy eve we'll waste,
And hoarded fruits shall yield a sweet repast.
For you two beds of river-reeds I'll strew,
Dry from the stream, yet green as when they grew,
With poppies each and violet-flow'rs be spread,
And hazels soft as wool to rest your head;
While winds and dripping rains a concert keep,
And thro' the russling leaves allure to sleep.

ECLOGUE II. NIGHT-FISHING:

OR, THE NOCTURNAL.

To the Right Hon. William Earl of Harrington, One of his Majesty's Principal Secretaries of State.

THE ARGUMENT.

TWO Youths agree to spend a Summer's Night in Angling.—Their setting out at Midnight described, with the gloomy Occurrences peculiar to the solemn twilight Season.—The Melancholy of the Time and Place excite in one some tender Complaints, which his Companion interrupts by discourse of his sport, and Description of the Morning's breaking, that ends their Recreation.

RENOCK. LACO.

If, Muse, thou would'st the best of Monarchs praise,
With Brunswick's name exalt thy humble lays;
But if the best of subjects be thy care,
For Harrington thy rural notes prepare.

And thou, propitious to the poet's pains,
While weightier themes thy needful ear detains,
Intent on gen'rous cares for Britain's weal,
And George approves with smiles thy foremost zeal,
Cou'd but the youth in equal strains pursue
Verse to thy fame and to thy virtues due,

Thou, gen'rous patron of the tuneful throng,
Had shone applauded in heroic song—
Rude tho' the lay—may, haply, this appear
Not disappointed of thy fav'ring ear.

The sun had half his annual course attain'd,
And summer in her height of splendour reign'd;
Young lambs did now th' accustom'd teat refuse,
And for the foodful grass forsook their ewes;
Their earliest blush the rip'ning fruit reveal'd,
And yellow corn began to spread the field,
When two companion-swains by night arose,
Rous'd from their leafy beds and short repose,
To angle till the sun's returning beams,
In pleasant shades by Avon's silver streams.

'Twas the dead twilight of the sultry eve,
When the fresh youths the silent village leave;
Onward they haste, and pass with due regard
The haunted hedge-row elms and drear church-yard.
The dolesome chimes from the age-mould'ring tow'r,
With slow, hoarse din rung out the midnight hour,
While with loud chat and many a chearful lay,
They labour'd to beguile the lonely way;
Till the close-flowing stream their roam repress'd,
When Renock thus his wistful friend address'd.

RENOCK.

Haste, Laco, while the midnight hour depends,
See how the rising Moon our toil befriends.
Now weazels from the lowly thatch resort,
And on the quiet hearth the crickets sport;
Unseemly toads now flock from caves beneath,
And in rank fenns the poison'd vapours breathe;
In solitary stalls the night-fly sings,
And beetles course the air with heavy wings

Deep in the solace of the gloom they play,
A race obscure and fearful of the day.
While silence to our sportive task persuades,
And kindly night conceals with favouring shades;
Name, if thou list, thy peaceful stand to chuse,
Why the fit hour shou'd we delay to use?

LACO.

Lo! Renock, where the wand'ring current leads
Its bending course along th' indented meads,
Where scaly shoals the sporting eddies fill,
Here let thy practis'd angle prove thy skill.

RENOCK.

Or shall we, Laco, since the clouding Moon
Denies to chear the still nocturnal noon,
Shall we till morn, beneath yon bow'ry yews,
Avoid the midnight blasts and harmful dews?

LACO.

Yon neighb'ring oak that o'er the current bends,
From midnight blasts and harmful dews defends.

There rather (since you spreading shades require)
Let us to tend our watchful sport retire.

RENOCK.

Ah! heedless boy! 'twas thither Dirce stray'd,
By raging love and black despair convey'd,
When on the fatal boughs the slighted Fair,
At once surrender'd up her life and care.
—Now nightly there her restless ghost complains,
By Anglers oft descry'd, and watching Swains;
Hear, Colly barks! and when the barn-dogs bark,
Some ghost they see, or goblin of the dark:
For there the fairy train are often seen
To dance at curfew o'er the moon-lov'd green;
Deep in the baleful shade the glow-worm gleams,
And breaks the sullen gloom with chearless beams;
The screech-owl too is heard o'er lonely grounds,
Scream from the luckless tree with boding sounds.

LACO.

Here then beneath the hedgy covert rest,
Nor farther roaming dangerously request;

Lest fawns that haunt the dunny woods by night,
With hideous yell or glaring forms affright;
Or wand'ring fires that o'er the marshes stray,
Thro' bogs and moory fens misguide our way.

RENOCK.

Content—Lo! here the winding streams retreat,
Nor can we wish a more delightful seat.
Behind, these alders from the weather screen,
Before, the lawn presents its lengthen'd scene;
Close on that side trills soft the emptying brook,
While this fresh woods and sloping hills o'erlook;
Thick over head the rose and woodbine meet,
Uniting shade to shade, and sweet to sweet;
The pea and bloomy bean their odours yield,
And new-mown hay perfumes the fragrant field;
Here too the nightingale delights the meads,
And grashoppers chirp shrill amid the reeds;
And from the pin-fold here the bleating sheep,
Chear the still twilight and divert from sleep.

LACO.

Pleasing by early morn the bleating flocks,
The currents murmur down the distant rocks,
The gale's perfume, the echo's mimic sound,
The night-bird's song, and low of kine around;
In hollow banks the hum of must'ring bees,
And zephyrs whisp'ring soft amid the trees.

RENOCK.

Coy Maid! lost lovely Sweet! ah, you can rest,
While I still wake with cruel cares opprest:
Blest pow'r of Sleep, her eye-lids gently close,
Melt her soft dreams with Renock's dying woes.

LACO.

Here where the turning streams more slowly stray,
Mark the grown trout, on watch for nightly prey;

Scarce hid he lies th' expected prize to seize,
Rous'd if the flood but dimples with a breeze.

RENOCK.

Dear as the heart you break, oh! teach thy swain,
Like thee to vanquish, or like thee disdain:
Fond wish—Ah, no! our Fates have doom'd above,
She ne'er should yield, nor I desist from love.

LACO.

Rest, frogs, nor venture from your holds to rove,
He reigns the terror of the wat'ry drove.

Sink, happy bait! O prove a fatal lure;
'Tis done—Your wily murd'rer is secure.

RENOCK.

Happy, ye eels, who ne'er love's torment know,
And carp, blest kind, exempt from am'rous woe;
Ye pike, a happy race, who all subdue,
No fond desires are e'er endur'd by you.
Ah! like the tyrant pow'r, by whom I die,
And too alike to me th' unhappy fry.

LACO.

In Love's false fires, like one be-whisp'd away,
Nor sport he heeds—nor lists to ought I say—

RENOCK.

Yet ere thy exile, destin'd far to roam,
Quits thy lov'd charms, his heart's delightful home;
Ere I must see no more that face divine,
Nor those dear eyes! ah me, the light of mine;
Once let my sight on the sweet objects dwell!
Once let me whisp'ring breathe a sad farewel!
While in short murmurs, in convulsive starts,
Thy poor lost wand'rer his distress imparts—
The love, thy rigour still deny'd to bless,
The pangs, thy heart refuses to redress.
Ere my wild words shall lose thy distant ear,
Ere thy least glimpse shall to my eyes appear,
While their dim orbs the dying mists bedew,
Take my last sigh, that parts with life—in you.

LACO.

Hark! the shrill cock the rising morn proclaims,
And calls aloud to field his feath'ry dames;
The mounting lark begins her warbling song,
And gen'ral notes employ the airy throng.
And see! the sun reveals a glimm'ring ray,
And streaks the bright'ning clouds with gleams of day;
All nature seems reviving at his sight,
And smiling wakes to hail his amber light:
Now sparkling dew-drops glister on the grain,
And coolly breezes fan the healthsome plain.
“The plow-boy o'er the furrows whistles blithe,
“And in the mead the mower whets his scythe.”
Shrill horns alarm the sportsman from his dream,
And the bells tinkle on the new-yok'd team.
—And now a cloudy paleness dims the skies,
And floating mists from steaming rivers rise.
See! the blue fogs bespread the fenny ground,
And fill the chilly air with damps unsound;

A sultry noon the danky vapour shews,
And evening plenteous of refreshing dews.

RENOCK.

No seasons please when griefs the mind o'erpow'r,
Griefs gloom alike the morn and midnight hour.
Damp fall the piercing mists, a chilling air;
'Till chear'd by milder skies thy sports forbear,
'Till from the banks exhales th' unhealthy dew;
At eve more blythe our pastimes we'll renew.

ECLOGUE III. THE RIVER ENEMIES.

To Mr. John Duick.

THE ARGUMENT.

A Swain, who had chosen an agreeable Solitude for Angling, is called to by a young Fisher, who hastily craves his Assistance to recover a Trout an Otter was endeavouring to seize from him, which introduces a short Description of his hunting and taking.—The Swain, invited by the Occasion, desires, while they are engaged at their Sport, a Relation of what Creatures are most remarkably hurtful and destructive to Fish. The Recital moves in them an innocent Pity; and some Things happening unfavourable to their Pastime, they leave it, and retire in Company.

LINUS. AQUADUNE.

Wont by the stream our sportive hours to spend,
My youth's companion as my manhood's friend,
To thy lov'd theme a pleas'd attention bring,
So skill'd thyself to judge, thyself to sing.

Young Aquadune, the blithest fisher-swain
That ever frolick'd on the mirthful plain,
None sung like him so sweet; none e'er was seen
To dance so featly on the May-day green—
By chance the swain his early pastime led,
Where the clear Isis forms her weedy bed;
The angler Linus, there he fishing found
On a green bank, beset with osiers round;

His dog, companion of his peaceful shade,
Was by, and near his mirthful pipe was laid:
First Aquadune attentive silence broke
With loud alarm, and thus accosting spoke.

AQUADUNE.

Help, Friend! my tackle and my prey I lose—
See! 'tis unhook'd, and flound'ring in the ooze.
Ah me! the lurking Otter while we stay,
Springs from the weeds, and bears my prize away.

LINUS.

Mopsus, o'ertake him ere he leave the sand;
And bring, I charge, the robber safe to land.
Ah! traytor, thou shalt soon thy boldness rue—
'Tis a true curr, he keeps him close in view.

AQUADUNE.
Look! he has hurt the dog—and makes away—

LINUS.

No danger, Friend, we hold him still at bay;
He gripes him, see! and makes to landward fast:
—Come, be content, the thief is caught at last.

AQUADUNE.

Now, caitiff, thou shalt pay me for thy spoil,
And thy gorg'd carcase dung the weedy soil.

LINUS.

There leave him, Aquadune, thy tinkling bell
Warns thee to heed thy busied angle well.

AQUADUNE.

I have him safe; look! 'tis a grateful prize,
A Barbel this, and of the largest size.

LINUS.

Since thou, so skilful in the Fisher's art,
And Verse can with such flowing grace impart;
And, since occasion prompts thy strife, disclose
The names and numbers of the fishy foes;
Nor need our sport, which now improves amain,
Defer my wish, nor interrupt thy strain.

AQUADUNE.

A thousand foes the finny people chase,
Nor are they safe from their own kindred race:
The Pike, fell tyrant of the liquid plain,
With rav'nous waste devours his fellow train,
Nor fears, provok'd by rage, or needy woe,
Rapacious to attack the common foe:

Unaw'd, he dares the stream-bred Serpent stay,
Or from the grizzly Otter force his prey;
And oft the shepherd's dog, amid the flood,
He fierce assails—so wild his thirst of blood.
Yet howsoe'er with raging famine pin'd,
The Tench he spares, a salutary kind,
For when by wounds distrest or sore disease,
He courts the fish, medicinal, for ease,
Close to his scales the kind physician glides,
And sweats a healing balsam from his sides.

Hence, too, the Perch, a like voracious brood,
Forbears to make this gen'rous race his food.
Whether a loathing to his taste restrain,
Or when devour'd he proves his deadly bane,
Whate'er his wond'rous abstinence engage,
A secret instinct still with-holds his rage;
Tho' on the common drove no bounds it finds,
But spreads unmeasur'd waste thro' all their kinds.
Nor less the greedy Trout and glutless Eel,
Incessant woes and dire destruction deal;
In wat'ry dens the lurking Craber preys,
And, in the weeds, the wily Otter slays;
The ghastly Newt in muddy streams annoys,
And in swift floods the felly snake destroys;
Toads for the swarming fry forsake the lawn,
And croaking frogs devour the tender spawn.

LINUS.

These to the wat'ry province all belong,
Or live at large, a mixt amphibious throng;
Man only of the earth's distinguish'd breed
With restless spoil consumes their hapless seed;
Why cruel, has thy rude unpitying mind,
So wild a waste, such stores of death design'd;
The Trout-Spear first thy murd'rous art devis'd,
And num'rous shoals are by thy snares surpriz'd.
The finny wand'rers now thro' every flood,
Their lost companions mourn and ravag'd brood;
The disappointed Angler hopeless seems,
Amid drain'd waters and unpeopled streams,
His plaintive songs by ev'ry flood resound,
And useless lie his idle rods around.

AQUADUNE.

What kind more harmless than the finny train,
Nor is the Angler by their treason slain,
Nor beasts with savage appetite they chase,
Nor wreak their fury on the feath'ry race;
All safe amid the wat'ry kingdom rove,
Nor dread commotion from th' inhostile drove;
Yet neither, habitants of land nor air,
(So sure their doom) the fishy numbers spare:

The Swan, fair regent of the silver tide,
Their ranks destroys, and spreads the ruin wide;
The Duck her offspring to the river leads,
And on the destin'd fry insatiate feeds;
On fatal wings the pouncing Bittern soars,
And wafts her prey from the defenceless shores;
The watchful Halcyons to the reeds repair,
And from their haunts the scaly captives bear;
Sharp Herns and Corm'rants too their tribes oppress,
A harrass'd race, peculiar in distress;
Nor can the Muse enum'rate all their foes,
Such is their fate, so various are their woes.

LINUS.

Sweet dost thou carol, Swain, thy voice more sweet
Than waves that o'er the rolling pebbles beat;
Not osiers tun'd by winds can match thy strain,
Nor sickles sounding on the reaping grain.

AQUADUNE.

Our sports, O Linus, with our songs give o'er,
Let's not increase the ruin we deplore.

Already see, our toils are well repaid,
While to refreshment now the hours persuade;
Nor longer round the bait the cheven play,
But feed at distance and disperse away,
A ruffling gale from shore begins to rise,
And clouds hang heavy in the show'ry skies;
Weeds from the flood-gates borne the current fill,
And Milo sets to work the lab'ring mill.

ECLOGUE IV. THE SEA SWAINS.

To the Rev. Dr. Thomas Birch, Secretary to the Royal Society.

THE ARGUMENT.

A Company of Fishers, forced by bad Weather, take Harbour up a shady Creek, where they divert and refresh themselves. An aged Swain (at their Request) entertains them with a Song in Praise of their humble, happy Profession, in which, by a designed Variety, he passes to the different wonderful Properties of some Rivers, and of several curious, remarkable Sea-Fish; and, by Occasion suitable to his Subject, introduces the Episodes of Arion and Glaucus—but is interrupted by the return of a Calm, which invites them back to their Employments.

If, Birch, dismiss'd awhile from studious cares,
The favour'd Muse thy peaceful leisure shares,
Deep-letter'd Clerk, Oh! vers'd in ev'ry art,
With Candour read what Friendship bids impart.

By a close creek, with shelt'ring rocks confin'd,
While the seas echo'd to the vexing wind,
Old Chromis in his dancing boat withdrew,
To mix in pastimes with the harbour'd crew:
Here, while their oars the idle nets sustain,
Drove from their labours on the madding main,
The Fisher-Sire, in skill experienc'd long,
The Youths now challenge for his promis'd Song,
In a still shade they sat, with garlands crown'd,
And the free rundlet went its cheary round,

When, peerless in his art, the Father-Swain,
Melodious—thus appay'd th' expected strain.

Happy the Fisher's life and humble state,
Calm are his hours, and free from rude debate;
No restless cares he knows of sordid gain,
Nor schemes, that rack the moiling statesman's brain,
Fearless in shades he takes his healthy dreams,
And labours, mild, amid refreshing streams,
Or on the quiet ocean tries his oar;
Or sings in tempests on the shelt'ry shore.
His boat a cabbin yields, his sails a bed,
And ready fruits his homely table spread:
While berries, which th' unrifl'd trees produce,
Refresh his kindly thirst with plenteous juice;
Or clust'ring grapes their liquid treasures bring,
Cool-temper'd from the neighbour-running spring.
Who shares, like him, what bounteous Nature yields;
The gifts of rivers, and the sweets of fields;

Ev'n all is his where'er he wanders round,
And age with undiminish'd vigour crown'd.

He sung the Dolphin next, a grateful name,
By lov'd Arion's story known to fame.
He, wond'rous artist, with his magic lay,
Could the stream's rapid tide encaptiv'd stay.
The Wolf and Lamb, the Hare and coursing Hound,
Warm in full chace, stop'd list'ning to the sound.
With the dread Owl the Daw no longer strove,
And by the Hawk unfearful perch'd the Dove.
Him homeward voy'ging, the rapacious crew,
For sordid gold with threaten'd death pursue:
When the sad suppliant thus—“Nor life to gain
“I sue, but leave to tune one fun'ral strain.”
With soft'ning tones he strikes the mournful strings,
His melting lay th' attentive Dolphin brings,
Whom straight to leap he vent'rously assay'd,
While thro' the waves triumphant airs he play'd.
Charm'd with his notes, and passive to his hand,
The wat'ry native bore him safe to land.

Pleas'd with his gratitude, the Sire of Gods
The Fish translated from his parent-floods;
Bid him a sacred constellation rise,
And in nine glitt'ring stars possess the skies.
Thus sung the Sage—and whence the Fishers sprung,
And of their arts, and of their loves he sung.
Of rivers then, how some descending flow
Engulph'd and swallow'd by the earth below.
How some to stone the tender entrails chill,
Or passing fowls with pois'nous vapours kill.

Of springs that sympathise with music's force,
Dance to its strains, and bubble from their source;
Yet calmer murmur as the notes decay,
And cease their motion with the finish'd lay.
What various tribes to Ocean's realms belong
He taught, and number'd is his changing song:
How wand'ring from the Main, the Salmon broods
Their summer pleasures seek in fresher floods;
Unlike the Eel, who once to Ocean borne,
Prefers the saline wave, nor seeks return.
With strength incredible, the scaly race
O'er rocks and weires their upward passage trace;
Bent head to tail in an elastic ring,
Safe o'er the steepest precipice they spring.
In Tivy's stream, a rock of antient fame
Still bears of Salmon-leap th' according name.
But when from winter's cold they back retire,
And warmer holds in Ocean's courts require;
If then prevented by the fisher's wile,
Who waits th' unfriended wand'rers to beguile,

Some heedless rover strays detain'd behind,
Still to the flood unwillingly confin'd,
The lonely fish consum'd with pining grows,
And gristley beaks his hard'ning mouth enclose:
Yet in the briny surge soon wear away,
And his plump scales recover'd health display.

Of Hermit Fish he next employ'd his strain,
That live retir'd within the bottom-main,
And in some vacant shell dispend their age,
Studious to shun the weather's varying rage:—
Of Fish that oft their native seas forsake,
And thro' the air a wingy passage make;

When swift Bonetoes chase 'em for their food,
And from the deep compel the harrass'd brood:—
How dull Remoras stop the vessel's force,
With magic fetters in its wat'ry course;
Who cleaving to its bottom, firmly bind
The bark immoveable by wave or wind:—
Then sung how Cuttles from their mouths display
The wiley bait to draw the nibbling prey;
While bury'd in th' obscuring ooze they lie,
To seize securely on th' unwary fry:

How the hot Sargus, with licentious flames,
Pursues on shore the goat's complying dames;
And how the constant Mullet with her mate
Sequester'd lives, and follows to his fate.
And thou, O Glaucus! now of Rank confest,
In Neptune's court of demi-rule possest,
What wond'rous herbs thy mystic change began,
And form'd the dread Immortal of the Man!
To the known shore the prosp'rous Fisher hies,
And on the grass displays his captive prize:

When sudden o'er the slipp'ry turf they glide,
(The earth familiar as their native tide)
And swim, a riddling prodigy on land;
Launch to the seas, and 'scape his eager hand.
Surpriz'd he stood: and while with curious haste
He plucks the herbage and informs his taste,
A shiv'ring horror seiz'd his inmost heart,
And instant change succeeds thro' ev'ry part:
His beard, that late with silver curls was seen,
Now took the tincture of the ocean green;
His scaly limbs outspread a larger space,
And oozy locks his azure shoulders grace;
The Pow'rs of Seas admit him to their train,
Decreed a portion of their liquid reign;
But first, mysterious rites they doom, enjoin'd
To purge the gross alloy of Human Kind,
And nine times bid him plunge in floods profound;
An hundred floods rush upward at the sound,
And nine times bear him thro' their dreary plains:
Purg'd of the human mixture's faint remains.

Acknowleg'd, to the Ocean-Courts he came,
And only of the Mortal keeps the Name.

The skilful Bard the Scolopendra's guile
Disclos'd, and how he voids the barby wile
His entrails forth emitting, to regain
His freedom, and uproot the sticking bane:
Then sings the Sea Adonis, peaceful brood,
No prey pursuing, nor of ought pursu'd,
An inoffensive, unoffended race,
The pride and wonder of the wat'ry space.
—More had he sung: when lo! the stormy blast
Grew hush'd, and murmur'd to a breeze at last;
Fast and more fast the less'ning waves decline,
And birds of calm frequent the level brine:
Fresh for their toils they take the favouring gale,
And seaward hoist apace the speeding sail.

ECLOGUE V. RENOCK's DESPAIR.

An Imitation of Milton's Lycidas.

Inscribed to the Right Hon. the Countess of Hertford.

THE ARGUMENT.

This Eclogue is of private Concern, and contains an amorous Soliloquy of a slighted Swain, the same who is introduced with a Complaint of his unsuccessful Passion in the Second Eclogue (as Spenser more than once introduces his unhappy Colin with a well-known personal Meaning).—The Poet here, in respect to the ancient Birth-Place of his Family, (whose Name in the Female Line he has made his Lover personate) has singled out upon this Occasion a particular Scene of Action.

Once let my Reed ambitious strains rehearse,
O lend thy aid, sweet Lycid's peerless Muse;
That Hertford with approving smiles may hear.
If she approve, let envying Criticks blame;
Her smile is Fortune, and her notice Fame:
If she commend, what censure can'st thou fear!
Begin, and not ungrateful be the Verse!
And you, where most delight the Thespian maids,
With the free hours, and dallying Loves, to use,
Your succours lend—ye gliding rivers clear,
Bright sunny plains, and woods embrown with shades,

And whatsoever may my song adorn:
Ye flow'r-enamel'd meads of various hues,
Fresh morn, and scorching noon, and midnight dews.
Begin-A lowly swain, of mind forlorn,
Young Renock, he, a hapless Fisher-Swain,
Unpity'd pin'd for lovely Stella coy.
Despairing pin'd the slighted, absent Boy;
For she was of the haughty city train,
And of her hate he thus began complain.—
While streaming Soar his silver current led,
Fast by his cave, and all his shores along,
The gentle echo bore the mournful song.
And now hot noon her sultry banner spread,
And to the woods were hied the rural throng;
But solitude he chose to sooth his pain—
Too wild his pain for solitude to sooth,
Such was his love! and such was her disdain!

O Stella fair! of fairest most unkind,
And I of truest lovers most distrest!
To whom shall I my ruthless fate deplore;
Thou, far away, art senseless to my care,
While hopeless thy unsoft'ning scorn I rue,
And sigh my wild-plaint to the scatt'ring air
And hurrying floods—Yet these more melt than you,
These with kind sympathy my woes return;
Air can lament in winds, can weep in dew,
The hurrying flood in murmurs bring relief,
In plaintive murmurs from his troubled urn;
But thou art cold to love, as deaf to grief.

All in this stream my luckless fate I view,
My luckless fate which never shall amend;
As he the flying Trent does still pursue,
While she flies fast in her coy-winding maze,
And to new loves her dallying arms displays;
So I in fruitless search my life dispend.
Yet neighbouring nymphs me not uncomely deem,
Nor of my Fisher-Peers for tuneful lays

Am I unfam'd; by flowing Thames's stream,
My native stream, oft heard with kindling praise:
Unhappy me! that ever there I came,
Or view'd thy face, and fed this hopeless flame;
Tho' thou unmindful oft hast spoke me fair,
And seem'd to love, ah me, deceiv'd! how well,
Than Wolf or Pike more fell;
With lives of foes their brutal rage they tame,
But thou, than savage kind more cruel grown,
Prey'st on a heart which love had made thy own.

O cold as morning dews, as mid-day bright,
And more than primrose sweet, than daisy white,
Softer than down that on the thistle grows,
Which ripe September gives the frolic wind,
And cruel as the thorn that arms the rose,
Must I unpity'd ever wail my woes,
Thy lips all pouting, and thy brow severe;
While scornful of my fate and abject pains,
You, to my grief, withhold a soft'ning ear.
All ignorant, ah! little dost thou know,
How Gods have suffer'd rural toils below,

And Goddesses have stoop'd to humble plains.
Phœbus and Bacchus, each a pow'r divine,
By fields of Ida tended woolly droves;
Adonis, tho' to fleecy flocks uptrain'd,
The Queen of Love, enchanted with his grace:
And young Iäsius, and Endymion fair,
Each shar'd a lovely Deity's embrace,
Nor lovely Deities the bliss disdain'd.
For him bright Ceres left her harvest care
To sport in twilight shades of secret bow'rs;
And oft the Moon came down from courts above
To meet her darling Swain in midnight hours;
Caress'd, was clasp'd, and mixt in mutual love.
On stately oaks neglected acorns grow,
While the priz'd strawberry lurks in bushes low,
And costly pearls oft shrowd in coarsest shells:
The little Loach the Barbel Tribe excels

For wholesome use and more intrinsic grace;
Tho' mean his form, and they a comely race.

Too Fair, misdeem it not employment rude,
In shapely rods to fit the caney reeds,
With slender fingers oft the web to ply,
And weave in silken folds the mimic fly;
To twist in equal links the knotty lines,
And chase the grashopper on dewy meads.
Or, might the tendance of my wormy brood
Thy cares engage, to mark when sickly signs
The little tribe's approaching fate foreshew,
To see their mossy pastures oft renew'd,
And drop the balmy cream's all-healing dew:

Here, what soft pleasures might thy youth detain
With thousand charms, the shade of thick-wood groves,
Smooth plains and gently-sloping hills around,
The crew of Fishers and their harmless loves,
The fountain-falls and rivers murm'ring sound,
And all the treasures of their finny droves
That in the clear flood's branchy windings sport,
And bowery chambers of his oozy court.
The Tench, and here the speary Perch delight,
Envermill'd all with fins of rosy red,
And Pike enchas'd with spots of silver-white;
Brown Grayling, and the Salmon's wand'ring trains,
With flaunting Trout, beset with gaudy stains,
And Eels with pearly crests and wave-coats green.
Nor Proteus' self, beneath his coral rock
Rul'd fairer streams, or fed more num'rous flock—
Me ev'ry kind amid the wat'ry float,

Familiar know, accustom'd to my call,
Who from my hand will take their us'd repast—
Woe's me! what bitter griefs my life enthral.
Whilom all pleasure did my mind entrance,
The noon-tide song, the ev'ning's mirthful dance,
Or on the lea the sporting Fish to note;

For Otter-Foes the weedy spell to set,
To bait the hooks, and spread the tangling net;
Or with my small oar drive my rushy boat.
—Now never more shall mirth and mixt delight
With dalliance free my easy hours deceive,
The song at noon, the dance at leisure eve,
Or fish disporting on the wat'ry lea,
To feed my fry and watch their haunts by night,
Or drive my rush-boat with my slender oar,
The hooks to bait, to spread the tangling net,
Or weedy spells for Otter-Foes to set,
Past mirth and usual sports can please no more.

All as a Swain, who scorch'd with summer-heat,
Seeks the kind stream of some cool river clear;

If chance, the flow of limpid brook he meet
With bord'ring shade, and waters murm'ring sweet,
Where shining pebbles thro' the waves appear,
Leaps in, and thinks the treach'rous bottom near,
But finds no rest for his deluded feet;
So I, by Love betray'd and Fortune crost,
Trust to her charms, and in the snare am lost.

Yet nought knew I her smiles such woe foretold,
Or that such falsehood wore such fair array.
When ruddy Wincopipes their leaves unfold,
They sure betide the swain a sunny day;
Black clouds the rain, and shades the night foreshew;
Ah! now I read my hapless doom too true:
For, as I late fresh flow'rs in garlands bound
For thy unwilling brows; from left-hand groves,
Thrice croak'd th' ill-boding crow with luckless sound,
And every tree betray'd our dying loves.

This elm so strait, on which I grav'd my name,
And on his circling ivy mark'd out thine,
Now with'ring hangs his head, now drops his leaves,
And in his ash-pale trunk his sick arms folds;
Yet still the ivy green her freshness holds,
Nor from her husband's grief wan change receives;
Too sure you do our destinies divine,
For such her ease, and such disquiet mine.

See! from the cottage tops the curling smoke
Of ev'ning fires enwreaths the quiet air,
While labour'd hinds expecting supper food,
At ease are set beneath the broad-seer-oak,
Or vacant sport with many a free-nymph fair;
The kine unyok'd o'er their graz'd pastures brood,
And sheep bleat low within their wicker cotes,
All with the setting sun make haste to rest;
Ah! can he leave me only thus unblest!
No blith-birds-ditties thro' the still-wood ring,
Save where the Nightingale with solemn notes,

Charms the late eve from her nigh willow bough,
Me, near resembling in her plight distrest,
And much too like, alas! our hard fates now,
While our sad loves all night we darkling sing.
Mean time to the merk gloom trip fast along
The wood-nymph bevy and swart fairy bands,
And the elf-urchin throng,
With each drear shape that lives in mildew blight,
And ev'ry blue fog of the spongy air,
Oft do I view 'em from the hilly lands
Ere the fled Cock rings his shrill matin clear,
Or toiling Hind loath leaves his dawn-woke dream;
But death shall finish soon my woe severe,
And gently lead me with his kind cold hand;
Nor shall I long without a grave be laid,
The birds I know will spread a friendly shade;
The little Robin, with a decent care,
Shall in his beak the leafy cov'ring bear,
With kind regard and piteous plaint, shall strew
The mournful willow and deep-shading yew;

There ev'ry eve the Nightingale forlorn,
Shall sadly to the neighb'ring echo mourn.
—Ye Fisher-Swains and River-Maids adieu,
And all ye finny droves, a long farewel:
I go, your pleasures never more to view,
Never, O never shall we meet anew—
Ah me! that screaming Raven rung my knell!
I'll to some steepy cliff transport me strait,
And from its height my hated body throw,
Or in the floods deep-down convey my woes,
Or on some tree suspend my wretched weight,
For never can I bear such cruel fate.
Yet shall my ghost not rest, at midnight still
With loud lament the lonely groves I'll fill;
The lonely groves, and you where'er you lie,
Deep vales and ev'ry river-skirting hill,
Hear and be witness true;
Ye pearly springs and falling fountains blue,
Ah! witness how for Stella's scorn I die.

So up he rose him by the moon-beams pale,
While the hoarse flood kept moan and echoing night,

His steps fast bending to the wat'ry dale.
And now the morn with streaks of saffron light
'Gan slow on the tipt mountain's brow to play,
And the prime lark sung out her sprightly lay,
And noon had brought her mirthful hour of day,
Yet nought might him to gentle peace excite:
Till, with unwilling sleep, he sunk opprest—
Cease my rude pipe thy strain, and let him sweetly rest.

ECLOGUE VI. THE ANGLERS SONGS.

THE ARGUMENT.

Myrtol and Thelgon, desired by a Fellow-Swain to sing, alternately, recite several short and hasty Ditties on Subjects which seem to occur most sudden and accidental without Order or Design; the last of each, in some Sort, being a Second or Counter-Part to that recited by his Companion; chiefly descriptive, and briefly relating to the Nature and Breed of Fish, their Haunts and Feeding, with other intermingled rustic Reflections of a Piscatory Kind. Which done, they are severally commended, and rewarded for their Skill; and so friendly depart.

ALBIO. MYRTOL. THELGON.
ALBIO.
Sing, Myrtol, skilfull'st deem'd of Fisher-Swains,
And Thelgon next supply alternate strains;
In matchless lays your matchless voices try,
Sing, Myrtol, first, the Angler will reply;
To him by right the leading strains belong,
With art can Thelgon fit his under-song.

MYRTOL.
Me, dappled Trout in crystal floods delight,
And wiley Carp, with golden scales bedight.

By murm'ring streams (sweet are the murm'ring streams)
Loves my blithe Muse to chaunt her rural themes!
The softest echo there, the freshest breeze,
The singing Swain, and noon-spent Angler please.

THELGON.
Sweet are the murm'ring streams—'tis sweet to dwell
Where hilly woods surround my lonely cell;
A sunny garden decks its little sides,
Soft by whose skirts the pearly Medway glides;
Here hony'd woodbines bloom, a native bow'r,
And herbs of ev'ry leaf and ev'ry flow'r.

MYRTOL.
O, Lalagune, unquiet seas forsake,
And here with me a milder dwelling make.
What sport can'st thou pursue, what pleasure find
On rugged rocks and seas deform'd with wind?

Along the main no more thy nets expand,
Nor seek forsaken shell-fish in the sand.
On the raw beech or craggy cliff he dwells,
And sleeps on sea-weeds or th' updriven shells.
Lo! Salmon now the springs of rivers seek,
And Pike for Frogs explore the streighten'd creek;
Now Carp their spawn repose on sedgy weeds,
And here the Trout frequents and Grayling breeds.

THELGON.
Nymphs, leave your fountains; by the briny main,
The wand'rer seek, recall th' inconstant swain:
From shades he flies, he shuns the cool of streams,
And deaf'ning surges lull his hardy dreams;
Expos'd he leaves his lovely limbs resign'd
To the fen-pestring Gnat and tanning wind.
Tho' Canens holds thee thy untempting care,
As Bull-heads homely, thou than Trouts more fair,
Thy lines renew, and scatter'd rods compose,
For now the Fishers sport, and South wind blows.

MYRTOL.
The fearful Cheven loves the shaded stream,
Sharp rills delight the Trout, and pools the Bream,
In deeps the speckled Samlet loves to rove,
And marly Swifts allure the Barbel drove;

Unwary Roach the sandy bottom chuse,
And Carp the weeds, and Eels the muddy ooze.

THELGON.
Whilom the Trout was wont to yield delight,
Once could the Umber, once the Tench invite,
The wattled Barbel erst my choice possest,
And lordly Pike deserv'd my chief request;
Now all must to the shapely Dare give place,
My only choice, for Ægle loves the Dace.

MYRTOL.
Ho, Boys! that gather flow'rs, your footsteps heed,
Nor near the banks your roam, too vent'rous lead;
Unsafe when droughty summers chap their veins,
Or when they sink, deep-sapp'd with mould'ring rains.

THELGON.
Leave nibbling, Minnows, leave the dang'rous snare,
Ye worthless tribe the guileful bait beware;
Nor trust the raven Trout while here you rove,
Hence from his haunts, and seek the safer drove.

MYRTOL.
Say, can'st thou tell where Eels in winter hide,
Or where the Swallow's vagrant race reside,
How Salmon, yearly guest, th' accustom'd main,
Or wint'ry Frogs their foodless kinds sustain?

THELGON.
Say, can'st thou tell how worms of moisture breed,
Or Pike are gender'd of the Pick'rel-Weed,
How Carp without the Parent-Kinds renew,
Or slimy Eels are form'd of genial dew?

MYRTOL.
Rash, little Perch, too heedless of thy fate,
What frenzy urg'd to try the flatt'ring bait,
But safe return—and when of apter size,
See thou reward my care, a worthier prize.

THELGON.
Feed, Gudgeon, on the pebbly scower secure,
Nor fear th' impris'ning net, or treach'rous lure,

For rising Trout the barby hook I tie,
Lengthen the rod, and fix th' enveigling Fly.

MYRTOL.
I hate the greedy Stickleback, they spoil
The bait, yet ne'er reward the Fisher's toil.

THELGON.
I hate the Fordich Trout—they, eying, wait
The moving Fly, yet ne'er devour the bait.

MYRTOL.
Frogs to the Carp a fearful ruin prove,
And Pike are dreaded by the weaker drove;
Devouring Eels affright the lesser swarm,
And me Philonda's deadly frowns alarm.

THELGON.
The Fly to Trouts, to Bream the wormy snare
Are strong allurements, Gentles to the Dare,
The Cheven to the Cadew-bait is prone,
And fair Lycisca is my choice alone.

ALBIO.
This Skin all spotted, of a lovely hue,
Unwrought with art, and from the shearers new,
A scrip for youthful Meliboeus made,
And not unuseful for the Fisher's trade,
O Myrtol, take—the present I resign.
These hooks, O Thelgon, and this pipe be thine;
Of equal price—both equals in your art—
But low'ry evening warns us to depart.
Nor long the cautious singer shou'd be laid
Beneath the walnut, an unwholesome shade;
The silver streams grow blacker to the sight,
And groves and meadows lose their green in night,
From reeking floods obscuring mists diffuse,
And chilly air is full of hov'ring dews.

ECLOGUE VII. THE STRIFE.

To the Honourable Mrs. Bladen.

THE ARGUMENT.

Clorin, a pleasant Shepherd, lighting on the Fisher Comus, they fall into a rallying Vein, which brings on a Challenge of Singing. Algon, an aged Angler, is made Umpire, who modestly pleads his Unfitness, yet proposes each should chuse his Subject in Honour of his different Employment.—Clorin, in Compliment to Pan, relates the Story of Pytis, a Nymph beloved by him (to avoid the Rage of Boreas, her slighted Lover) changed into the Pine-Tree, which is said to weep when the North-Wind blows, with the Boughs of which Pan crowns himself. Comus, in Turn, (from the Severn by which they are sitting) sings the Metamorphosis of Sabrina drowned in that Stream, supposed from her to receive its Name.—The Fable of Pytis, though furnished with as beautiful Incidents as any in the Poets, is not to be met with in Ovid or others, ancient or modern; which makes it new in its Kind, and occasioned the selecting it for this Eclogue.—The Story of Sabrina is differently related from Geoffry of Monmouth, and other credulous Writers; but the Whole being suspected, gives Liberty to improve and soften the Fable.

CLORIN. COMUS. ALGON.

With Pride untainted, tho' in Rank elate,
Not more by Honours than by Merit great,
Shall Bladen, worthy of sublimer strains,
The mild contention hear of friendly Swains?
Bold is the hope, unequal are the lays,
Yet apt the theme, a gentle Strife for Praise.

CLORIN.
Ho Fisher! so intent on finny spoil,
Hast caught my straggling Wether in thy toil?

COMUS.
Love-Loiterer, ever from thy charge away;
Well like the roving Swain his flock may stray.

CLORIN.
You grudge my happy lot, and envying pine,
Because the Nymphs prefer my Songs to thine.

COMUS.
I envy? whom the Shepherd-boys excel!
Dromio, the Dolt, can chaunt it, full as well.

CLORIN.
Since leisure is such pleasing strife to try,
And since our wishes with the place comply,
Begin—You, Algon, our performance weigh:
Judge right, and to the victor yield the day.

ALGON.
Hard office, courteous Shepherd, you enjoin,
Ill trusted to unskilful ear like mine,
Unapt and new to judge such learn'd debate;
But if from me the wish'd aproof you wait,
Begin: In Shepherds honour tune your lays,
And, Comus, carol thou the Fisher's praise.

CLORIN.

Me, Pan, assist: If ever on the plains
My pipe was pleasing, or approv'd my strains,
Be present now; and O thy succours bring,
While of thy Love, and Pytis' Fate I sing!

The gentle Maid was of the Sylvan race,
Bred to the pliant bow and active chace,
No herd attended she, no woolly care,
Nor haunted stream nor flow'ry pasture fair;
The gloom of woods she sought, and forests wild,
And with her sports the lonely hours beguil'd;
Yet for her beauty num'rous lovers strove,
Her beauty form'd to raise resistless love;
The Fawns and Demi-Gods of ev'ry shade,
With vows besought the unattentive Maid;
The Satyrs at the noon-tide hour wou'd haste,
And mingled viands bear to sooth her taste;
The bloomy bow'rs, and pearly springs explore,
And climb the groves to reach their choicest store;

For her the River Deities complain,
And ev'ry drooping Genius sigh'd in vain.
Ye Graces aid, ye Muses tune my Tongue,
Thou Pan be present, and assist my Song.

Pan only the relenting Fair possess'd,
Desir'd, and was with equal fondness bless'd;
Tho' Boreas, raging with enamour'd smart,
Sought the coy Nymph with ev'ry wooing art,
Oft would he watch her where she sleeping lay,
And with her neck and downy bosom play;
Oft in the chace attend the flying Fair,
And waft her robes, and revel in her hair;
No winters brooded on his alter'd wing,
Serene and breezy as the breath of spring;
Yet she, averse, his fond addresses flew,
And still in ev'ry shape her Lover knew;
Whether with Zephyr's milder look he blooms,
A Satyr's borrow'd form, or Pan's assumes,
Whate'er disguise the apt Deceiver wears,
She still discerns him and eludes his snares.

Ye Graces aid, ye Muses tune my Tongue,
Thou Pan be present, and assist my Song.

Deep in Arcadian vales a forest grows,
Whose blended shade indulgent gloom bestows,
No axe did e'er the sacred verdure wound,
Or mortal foot impress the hallow'd ground.
Hither the Maid was wonted to retreat
When tir'd with hunting, or the mid-day heat,
And now, as us'd, the inmost bow'r she chose;
When from its shade th' inambush'd Form arose,
Nor knew she yet but Pan's approach she hears,
And such he now thro' all his shape appears;
His step he well dissembled as he came,
His gesture, voice, and ev'ry look the same.
Ye Graces aid, ye Muses tune my Tongue,
Thou Pan be present, and assist my Song.

Eager to meet the willing Maid he flies,
When strait th' impostor Lover she descries;
Struggling she seeks to shun his close embrace,
And in her bosom hides her fearful face.

Enrag'd to find his utmost art's betray'd,
And wild to lose the half-surrender'd Maid,
“Ungrateful Fair, at length be taught (he cries)
“How great a Pow'r thy partial thoughts despise.”
Nor longer now the dreary sight conceals,
But all the terror of his form reveals.
Ye Graces aid, ye Muses tune my Tongue,
Thou Pan be present, and assist my Song.

Unshapen mists his hoary visage veil,
And frosts his temples shrowd and bleaky hail.
Rough isicles his forky brows compose,
His hairs and grisly beard descend with snows.
Thrice with disorder'd steps he stalks around,
And trail'd his dusky mantle o'er the ground,
With horrid plumes his sooty pinions wave,
The blast re-echoes far from ev'ry cave.
Ye Graces aid, ye Muses tune my Tongue,
Thou Pan be present, and assist my Song.

Scar'd with the hideous sound and glaring view,
Swift from Eurota's trembling banks she flew,

O'er grovy Menalus now urg'd her flight,
And cold Lyceus past thy tow'ry height;
Nemæan shades and tall Cyllene views,
Fast as she flies the wingy Form pursues.
Steep Nonacrine and low Cytheron gain'd,
And Helicon's aspiring brow attain'd,
Thro' Panope her hast'ning course she led,
And Oeta past, and Pindus' hilly head,
When last to Boreas frozen cliffs she came,
(The ill-fam'd mount from him receiv'd its name)
Fainting with toils, the woe-bewander'd maid,
Thus, to the Nymphs in broken murmurs pray'd:
“Ye Pow'rs! who here eternal honours know,
“O Sisters, conscious of my Virgin woe,
“Receive me pitying to your vestal train,
“And in your timely aid prevent my pain.”
She ceas'd, for mov'd by her inclement grief,
The Dryades present the wish'd relief,
Her stiff'ning limbs their pliant use refuse,
And now her feet the pow'r of motion lose;

A spreading bole her hard'ning trunk receives,
Her head and branching arms distend with leaves;
Yet still she bears her Ravisher in mind,
And weeps whene'er she feels his dreaded wind.
Pan mourns her loss, and in return is seen
To bind his temples with her wreathy green:
Cease Graces now, cease Muse to tune my Tongue,
Thou Pan be absent, and be mute my Song.

COMUS.

Of the smooth Severn I a lay rehearse,
And call the wave-rob'd Goddess to my verse.
Ye vales, ye rocks, ye caves your echoes bring,
And thou, Sabrina, listen while I sing.

The Severn from the Virgin Sabra came,
From the fair Nymph the flood deriv'd its name;
A Nais she, whom on the Cambrian shore,
A Mountain-votary to Neptune bore.

No Pow'r was yet with her alliance grac'd,
No am'rous flood her Virgin Spring embrac'd,
Recluse and coy she shun'd the genial fire,
And oft would to bewilder'd shades retire;
Or take o'er steepy rocks a dangerous way,
Or with her kindred Springs delight to play:
Yet distant floods had heard her beauty's fame,
And in disorder'd sighs confess'd their flame.
Ye vales, ye rocks, ye caves your echoes bring,
And thou, Sabrina, listen while I sing.

For her imperial Thames was said to pine,
And first bedew his waves with Ocean brine.

The gentle Humber for the proudly Fair
Impetuous grew, transform'd by wild despair;
Whilst rapid Winander, deprest with woe,
Droop'd at his fountains and surceas'd to flow.

Then limpid Cam, 'tis told, first troubled grew,
And with his tears distain'd his silver hue;
Abash'd the slighted Mole his channel fled,
And deep in earth implung'd his abject head:
Some think his floods to lowest seas repair,
Mix with the Ocean Nymphs and lose his care.
Ye vales, ye rocks, ye caves your echoes bring,
And thou, Sabrina, listen while I sing.

The stately Avon woed th' unpitying Fair,
And Medway, Sire of Floods, and princely Yare,

For him two Sister-Nymphs with ardour burn,
Fair Waveney, rich in streams, and lovely Thirn,
Incaptiv'd Meneu languish'd for her charms,
And Trent to clasp her stretch'd out all his arms.

100

The age-bent Ouse an am'rous heat inflames,
And Mersey pride of fair Cornavian streams,

101

Her, Wantsum lov'd, and Pant and sedgy Lea,
And Tamer, spreading wide from sea to sea.
Ye vales, ye rocks, ye caves your echoes bring,
And thou, Sabrina, listen while I sing.

102

Smooth Cherwell drooping griev'd with inward pain,
And slowly drew along his humid train:
Wan Evenlode with chalky Kennet mourn;
And Windrush feebly tends his scanty urn;
And pensive Rother in his hopes dismay'd,
Thro' woods his melancholy flood convey'd.
All vainly lov'd, despairing to obtain,
And with eternal murmurs shall complain.
Ye vales, ye rocks, ye caves your echoes bring,
And thou, Sabrina, listen while I sing.

103

Nor less the wat'ry Nymphs with envy pine,
The bord'ring Deva, and remoter Tine;
Fair Solway, by contending rivals woo'd,
And Tweed, the fairest Caledonian flood,

104

With languid looks their sickly streams appear,
Nor can their charms nor num'rous lovers chear;
A jealous pain the haughty Isis wrings,
And proud Aufona wept from all her springs.

105

Ye vales, ye rocks, ye caves your echoes bring,
And thou, Sabrina, listen while I sing.

But now predestin'd to enjoy her charms,
(And opportunely guided to his arms)
The neighb'ring flood as on his banks she play'd,
Beheld, and strait surpriz'd th' unwary maid:
In vain, alas! from strife she hopes escape,
Weaker by fears she but assists the rape.
“Illustrious Sabra, royal-born (he cries)
“What causeless woes thy heavy heart surprize?
“No falsehood I, nor guilty force design,
“My plighted vows receive—be ever mine;
“A hundred smiling Nymphs my flood obey,
“And wait thy reign, and court thy milder sway;
“Be these thy dow'r; and to appease thy shame,
“My grateful stream shall ever bear thy name.”
His brow he rais'd with rushy fillets crown'd,
And swore, and call'd the gath'ring floods around.
Ye vales, ye rocks, ye caves your echoes bring,
And thou, Sabrina, listen while I sing.

106

First aged Isca came with fault'ring pace,
And Pedred sprung of Ivel's kingly race;
A dropping wreath of Water-Thyme he wore,
And smiling Munnow came with youthful Dore.

107

Next Frome with roving Vaga near ally'd,
Who pours from downright cliffs his wanton tide,
And ev'ry summon'd flood attendant came,
Approv'd her honours, and confirm'd her name:
Down to his court the Bridal Pair they led,
And join'd the Lovers in the nuptial bed.
Sabrina cease thy list'ning flood to bring,
And echo cease, and let me cease to sing.

ALGON.
Both merit praise, and much reward is due,
To Clorin much, and Comus much to you.

108

But of your strife the doubtful claim suspend,
Till abler ears more couth attention lend;
The herd-grooms shortly to the banks will bring
Their droves, and you repeated lays may sing;
While I my Angle for the stream repair,
And list'ning, ply anew my Fisher-Care.

109

ECLOGUE VIII. THE FOWLERS.

To the Right Honourable Lady Talbot.

110

THE ARGUMENT.

Two Swains, who are exercised in Birding, while they are watching their Nets amuse themselves with repeating each a Song.—The first recites a Kind of Magical Incantation, supposed to have been used by a slighted Shepherdess to regain her absent Lover, who had forsaken her.—His Companion entertains him with a Sort of condoling Sonnet that had been made on the unhappy Passion and Despair of an unfortunate Friend. This Eclogue, it will be easily observed, consists of different Characters from the Rest, and was designedly introduced, consistent with the Plan, as a Trial how a Subject of this new and unattempted Nature might be intermixed with the Pastoral Kind.

111

THYRSIL. LANERET.

If in thy bright, tho' less exalted sphere,
My youthful Verse has won thy gentle ear;
While higher rais'd, more influence to dispense,
Thy Sex's charms, improv'd by manly sense;
O! of thy gracing smile ambitious long,
Will fav'ring Talbot hear my riper Song?

Two Fowlers met beneath a fragrant shade,
Which the close boughs of blooming hawthorn made:
'Twas early dawn, when yet the glimm'ring light
But dimly pierc'd the scatt'ring brown of night.
Now while their nets were spread along the mead,
Ere yet the gath'ring covy came to feed,

112

The listless Swains the fav'ring leisure chuse,
Responsively to tune the rural Muse:
Scorn'd Melite's enchanting pow'r they tell,
And how the love-despairing Nisus fell;
Of Astril had they learn'd the melting strain,
By turns they listen, and by turns complain.

LANERET.

Forsaken Melite's unruly smart,
O Thyrsil, hear! and what her spelly art—
Still, cruel Boy, must I thy scorn upbraid,
And own in vain a passion unrepay'd?
Nor pray'rs he hears, nor vows his breast assail:
Begin my Rites—ye magic Rites prevail.
Inconstant Moon, fair Wand'rer, change his mind,
Or make me scorn, or make my Tyrant kind.

This Coronal my drooping brows shall shade,
Of Laurel, Yew, and budding Vervain made,
A triple mixture; thrice I turn around,
Thrice rake the fires, and sprinkle thrice the ground.

113

Uneven measures bind the mazy charm,
And frozen breasts of icy hate disarm.
Inconstant Moon, fair Wand'rer, change his mind,
Or make me scorn, or make my Tyrant kind.

Galessa, bring the bowl; this Swallow's heart,
All warm, I to the mingled draught impart,
Of potent use his wayward mind to turn;
And add this Sparrow's gore to make him burn.
Judge, Maid, if needless is my wakeful care,
For me he slights, and mocks my fond despair:
Nine tedious days has he my sight forbore,
And will revisit Melite no more.
In shades remote he wears his hours away,
To watch his Nets and call the feath'ry prey.
Ye Birds of Air, his treach'rous call despise!
Fly his false snare, as me the Charmer flies.
Inconstant Moon, fair Wand'rer, change his mind,
Or make me scorn, or make my Tyrant kind.

114

With Birds of Night I brim the Spel-fill'd Bowl,
The Batt obscene, and day-deterring Owl.
Night drowns remembrance in forgetful shades,
Night the love-troubled mind to rest persuades.
The sufferer's woes, and maids that pining weep,
She soothes in silence, and relieves in sleep.
Inconstant Moon, fair Wand'rer, change his mind,
Or make me scorn, or make my Tyrant kind.

In woods the curring Nightingale is found,
Larks love the meads, and Quails the corny ground,
The Throstle to the ferny heath is true,
And Swans to floods, and Melite to you.
See how the swarming Rooks for flight prepare,
Their croaks, and black'ning pinions sound in air;
A fav'ring sign! and see, my Swain returns,
He melts, he murmurs, and with Love he burns.
Fair Moon, my dear, my faithless Wand'rer bind,
And fix my heart, and make him ever kind.

115

THYRSIL.

Sweet flows the Verse, as is the theme it paints;
Grief saddens mine; to me the mournful plaints,
The mournful plaints for Nisus' fate belong—
Alternate Muses smile on Thyrsil's Song!

O Phylla, as the cooing Turtle fair,
And slow as the unpitying Hawk to spare;
Subtle as Water-Fowl, unfix'd as Wind,
And sullen, as the Nightingale confin'd!
Yet, make thy Nisus of thy charms possess'd,
Chear thy brown Love, and heal his bleeding breast.
What tho' the sun-burnt Swain, in summer fields,
To the hot air his prideless beauty yields,
While to his Springes he allures the prize;
Slight not his colour, nor his flame despise.
How aptly, beauteous Maid, might you unite
His Sallow, graceful to thy purer White.
Pale Willows, by the Elm, are fairer seen,
The lighter heighten'd by the deeper green;

116

And Alders in the forest lovelier shew,
When wedded to the Hazel's duskier hue.—
My voice, my reed, shall in their turns complain;
Here mix, my moving Pipe, thy sweetly mournful strain.

Who knows like him the wheaten straws to lime?
Or differing notes of various birds to chime?
When best to climb for nests the leafy grove?
Or drive in stubble-lands the Pheasant drove?
How to his nets the running Powts to guide?
Or plant his Trammels by the river side?

117

By thee, when dar'd the wasteful Hern essay
To beat the reedy shores for fishy prey?
Now waves thy bare-Hook in the dallying wind,
Thy frauds are obvious to the wiley kind;
The Hern on wasteful wing may beat the shore;
Thee, Guardian Swain, the fishy Tribes deplore!
My voice, my reed, shall in their turns complain;
Here mix, my moving Pipe, thy sweetly mournful strain.

Rashly!—ah hapless morn, too bad to tell
(The hapless morn I woe-remember well!)
When thou and I our pastimes went to take
All unsuspecting, at the Whitson-wake:
'Twas there gay Phylla, lightly-footing by,
Glanc'd the soft passion from her sky-blue eye,
The young, coy, swain-sought charmer of the vale;
And, first, was breath'd thy love-unheeded tale.

118

Why rashly wou'dst thou dare with vent'rous aim,
Untry'd in love, to trust so wild a flame?
The Barnacle ne'er quits the plashy mud,
But keeps her sounding in the shallow flood.
Linnets on high their Eyries never make,
But harbour lowly in the fuzzy brake.
When shall the Chaffinch on the main-sea brood,
Or Halcyons nest their offspring in the wood?
All things, by Nature taught, their station know
But thou wer't fond to tempt unpractis'd woe.
Vain is the hope to taste of pleasure more,
The heart love-thrall'd, no absence can restore.
My voice, my reed, shall in their turns complain;
Here mix, my moving Pipe, thy sweetly mournful strain.

Ah! ever lost, and ever to be mourn'd!
By Hope deserted, and by Phylla scorn'd;
With thee shall I no more the game invite,
Or sound the Low-Bell in the field by night,

119

By reedy brooks the meshy toils display,
Or in the moory fen the springes lay.
The lavish Lark at muting time shall sing,
Or dar'd, before the Hobby, take to wing,
Ere Phylla shall be soften'd by thy pain,
Or thou thy vain-sought happiness regain.
For thee the Fisher on the green-sea-deep,
And Birdsman in the osier copse shall weep;
The pitying Nymphs with flow'rs thy bier shall strew,
And Thyrsil's voice and reed their moving plaints renew.
My voice, my reed, shall in their turns complain;
Here mix, my Pipe, thy last, thy sweetly mournful strain.

120

Now rose the Wood-Lark from her hilly nest,
And blith in air her wooing notes express'd;
The Fowlers their untimely Songs reclaim,
Couch in the shrubs, and watch the settling Game.

121

ECLOGUE IX. THE COMPLAINTS:

OR, THE FRIENDS.

122

THE ARGUMENT.

This Eclogue is a Kind of familiar Conference supposed between the Poet and his Friend.—The Style is designedly more negligent and unlaboured than the Rest, filled up with little unconnected Pieces of private History (in a Manner Virgil conducts a Pastoral of the like Nature) wherein honourable and grateful Mention is made of some Names, distinguished by their Friendships.—The Whole has an Appearance suited to the Condition of Mind (produced by a Series of Disappointments and Dejection) under which it was written.

123

Long known and lov'd! O, try'd in Friendship's part,
Of courteous Manners, and of openest Heart,
Form'd with just grace the tragic scene to fill,
Our passions mast'ring with thy wonder'd skill;
Yet meekly prone, when vacant hours invite,
To chuse the fav'rite Angle's calm delight;
Thine may this Verse, my latest labour, be;
A Verse may fitliest be inscrib'd to thee.

From Lea returning slow, my neighbouring stream,
Young Milo o'er th' adjoining meadow came;

124

And as it chanc'd both took the city way,
He stor'd with fruits, and I with finny prey;
His steps he staid beneath a dodder'd oak;
Then, beck'ning with his hand, he smiling spoke.

MILO.
Haste hither, Renock, and a while repose,
For yet the air with sultry fervour glows;
Till western gales the scorching heat allay,
And lengthening shadows shew the close of day:
Here due refreshment take, and Songs rehearse,
While, gladly, I attend thy chearful Verse.

RENOCK.
Ah, Milo! how can grief like mine rejoice,
Or chearful Songs employ a mourning Voice?
While you retir'd a peaceful life enjoy,
And rural hours in easy cares employ,
Far other fate my youth is doom'd to know;
Sad is my discontent, and deep my woe.

125

MILO.
Heav'ns, what I heard! and as I wish'd believ'd;
How by your verse your fortune was retriev'd!

RENOCK.
Belief is fond, and rumour ever lyes;
But few by Poetry are known to rise!
While gentle Molesworth liv'd, the tuneful Nine
Still pleas'd me, and all happier hours were mine;
He view'd me, left in life's unfriended spring,
Chear'd my young Muse, and rear'd her first to sing:—
But he, the Friend, is lost! the gen'rous Peer!
So wont my sorrow-sinking mind to chear;
He long is lost, and heavier fate ensues—
For care is born to me and to the Muse.

126

MILO.
Yet Doddington is fam'd for gen'rous praise,
He loves the Poet, and rewards his lays.

RENOCK.
O Milo! never liv'd a nobler mind!
Great without pride, to meanest merit kind.
This Verse I now to my Mæcenas bear,
And ever shall he hear my grateful pray'r.
How easy were the grant to make me blest!
For little serves, when little we request.

MILO.
Best Patron! may thy ev'ry care succeed,
And Fame repay thy worth with ample meed,
As now the hapless Swain thy favour moves,
And in thy smiles a happier fortune proves.

RENOCK.
Mæcenas' praise employ'd the Mantuan Swain,
And Sidney lives renown'd in Spenser's strain;

127

Great Dorset shines in younger Colin's page,
And Dodington shall grace a new Augustan age.

MILO.
So mayst thou live the Fisher's joy and theme,
And kinder fate thy drooping youth redeem:
May no rash Swain thy peaceful haunts annoy,
Nor greedy Poacher e'er thy Fry destroy;
To me the musick of thy strains impart,
Tho' rude, a Lover of the tuneful Art.

RENOCK.
Sing, gentle Muse, to Hertford's gen'rous Pair,
All great the Hero, and all good the Fair.
While Cadews in the whisp'ring brook shall breed,
Or pitt'ring Grashoppers delight the mead,
In grassy caves the slender Ant-fly build,
And floods shall with their scaly tribes be fill'd;

128

While I to verse can easy numbers frame,
Or my charm'd tongue repeat th' all-chearing name,
Their worth my loud acknowledgments shall bind,
A grateful strain becomes a grateful mind.

MILO.
Sing what I heard you chant the other noon,
The verse I keep, tho' I forget the tune.
“Cease, Pike, with Perch successless war to wage,
“Their speary finns delude your idle rage;
“Nor sleep expos'd, lest Frogs your lives betray,
“And you unguarded fall an easy prey.”

129

In skill tho' simple, and tho' rude my air,
Two Songs I learn'd of Philadel the fair,
And with a third my humble voice I'd try,
Wou'd you to teach a favour'd strain comply.

RENOCK.
Small skill can I, obliging Swain, impart,
My fancy pall'd, myself unvers'd in art.

130

Than mine, more sweet your song, your note more gay,
Blither than Sky-Larks in a morn of May!

MILO.
What would I give like you the reed to blow,
Or practis'd arts of vocal sounds to know.

RENOCK.
You mock my griefs; with what a lavish flight
You stretch your voice, how tow'r above my height!
Your mirth seems natural, and free your vein,
Mine is false merriment, and forc'd my strain.

MILO.
Ah, pity'd Friend! o'erwhelm'd in hopeless cares,
A double wound thy suffering bosom bears;
Not more by fortune than by love opprest:
Love! sharpest woe, to pierce the gentle breast.

RENOCK.
Proud Stella! Angel with a Tyrant's heart!
Form'd for my wish, yet destin'd for my smart,

131

Once my lov'd hope, companion soft and kind,
Till false dividing Friends unfix'd thy mind:
Forbid thy sight, thy ever-parted charms,
Torn from these true but vainly-doating arms,
Tho' doom'd my flame in silence to suppress,
Still the deep secret will my looks confess;
My stifled sigh, my softly-stealing tear:
Thro' each disguise the Lover will appear.

MILO.
One ditty yet vouchsafe my ardent choice,
(Soft are thy mournful accents, sweet thy voice)
The Song you whilom sung in artful guise,
When you with Mæris strove, and won the prize.

RENOCK.
Since you request, (but how unfit my state)
I yield.—The Muse cou'd once my grief abate.

MILO.
'Tis Renock's Song, Muse, aid th' advent'rous strain,
And tune the numbers, and direct thy swain!

132

RENOCK.

Stern Boreas now the stormy North unbinds,
With all his frozen race of wint'ry winds;
The woody Pow'rs to inmost caves betake,
And River-Gods their icy urns forsake,
A trembling horror seizes all the floods,
And chilly blasts benumb their finny broods.
From seas haste, Proteus, with thy wat'ry wain,
And thaw the floods, and save thy dying train.

To the pale Sun their sickly tribes they show,
And leave their bottom-haunts, presaging woe;

133

The shades of pools they leave, the depths of streams,
And rise in vain to meet his chearing beams.
His feeble ray no kindly warmth avails,
Nor chears 'em, tho' he gilds their quiv'ring scales.
From seas haste, Proteus, with thy wat'ry wain,
And thaw the floods, and save thy dying train.

In the still lake their labouring finns they ply,
And wish'd relief from ceaseless motion try:
Th' unsocial Pike, by soft'ning fear subdu'd,
Joins in the toil, and aids th' industrious brood.
But vain the strife, if there no spring ascend,
Or brook distill, or stream his current lend.
From seas haste, Proteus, with thy wat'ry wain,
And thaw the floods, and save thy dying train.

134

The Eel, to cold an early prey resign'd,
First falls, a helpless undefended kind;
Unless her wint'ry hold betimes she chuse,
The banky shelter, or low-bedded ooze.
From seas haste, Proteus, with thy wat'ry wain,
And thaw the floods, and save thy dying train.

The Carp and Perch in mingling numbers die,
And Pike expire with the unravag'd fry;
They feel their scales with stiff'ning cold confin'd,
And languish, faint, within their icy rhind.
Yet will the hardy Tench securely dwell,
Envelop'd fast in her cold frozen shell.

135

From seas haste, Proteus, with thy wat'ry wain,
And thaw the floods, and save thy dying train.

See South winds from their balmy quarters blow,
And woods begin to wave, and floods to flow;
Their icy bonds in dews dissolve away,
And Fish anew their pliant finns display.
To seas back, Proteus, with thy wat'ry wain,
The floods are thaw'd, and safe thy rescu'd train.

Time and distress our Genius quite impair,
And toys of verse are lost in weightier care;
Once, when a Boy, e're grief my spirits drown'd,
Much cou'd I sing, for skill not unrenown'd;
But such delights to happier hours belong,
Sadness and mourning ill become a Song.

MILO.
Here may'st thou yet thy peaceful sitting take,
How sweet a shade the tangling thickets make!
The birds above melodious music breathe,
And od'rous scents exhale from flowers beneath.

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Of Elder-bloom the fragrant sweets diffuse,
Well might'st thou here indulge thy mirth and muse.
—Hark, what a song to charm thee in yon bow'rs,
From his stretch'd throat the chearful Blackbird pours!
The Shepherd-lads and play-maids of the green
Here shortly, too, on Eve-sports will be seen.—

RENOCK.
Thy importunity a while delay:
Spent is the ebbing light, and far the way.
And now my Sonnets to the Muses King,
My patron, trembling I prepare to bring:
Gloom, and dismay, my sinking heart depress,
Dispirited, and fearful of success:
Yet deeply urg'd my fortunes I pursue,
Happy while plac'd in his upraising view;
And if my youth he favour and my lay,
I'll grateful praise, in loftier verse, repay.

FINIS.