University of Virginia Library

THE IDYLLIA and FRAGMENTS OF BION.

IDYLLIUM the FIRST. The EPITAPH on ADONIS.

IDYLLIUM the SECOND. CUPID and the FOWLER.

Once a Youth, as he fowl'd in the midst of a Grove,
On the Branch of a Box-tree saw fugitive Love:
In Triumph he leap'd; and, in Hopes of a Prize,
(For he thought it a Bird of a wonderful Size)
Selected and join'd his best Twigs for a Snare;
Then mark'd Cupid hopping, now here, and now there.
Impatient, at length, at so vain a Delay,
He flung all his Twigs, in a Passion, away;
And eager his marvellous Tale to impart,
Ran up to the Man who had taught him his Art:
And, while the old Rustic stood holding the Plough,
Pointed out the strange Bird that had perch'd on a Bough.
The Countryman, shaking his Head, with a Smile,
Said archly: ‘Ah, try not with Twigs to beguile
‘Such dangerous Game—O avoid it, my Boy!
‘'Tis a fell Bird of Prey, and but form'd to destroy.
‘Thrice happy, if never you catch him!—then shun
‘A Frolick, whose End will have nothing of Fun!
‘For, believe me, erelong, when to Manhood you rise,
‘Tho' now, simple Youth, as you follow, he flies;
‘His Pinions around you he'll suddenly spread,
‘And familiarly flutter, and perch on your Head.’

IDYLLIUM the THIRD. The TEACHER Taught.

While yet asleep, ere dawning Day,
Sooth'd by delightful Dreams I lay,
Beside me Venus seem'd to stand,
Young Cupid in her lily Hand—
(Meek on the Ground his Eyes were cast)
When, whispering thus, away she past:
‘To you my little Son I bring:
‘Dear Shepherd, teach the Boy to sing.’
I, simple Swain, and void of Thought;
Full many an antient Ditty taught,
That, all in rustic Numbers, tell
How Hermes form'd the vocal Shell;
How Pallas first compos'd the Flute;
And how the Shepherd's Lip to suit,
Pan join'd his Reeds; and fraught with Fire
How sweet Apollo strung the Lyre.
But he, regardless of the Strain,
Soon render'd every Lesson vain;
While, singing lighter Lays of Love,
‘How Venus had the Power to move
‘Both Gods and Men with subtle Art,’
The Urchin stole into my Heart.
Then I, my rustic Ditties o'er,
Remember'd what I taught no more,
But, simple Swain, and void of Thought,
Learnt the light Love-songs Cupid taught.

IDYLLIUM the FOURTH. The POWER of LOVE.

The Muses, not afraid of Love,
Where'er he treads, delighted rove.
If some rude Swain who never knew
The Charms of Love their Steps pursue,
Their Lessons they refuse to teach,
And fly beyond the Rustic's Reach!
But if a melting Shepherd sigh,
And all in love-sick Ditties die;
Their kindred Chorus gathering round
Lend Music to each soften'd Sound!
My Numbers, as I tune the Shell,
Can witness, 'tis a Truth I tell.
For, if I sing some Son of Earth,
Or Being of immortal Birth,
The weak Notes faulter on my Tongue,
Nor flow such Lays as erst I sung:
But if I warble Love again,
How sweetly glides my wonted Strain!

IDYLLIUM the FIFTH. LIFE to be Enjoyed.

If Merit stamp my Verses fair,
My Name thro' Time be theirs to bear:
But if unblest my Muse's Lore,
Why vainly should I labour more?
Should Jove, or should the Parcæ give
Frail Man a double Life to live,
One Part the Lot of Toil decree,
And yet assign the rest to Glee;
Then, after many a Labor past,
Gay Joy would meet us at the last.
But if the Gods have given to Man
Of Life but one contracted Span,
Why, Wretches, do we thus impair
The Pittance, in Pursuit of Care?
Why thus apply our Souls to Gain,
And heap up Wealth with hourly Pain?
Alas! how thoughtless, we forget
That Nature claims her final Debt;
That wing'd by Fate our Moments fly—
That, Mortals, we were born to die!

IDYLLIUM the SIXTH. CLEODAMUS and MYRSON.

CLEODAMUS.
Say, whilst each Season speeds its circling Race,
Whose sweet Impression leaves the liveliest Trace?
Say, Myrson, does the Summer charm thee most,
When richly crown'd our finish'd Toils we boast?
Or Autumn, waving wide its redd'ning Grain,
Or Winter, welcome to the lazy Swain;
As, with the jovial Partners of his Lot,
He hails the cheerful Blaze that gilds his Cot?
Or, hath soft Spring the unrivall'd Power to please?
Speak, Myrson, since we seem reclin'd at Ease.

MYRSON.
'Tis not, my Friend, for Mortals to define
What's fairest of Creation's Works divine.
All-hallow'd are the Seasons' changeful Train;
And Nature varies not a Scene in vain.
Yet, (in my Eyes the loveliest and the best)
One Season shines superior to the rest.
Not Summer, sultry with her dying Breeze;
Nor Autumn, dropping Fruits that breed Disease;
Nor Winter, hoar amid his drifted Snows—
'Tis Spring the Balm of sweetest Bliss bestows!
'Tis Spring that, trebly to my Wishes dear,
My Heart could welcome thro' the purple Year.
No Cold or Heat disturbs the vernal Air,
While from each Bud the Gales Ambrosia bear:
Then all the living Blooms of Plenty rise;
And equal Days and Nights divide the Skies.

IDYLLIUM the SEVENTH. The EPITHALAMIUM of ACHILLES and DEIDAMIA.

MYRSON and LYCIDAS.
MYRSON.
The dulcet Notes, dear Lycid, wilt thou play,
Of some Sicilian Lover's melting Lay?
Such as the Cyclops sung, the Rocks among,
To soothe his Galatea with the Song?

LYCIDAS.
With Pleasure, Myrson, thy Request I grant—
But say, what Ditty would'st thou have me chaunt?

MYRSON.
Pelides sing (and catch the Scyrian Grace)
Sing the stol'n Kisses and the stol'n Embrace!
Tell how the Youth, his Sex belying, drest
His manly Body in a female Vest!
And how Deidamia quaintly play'd
With her unknown Achilles—deem'd a Maid!

LYCIDAS.
When Paris bore to Troy the ravish'd Fair,
And plung'd his lorn Œnone in Despair,
Indignant Sparta mark'd the treacherous Foe—
Greece felt the Alarm, and aim'd the hostile Blow:
Rous'd by the insulting Rape, her States afar
In dire Commotion breath'd Revenge and War.
To Ilion's Towers each Hero bent his Way—
But, lost in soft Disguise, Achilles lay!
'Midst Lycomedes' lovely Train he sigh'd;
The Fleece, for Arms, in sweet Delirium ply'd;
And stole, amid his Labors of the Loom,
The Virgin Languish, and the Virgin Bloom!
Like theirs, his heaving Bosom seem'd to glow,
And the Flower brighten on his Cheeks of Snow!
His Gait like theirs, he mov'd with swimming Air,
And shaded with a Veil his flowing Hair!
Yet his Heart own'd the military Fire,
And felt the manly Throbbings of Desire!
By sweet Deidamia's Side, all Day—
From Morn to Night—entranc'd in Love, he lay!
Oft kiss'd her Hand, with amorous Dalliance warm,
And shed the enamour'd Tear, and clasp'd her lifted Form!
With her, sole Comrade of his Board, he mess'd;
And oft to share his Bed the Virgin prest.
Thus would he say: ‘While we asunder keep,
‘Behold, in social Pairs your Sisters sleep!
‘Tho' thus in friendly Converse we delight,
‘That wicked Wall divides us every Night!

IDYLLIUM the EIGHTH. LOVE Resistless.

Sweet Venus, Daughter of the Sea,
How comes such bitter Pain from thee?
From thee—to whom the Power is giv'n
To torture Earth, to torture Heaven?
Alas! what Ills have Mortals done,
That thou should'st send them such a Son—
Malicious, cruel, full of Wiles,
Tho' luring with his dimply Smiles?
Why did'st thou give him Wings and Darts,
Imperious over Human Hearts—
To fly, where'er he will, so fierce;
And, as he lists, our Bosoms pierce?

FRAGMENT the FIRST. On HYACINTHUS.

In wild Despondence Phœbus' Sorrows flow,
Trembling with all the Agony of Woe!
Each Remedy he sought; but no where found
A sanatory Balm, to close the Wound!
His bathing Nectar and Ambrosia fail—
Alas! if Fate oppose, can Art avail?

FRAGMENT the SECOND.

TO repair to an Artist, in every Case,
Must argue, my Friend, little Spirit or Grace:
How idle another's Assistance to ask!
Go—frame thy own Pipe—'Tis no difficult Task!

FRAGMENT the THIRD.

GO, Love, invite the charming Choir of Muses!
Ye Muses, bring back Love again!
And may your Song, that Life's sweet Balm diffuses,
Soothe away the Sense of Pain!

FRAGMENT the FOURTH.

BY dropping incessantly, Water alone
Can wear to a Hollow the hardest of Stone!

FRAGMENT the FIFTH.

BUT I still slope my solitary Way,
And, whispering cruel Galatea, stray
Along the shelvy Cliff, beside the Beach,
And chase sweet Hope, tho' wing'd beyond my Reach!
O may the lovely Phantom yet engage,
Ev'n at the Close of dim-declining Age;
Drest in the Tints of dear Delusion rise,
Nor disappear, 'till Death o'ershade my Eyes!

FRAGMENT the SIXTH.

NOR let me pass without a Palm!
Apollo sheds the grateful Balm!
But lo! while Honor's Voice invites,
My Breast expands for nobler Flights!

FRAGMENT the SEVENTH.

BEAUTY is Woman's fairest Good!
But that of Man, is Fortitude!