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174
The Dream: Imitated from Propertius, Book iii. Elegy iii.
By Mr. Fenton.
To green Retreats, that shade the Muses Stream,
My Fancy lately bore me in a Dream;
Fir'd with ambitious Zeal, my Harp I strung,
And Blenheim's Field, and fam'd Ramillia sung:
Fast by that Spring, where Spencer sat of old,
And great Exploits in lofty Numbers told.
Phœbus in his Castalian Grotto laid,
O'er which a Lawrel cast her silken Shade,
Spy'd me, and hastily when first he spy'd,
Thus, leaning on his golden Lyre, he cry'd:
My Fancy lately bore me in a Dream;
Fir'd with ambitious Zeal, my Harp I strung,
And Blenheim's Field, and fam'd Ramillia sung:
Fast by that Spring, where Spencer sat of old,
And great Exploits in lofty Numbers told.
Phœbus in his Castalian Grotto laid,
O'er which a Lawrel cast her silken Shade,
Spy'd me, and hastily when first he spy'd,
Thus, leaning on his golden Lyre, he cry'd:
What strange Ambition has misplac'd thee there?
Forbear to sing of Arms, alas forbear!
Form'd in a gentler Mould, henceforth employ
Thy Pen to paint the softer Scenes o'Joy.
Thy Works may thus the Myrtle Garland wear,
Prefer'd to Grace the Toilets o'the Fair:
When their lov'd Youths at Night too long delay,
In reading thee they'll pass the Hours away:
And, when they'd make their melting Wishes known,
Repeat thy Passion to reveal their own.
Then hast, the safer Shallows to regain,
Nor dare the stormy Dangers o'the Main.
Forbear to sing of Arms, alas forbear!
Form'd in a gentler Mould, henceforth employ
Thy Pen to paint the softer Scenes o'Joy.
Thy Works may thus the Myrtle Garland wear,
Prefer'd to Grace the Toilets o'the Fair:
175
In reading thee they'll pass the Hours away:
And, when they'd make their melting Wishes known,
Repeat thy Passion to reveal their own.
Then hast, the safer Shallows to regain,
Nor dare the stormy Dangers o'the Main.
Ceasing with this Reproof, the friendly God,
A mossy Path, but lightly beaten, show'd:
A Cave there was, which Nature's Hand alone
Had arch'd, with Greens o'various Kinds o'ergrown;
With Tymbrels all the vaulted Roof was grac'd,
And Earthen Gods on either side were plac'd.
Silenus, and the Muses Virgin-Train,
Stood here, with Pan the Poet o'the Plain:
Elsewhere the Doves o'Cytherea's Team,
Were seen to sip the sweet Castalian Stream.
A mossy Path, but lightly beaten, show'd:
A Cave there was, which Nature's Hand alone
Had arch'd, with Greens o'various Kinds o'ergrown;
With Tymbrels all the vaulted Roof was grac'd,
And Earthen Gods on either side were plac'd.
Silenus, and the Muses Virgin-Train,
Stood here, with Pan the Poet o'the Plain:
Elsewhere the Doves o'Cytherea's Team,
Were seen to sip the sweet Castalian Stream.
Nine lovely Nymphs a sev'ral Task pursu'd,
For Ivy one was sent to search the Wood;
This to soft Numbers joyn'd harmonious Airs,
And fragrant Rosy Wreaths a third prepares.
Me thus the bright Calliope address'd,
(Her Name the Brightness of her Form confess'd.)
The Silver Swans o'Venus wait to bear
Thee safe, in Pomp along the liquid Air.
Pleas'd with thy peaceful Province, streight recal
Thy rash Design to sing the wounded Gaul:
Harsh sounds the Trumpet in the Muses Grove,
But sweet the Lute, the Lute is fit for Love.
No more rehearse the Danube's Purple Stream,
Let Love for ever be the tender Theme:
And in thy Verse reveal the moving Art,
To melt an haughty Nymph's relentless Heart.
For Ivy one was sent to search the Wood;
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And fragrant Rosy Wreaths a third prepares.
Me thus the bright Calliope address'd,
(Her Name the Brightness of her Form confess'd.)
The Silver Swans o'Venus wait to bear
Thee safe, in Pomp along the liquid Air.
Pleas'd with thy peaceful Province, streight recal
Thy rash Design to sing the wounded Gaul:
Harsh sounds the Trumpet in the Muses Grove,
But sweet the Lute, the Lute is fit for Love.
No more rehearse the Danube's Purple Stream,
Let Love for ever be the tender Theme:
And in thy Verse reveal the moving Art,
To melt an haughty Nymph's relentless Heart.
The Goddess ceasing to confirm me more,
My Face with hallowed Drops she sprinkled o'er;
Fetch'd from the Fountain, by whose flow'ry side,
Soft Waller sung of Sacharissa's Pride.
My Face with hallowed Drops she sprinkled o'er;
Fetch'd from the Fountain, by whose flow'ry side,
Soft Waller sung of Sacharissa's Pride.
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