The Idyllia, Epigrams, and Fragments, of Theocritus, Bion, and Moschus with the Elegies of Tyrtaeus, Translated from the Greek into English Verse. To which are Added, Dissertations and Notes. By the Rev. Richard Polwhele |
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 | THE IDYLLIA OF MOSCHUS. |
| I. |
| II. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VIII. |
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 | The Idyllia, Epigrams, and Fragments, of Theocritus, Bion, and Moschus |  |
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THE IDYLLIA OF MOSCHUS.
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ΑΥΣΟΝΙΚΑς ΟΔΥΝΑς ΜΕΛΠΩ ΜΕΛΟς.
MOSCHUS.
MOSCHUS.
O SOLITUDE, ON ME BESTOW
THE HEART-FELT HARMONY OF WOE;
SUCH, SUCH AS, ON THE AUSONIAN SHORE,
SWEET DORIAN MOSCHUS TRILL'D OF YORE!
GRAINGER.
THE HEART-FELT HARMONY OF WOE;
SUCH, SUCH AS, ON THE AUSONIAN SHORE,
SWEET DORIAN MOSCHUS TRILL'D OF YORE!
GRAINGER.
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IDYLLIUM the FIRST. The STRAY CUPID.
As Cupid from his Mother Venus stray'd,Thus, crying him aloud, the Goddess said:
‘If any one a wandering Cupid see,
‘The little Fugitive belongs to me.
‘And if he tell what Path the Rogue pursues,
‘My Kisses shall reward him for the News:
‘But if he bring me back the Boy I miss,
‘I'll give him something sweeter than a Kiss.
‘So plain—so numerous are his Marks, you'll own,
‘That ev'n among a Score he may be known.
‘Flame-colour'd is his glowing Skin—not white;
‘Fierce are his Eyes that flash malignant Light.
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‘Yet War is in his Heart and dark Deceit!
‘Provoke him—and his Rage all Check defies—
‘Frantic, in other's Woe his Pastime lies.
‘Bright-clustering Locks his lovely Forehead grace,
‘But insolent Expression marks his Face.
‘Tho' little are his Hands, those Hands can fling
‘Darts ev'n to Acheron, and the Infernal King.
‘Tho' bare his Body, yet no Art can find
‘A Clue, to trace the Motions of his Mind.
‘As the fleet Bird, on airy Pinions light,
‘From Men to sighing Maids he wings his Flight;
‘Now here, now there, in many a Circle strays,
‘Yet perching on their Vitals, inly preys.
‘Lo! ready from his little Bow to fly—
‘His Arrow, swift tho' slight, can pierce the Sky.
‘A golden Quiver on his Shoulder glows,
‘And holds the embitter'd Darts for Friends or Foes.
‘Ev'n I their frequent Wounds would vainly shun!
‘But his fell Torch—its Blaze ev'n dims the Sun!
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‘Nor mind him, tho' he cry and stamp the Ground.
‘And trust him not, tho' smiling he appears;
‘Alike deceitful are his Smiles and Tears.
‘To kiss you, sweetly-laughing, should he try,
‘Fly him—there's Poison in his Kisses—fly!
‘But if he say: “How idle your Alarms!
“Here—take my Darts—my Arrows—take my Arms!”
‘Ah touch them not—beware the treacherous Aim—
‘His Darts, his Arrows, are all tipt with Flame.’
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IDYLLIUM the SECOND. EUROPA.
Once Venus to Agenor's royal Maid
A Vision's airy Portraiture display'd,
At that calm Hour, when Night and Morning meet;
When Sleep, than Honey's balmy Drops more sweet,
Sits on the Eye-lids, and in tender Ties
(Each Limb relaxing) binds the cherish'd Eyes;
When many a Form light-rising to the View
Swims in prophetic Trance; when Dreams are true—
'Twas then Europa (as, in Virgin-Bloom,
High in the upper Chamber of the Dome
Asleep she lay) two Continents beheld,
Fierce Asia, and the adverse Shore, impell'd
By warring Rage; while each appear'd to rise
In female Form distinct—herself the Prize!
And, whilst a foreign Stamp that seem'd to wear,
This, with a Native's more engaging Air,
Impassion'd cried: ‘The Nymph was hers alone,
‘Her Offspring—nurs'd and cherish'd as her own.’
But she (the Stranger-Power) strait forc'd away
With stronger Arm her unresisting Prey,
And said: ‘The fair Europa was her Meed—
‘By Ægis-bearing Jove's high Will decreed.’
Alarm'd, Europa leap'd with sudden Start,
And in quick Pulses throbb'd her fluttering Heart.
For as Reality the Dream appear'd;
Still, tho' awake, she saw, and still she heard.
Silent in pale Suspense the Virgin hung—
At length these Accents trembled on her Tongue:
‘Oh say! What God hath offer'd to my Sight
‘Those spectred Shapes, to fill me with Affright?
‘While sweetly slumbering on my Bed I lay,
‘What Visions pass'd in fanciful Array?
‘Say, who the Form that bore so kind a Part?
‘Her charming Aspect—how it struck my Heart!
‘How fond! and how, caressing me, she smil'd
‘With sweet maternal Love, as on her Child!
‘With happy Omens, ye Immortals, bless
‘The Dream; nor, hence, immerge me in Distress!’
A Vision's airy Portraiture display'd,
At that calm Hour, when Night and Morning meet;
When Sleep, than Honey's balmy Drops more sweet,
Sits on the Eye-lids, and in tender Ties
(Each Limb relaxing) binds the cherish'd Eyes;
When many a Form light-rising to the View
Swims in prophetic Trance; when Dreams are true—
'Twas then Europa (as, in Virgin-Bloom,
High in the upper Chamber of the Dome
Asleep she lay) two Continents beheld,
Fierce Asia, and the adverse Shore, impell'd
By warring Rage; while each appear'd to rise
In female Form distinct—herself the Prize!
And, whilst a foreign Stamp that seem'd to wear,
This, with a Native's more engaging Air,
Impassion'd cried: ‘The Nymph was hers alone,
‘Her Offspring—nurs'd and cherish'd as her own.’
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With stronger Arm her unresisting Prey,
And said: ‘The fair Europa was her Meed—
‘By Ægis-bearing Jove's high Will decreed.’
Alarm'd, Europa leap'd with sudden Start,
And in quick Pulses throbb'd her fluttering Heart.
For as Reality the Dream appear'd;
Still, tho' awake, she saw, and still she heard.
Silent in pale Suspense the Virgin hung—
At length these Accents trembled on her Tongue:
‘Oh say! What God hath offer'd to my Sight
‘Those spectred Shapes, to fill me with Affright?
‘While sweetly slumbering on my Bed I lay,
‘What Visions pass'd in fanciful Array?
‘Say, who the Form that bore so kind a Part?
‘Her charming Aspect—how it struck my Heart!
‘How fond! and how, caressing me, she smil'd
‘With sweet maternal Love, as on her Child!
‘With happy Omens, ye Immortals, bless
‘The Dream; nor, hence, immerge me in Distress!’
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This said, she rose, and sought the Comrade-Train
Who join'd her oft in Revels on the Plain;
Those, who could best her fond Regard engage,
Fair, and of noble Birth, and equal Age.
With them the festal Dance she lov'd to lead,
Or pluck the fragrant Lilies of the Mead,
Or bathe, (while rag'd the Noontide's sultry Ray)
The dear Companions of her social Day!
Strait the gay Troop, descending to the Shore,
Whilst in her Hand each Nymph a Basket bore,
Hail'd the familiar Fields, where many a Rose
They oft had seen its full-blown Leaves disclose;
Or musing listen'd, on the sea-beat Verge,
To the deep Murmurs of the dashing Surge.
Who join'd her oft in Revels on the Plain;
Those, who could best her fond Regard engage,
Fair, and of noble Birth, and equal Age.
With them the festal Dance she lov'd to lead,
Or pluck the fragrant Lilies of the Mead,
Or bathe, (while rag'd the Noontide's sultry Ray)
The dear Companions of her social Day!
Strait the gay Troop, descending to the Shore,
Whilst in her Hand each Nymph a Basket bore,
Hail'd the familiar Fields, where many a Rose
They oft had seen its full-blown Leaves disclose;
Or musing listen'd, on the sea-beat Verge,
To the deep Murmurs of the dashing Surge.
But lo, distinguish'd from the beauteous Band,
A golden Basket grac'd Europa's Hand—
Vulcan's great Work, high-wrought for Neptune's Bride
Who gave it Telephassa next-allied:
She on Europa the fair Gift bestow'd,
Where many a splendid Image richly-glow'd.
A golden Basket grac'd Europa's Hand—
Vulcan's great Work, high-wrought for Neptune's Bride
Who gave it Telephassa next-allied:
She on Europa the fair Gift bestow'd,
Where many a splendid Image richly-glow'd.
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There, still a Heifer's Form, nor yet her own,
In sculptur'd Gold the beauteous IO shone;
While with an Æstrum stung, in madd'ning Heat,
She paw'd the azure Waves that wash'd her Feet;
And, as two Men stood watching on the Brim
Her eager Motions, seem'd in Act to swim.
There too Jove's placid Semblance seem'd to stand,
And stroke the Heifer with his heavenly Hand;
'Till near old Nile (the Woman reassum'd)
Her wonted Charms of Virgin Beauty bloom'd.
The Currents of the Nile in Silver roll'd;
In Brass the Heifer rose; but Jove in Gold.
In sculptur'd Gold the beauteous IO shone;
While with an Æstrum stung, in madd'ning Heat,
She paw'd the azure Waves that wash'd her Feet;
And, as two Men stood watching on the Brim
Her eager Motions, seem'd in Act to swim.
There too Jove's placid Semblance seem'd to stand,
And stroke the Heifer with his heavenly Hand;
'Till near old Nile (the Woman reassum'd)
Her wonted Charms of Virgin Beauty bloom'd.
The Currents of the Nile in Silver roll'd;
In Brass the Heifer rose; but Jove in Gold.
Figures around in bold Relievo rise:
Here Hermes pipes, and sleepless Argus lies
Deck'd with the Splendor of a hundred Eyes.
There from his crimson Blood a Peacock springs,
Exulting shakes the Plumage of his Wings;
And, as a Ship unfurls her spreading Sail,
Expands the starry Honors of his Tail,
That on the Basket's circling Rim diffuse
All the rich Radiance of purpureal Hues.
Here Hermes pipes, and sleepless Argus lies
Deck'd with the Splendor of a hundred Eyes.
There from his crimson Blood a Peacock springs,
Exulting shakes the Plumage of his Wings;
And, as a Ship unfurls her spreading Sail,
Expands the starry Honors of his Tail,
That on the Basket's circling Rim diffuse
All the rich Radiance of purpureal Hues.
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Such was the Gift: And now, each lovely Maid
Cull'd with fair Hands the Flowerets of the Glade.
The Hyacinth, the Vi'let's modest Blue,
Or wild Thyme, or the sweet Narcissus drew
Their pleas'd Regard: The Flower-Leaves, strew'd around,
Spread softly with their vernal Tints the Ground.
Others to pluck the golden Crocus haste,
Sporting in gay Diversities of Taste;
Queen of the Chorus whilst Europa chose
To crop the Splendor of the flaming Rose.
With such an Air, when light her Footsteps move
Amid the Graces, blooms the Queen of Love!
These simple Joys not long remain'd her own;
Not long unblemish'd was her Virgin Zone!
For, sudden, pierc'd by Venus, Jove survey'd
(Her Darts transfix ev'n Jove) the peerless Maid!
As thro' his Heart impetuous Ardors run,
Behold (the jealous Juno's Rage to shun,
And by a subtle Artifice ensnare
The Bosom of an unsuspecting Fair)
Veil'd in a Bull, he lays the God aside,
But yet adorn'd with more than bestial Pride!
Unlike those Bulls who patient of the Yoke
Have oft the slow Plough drawn, the Furrow broke;
Or such as harness'd drag the heavy Wain,
Croud the full Stalls, or graze in Herds the Plain.
Bright on his Front a silver Circle grew,
And his sleek Body gleam'd a golden Hue!
Whilst, as the Crescent, rose his Horns above,
And his blue Eyes shone languishing with Love!
Cull'd with fair Hands the Flowerets of the Glade.
The Hyacinth, the Vi'let's modest Blue,
Or wild Thyme, or the sweet Narcissus drew
Their pleas'd Regard: The Flower-Leaves, strew'd around,
Spread softly with their vernal Tints the Ground.
Others to pluck the golden Crocus haste,
Sporting in gay Diversities of Taste;
Queen of the Chorus whilst Europa chose
To crop the Splendor of the flaming Rose.
With such an Air, when light her Footsteps move
Amid the Graces, blooms the Queen of Love!
These simple Joys not long remain'd her own;
Not long unblemish'd was her Virgin Zone!
For, sudden, pierc'd by Venus, Jove survey'd
(Her Darts transfix ev'n Jove) the peerless Maid!
As thro' his Heart impetuous Ardors run,
Behold (the jealous Juno's Rage to shun,
And by a subtle Artifice ensnare
The Bosom of an unsuspecting Fair)
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But yet adorn'd with more than bestial Pride!
Unlike those Bulls who patient of the Yoke
Have oft the slow Plough drawn, the Furrow broke;
Or such as harness'd drag the heavy Wain,
Croud the full Stalls, or graze in Herds the Plain.
Bright on his Front a silver Circle grew,
And his sleek Body gleam'd a golden Hue!
Whilst, as the Crescent, rose his Horns above,
And his blue Eyes shone languishing with Love!
Thus beauteous o'er the Meadow as he went,
Each Damsel on his pleasing Form intent
Drew near, and long'd to stroke him, unalarm'd;
While his ambrosial Breath their Senses charm'd
Than all the Fragrance of the Vale more sweet!
Now, softly-sportive at Europa's Feet,
He lick'd her Neck, and seem'd in amorous Play:
Then gently from his Mouth she wip'd away
The hanging Froth; and, uninspir'd with Dread,
Patted, and innocently kiss'd his Head.
Lowing (so clear the Tones, they seem'd to suit
The Musick of the soft Mygdonian Flute)
He bent his Knees—all pliant as he low'd—
And his broad Back, with Eyes of Meaning, show'd.
But she, delighted, to the Virgins cried,
(The deep-hair'd Nymphs) ‘Come Comrades, let us ride!
‘Come! for he stoops! and sure his Back is strong!
‘As the swift Ship he'll bear us light along!
‘So mild his Aspect, so unlike his Kind,
‘He shews such meek Benignity of Mind!
‘To equal human Beings, we must own,
‘The Creature wants the Powers of Speech alone.’
Thus spoke the Nymph—and strait his Back ascends,
And calls with vacant Laugh her lingering Friends:
But springing instant from her Comrades' Reach
In rapid Bounds he bore her to the Beach!
She, turning to her dear Companion Train,
Call'd for vain Help, and stretch'd her Arms in vain;
When now amid the Wave with vigorous Leap
He plung'd, and as a Dolphin skim'd the Deep!
Sudden uprose the Nereids round the God,
And on the Backs of Whales in Triumph rode:
The loud-voic'd Neptune hail'd the long Array,
And smooth'd, his Brother's Guide, the watery Way;
While, rising from old Ocean's deepest Caves,
Crouded upon the Surface of the Waves
The Triton Band, (as pass'd the Pomp along)
And on their wreath'd Conchs rung the nuptial Song!
Each Effort all too feeble to withstand
The God still rushing, with her better Hand
She grasp'd his curled Horn—her Left updrew
Her purple Robe, whose wetted Foldings flew
Wild o'er the Surge: Around her, as she held,
Soft like a Sail the breezy Vesture swell'd.
Each Damsel on his pleasing Form intent
Drew near, and long'd to stroke him, unalarm'd;
While his ambrosial Breath their Senses charm'd
Than all the Fragrance of the Vale more sweet!
Now, softly-sportive at Europa's Feet,
He lick'd her Neck, and seem'd in amorous Play:
Then gently from his Mouth she wip'd away
The hanging Froth; and, uninspir'd with Dread,
Patted, and innocently kiss'd his Head.
264
The Musick of the soft Mygdonian Flute)
He bent his Knees—all pliant as he low'd—
And his broad Back, with Eyes of Meaning, show'd.
But she, delighted, to the Virgins cried,
(The deep-hair'd Nymphs) ‘Come Comrades, let us ride!
‘Come! for he stoops! and sure his Back is strong!
‘As the swift Ship he'll bear us light along!
‘So mild his Aspect, so unlike his Kind,
‘He shews such meek Benignity of Mind!
‘To equal human Beings, we must own,
‘The Creature wants the Powers of Speech alone.’
Thus spoke the Nymph—and strait his Back ascends,
And calls with vacant Laugh her lingering Friends:
But springing instant from her Comrades' Reach
In rapid Bounds he bore her to the Beach!
She, turning to her dear Companion Train,
Call'd for vain Help, and stretch'd her Arms in vain;
When now amid the Wave with vigorous Leap
He plung'd, and as a Dolphin skim'd the Deep!
265
And on the Backs of Whales in Triumph rode:
The loud-voic'd Neptune hail'd the long Array,
And smooth'd, his Brother's Guide, the watery Way;
While, rising from old Ocean's deepest Caves,
Crouded upon the Surface of the Waves
The Triton Band, (as pass'd the Pomp along)
And on their wreath'd Conchs rung the nuptial Song!
Each Effort all too feeble to withstand
The God still rushing, with her better Hand
She grasp'd his curled Horn—her Left updrew
Her purple Robe, whose wetted Foldings flew
Wild o'er the Surge: Around her, as she held,
Soft like a Sail the breezy Vesture swell'd.
And now, while neither Shores nor Mountains rise,
Borne far—far distant from her native Skies,
(While nought but Heaven appears above, below
One dizzy Waste, the boundless Waters flow)
Around her many a gazing Look she cast,
And thus exclaim'd in Wonder, as she past:
‘O say, who art thou? Whither art thou bent?
‘Say, heavenly Creature, what thy strange Intent?
‘How can thy Hoofs so heavy steer with Ease?
‘Dost thou not tremble at this Waste of Seas?
‘Tho' Vessels o'er the Wave full swiftly glide,
‘Bulls ever dread the Ocean's briny Tide!
‘And what thy Beverage? Can this wild Abode
‘Supply ambrosial Viands for a God?
‘For sure the Nature of the Gods is thine—
‘Yet is this worthy of thy deathless Line?
‘Nor Dolphins quit the Deep, nor Bulls the Shore;
‘Thou rov'st o'er Earth and Sea! Each Hoof an Oar!
‘Alas! who knows but flying thou wilt bear
‘Thy Burthen (like a Bird) thro' azure Air!
‘Ah me! Thus heedless, how could I forego
‘My own dear Home, and plunge myself in Woe?
‘Lo! thro' my fond Simplicity betray'd,
‘I rove this Waste, a solitary Maid!
‘But thou, O Neptune, whom the Deeps obey,
‘Propitious come, and speed my destin'd Way!
‘O let my heavenly Guide unveil'd appear;
‘For not without a God I wander here!’
Borne far—far distant from her native Skies,
(While nought but Heaven appears above, below
One dizzy Waste, the boundless Waters flow)
Around her many a gazing Look she cast,
And thus exclaim'd in Wonder, as she past:
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‘Say, heavenly Creature, what thy strange Intent?
‘How can thy Hoofs so heavy steer with Ease?
‘Dost thou not tremble at this Waste of Seas?
‘Tho' Vessels o'er the Wave full swiftly glide,
‘Bulls ever dread the Ocean's briny Tide!
‘And what thy Beverage? Can this wild Abode
‘Supply ambrosial Viands for a God?
‘For sure the Nature of the Gods is thine—
‘Yet is this worthy of thy deathless Line?
‘Nor Dolphins quit the Deep, nor Bulls the Shore;
‘Thou rov'st o'er Earth and Sea! Each Hoof an Oar!
‘Alas! who knows but flying thou wilt bear
‘Thy Burthen (like a Bird) thro' azure Air!
‘Ah me! Thus heedless, how could I forego
‘My own dear Home, and plunge myself in Woe?
‘Lo! thro' my fond Simplicity betray'd,
‘I rove this Waste, a solitary Maid!
‘But thou, O Neptune, whom the Deeps obey,
‘Propitious come, and speed my destin'd Way!
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‘For not without a God I wander here!’
‘Courage, dear Nymph,’—the broad-horn'd Bull replied—
‘Nor fear the fancied Perils of the Tide.
‘Know, tho' a Bull I seem to mortal Eyes!
‘I'm Jove himself—the Ruler of the Skies.
‘And thus (I can assume what Shape I please)
‘Fir'd by thy Charms, I brave this Length of Seas!
‘But Crete now waits (fair-Isle, the Nurse of Jove)
‘To crown with Hymen's Rites my fervid Love:
‘And from thy Womb while Sons illustrious spring,
‘The subject Earth shall hail each Son a King.’
‘Nor fear the fancied Perils of the Tide.
‘Know, tho' a Bull I seem to mortal Eyes!
‘I'm Jove himself—the Ruler of the Skies.
‘And thus (I can assume what Shape I please)
‘Fir'd by thy Charms, I brave this Length of Seas!
‘But Crete now waits (fair-Isle, the Nurse of Jove)
‘To crown with Hymen's Rites my fervid Love:
‘And from thy Womb while Sons illustrious spring,
‘The subject Earth shall hail each Son a King.’
Scarce had he spoke—confirming all he said
When Crete rose misty o'er its watery Bed!
Strait in another Form the Thunderer shone,
And loos'd, with ardent Haste, her Virgin-Zone!
The Horæ smooth'd their Couch, and led to Love;
And fair Europa blush'd, the Bride of Jove—
Erelong to triumph, from the God's Embrace,
The happy Mother of a sceptred Race!
When Crete rose misty o'er its watery Bed!
Strait in another Form the Thunderer shone,
And loos'd, with ardent Haste, her Virgin-Zone!
The Horæ smooth'd their Couch, and led to Love;
And fair Europa blush'd, the Bride of Jove—
Erelong to triumph, from the God's Embrace,
The happy Mother of a sceptred Race!
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IDYLLIUM the FOURTH. MEGARA, the Wife of HERCULES, and ALCMENA his Mother.
MEGARA.‘Say, whence those Looks that tell so dire a Tale,
‘The Groan so wasting, and the Cheek so pale?
‘Is it thy tortur'd Offspring to survey?
‘To see a Fawn upon a Lion prey?
‘To see a worthless Wretch torment thy Son?
‘Ye Gods! what Evil hath Megara done?
‘Immortals! have I merited your Scorn?
‘Ah me, to adverse Fate untimely born!
‘Who, who so curs'd! E'er since the Hour he led
‘Me, a fond Virgin, to the nuptial Bed,
‘Dear have I ever priz'd him as these Eyes,
‘And, still adoring, from my Soul I prize!
‘But ah, my matchless Lord was doom'd to share
‘Such bitter Draughts, amid his every Care,
‘As from the Cup of Sorrow seem to flow,
‘Deeper than any Dregs of mortal Woe!
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‘And with Apollo's Darts in Frenzy slew!
‘Fates—Furies rather the dire Darts supplied!—
‘Slain by their Sire before these Eyes they died!
‘Oh how they ask'd (and never Dream display'd
‘So dread a Scene) their helpless Mother's Aid!
‘Alas (I hear each dying Echo still)
‘These Hands had vainly cross'd the insuperable Ill.
‘But as a hapless Bird her Young bewails,
‘That, yet unfledg'd, a cruel Snake assails
‘'Mid the thick Copse; around her Offspring flies,
‘And twitters in shrill Notes her plaintive Cries;
‘Not venturing near—too weak to bring Relief—
‘Yet hovering in an Agony of Grief—
‘So (my poor Offspring fall'n in early Bloom)
‘I ran all frantic thro' the blood-stain'd Dome.
‘O Dian, Sovereign of the female World,
‘Had but thy Hand the Dart in Pity hurl'd;
‘Its Poison to this wasting Bosom sped,
‘And struck me on my slaughter'd Children dead—
279
‘And on one Pile the breathless Relics laid!
‘Then weeping had they seen our Bodies burn,
‘Clos'd the pale Ashes in one common Urn,
‘And kindly, to compleat the Rites of Death,
‘Buried, where first we drew our vital Breath.
‘Now where Aonia boasts her fertile Soil,
‘'Mid Theban Steeds they urge the rural Toil.
‘But I, at Tiryns, Juno's sacred Seat,
‘Feel many a Sorrow in my Bosom beat:
‘Each Day one melancholy Blank appears,
‘And brings no Respite—to eternal Tears!
‘Yet soon these Eyes shall hail my hapless Lord
‘To his own Roof (tho' transiently) restor'd!
‘For many a Labor must he still sustain,
‘Rove the rough Earth, and pass the stormy Main;
‘While in his Breast he bears, to Fear unknown,
‘A rigid Heart of Iron or of Stone!
‘But thou, like Water, art dissolv'd away—
‘Thy Sorrows flow by Night—nor cease by Day!
280
‘To gild with Comfort's Ray the darksome Hour!
‘They—they beyond the pine-rob'd Isthmus dwell!—
‘Nor, as a hapless Woman, can I tell
‘My Griefs; or to one soothing Friend impart
‘(Except my Sister Pyrrha) my full Heart!
‘She pines too for her Iphiclus—thy Son—
‘And sure dire Ills thro' all thy Lineage run,
‘Still tortur'd, whether first their Lives began
‘From Gods their deathless Sires, or mortal Man.’
She spoke—and Tears fast trickled from her Eyes,
And fill'd her lovely Breast surcharg'd with Sighs!
While Memory, in fresh Colors, to her View
The Image of her Sons and Parents drew.
And fill'd her lovely Breast surcharg'd with Sighs!
While Memory, in fresh Colors, to her View
The Image of her Sons and Parents drew.
Meantime, deep Groans Alcmena's Anguish speak,
And Drops hang trembling on her pallid Cheek;
When thus, slow-raising her dejected Head,
Her Daughter she addrest, and sagely said:
ALCMENAAnd Drops hang trembling on her pallid Cheek;
When thus, slow-raising her dejected Head,
Her Daughter she addrest, and sagely said:
‘O Daughter, hapless in thy Offspring slain,
‘Why thus revive these Images of Pain?
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‘Still bid our Tears that oft have flow'd, o'erflow?
‘Ah! does not each successive Sun display
‘Its own mark'd Ills, “sufficient to the Day?”
‘Wretches alone our Griefs would number o'er—
‘Be cheer'd—the Gods have Blessings yet in Store.
‘But I excuse thy ever pining Care,
‘My Child—Of Pleasure I have had my Share.
‘And 'tis with Pity and Regret I rate
‘Thy Woes—the Partner of our heavy Fate!
‘But (hear, O Proserpine and Ceres, hear,
‘Ye whose avenging Wrath the Perjur'd fear)
‘I've lov'd thee—haply not to thee unknown—
‘As if from infant Years thou wert mine own!
‘I've lov'd thee, as the Offspring of my Womb,
‘As still mine only, in thy Virgin-Bloom!
‘Then deem not—deem not my Affection cold—
‘No—tho' a Niobe thine Eye behold
‘In the sad Mother who may well deplore
‘Her suffering Son! For ten long Months I bore—
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‘Hover'd, in bitter Pangs, for Pluto's Coast.
‘Now 'mid new Toils his vagrant Footsteps roam,
‘Never, perchance, to bless, returning home,
‘These longing Eyes! Besides, a Vision late
‘Appear'd—(alas too ominous of Fate!)
‘Rising with many a Terror to my Sight,
‘As lock'd in Sleep I lay at Dead of Night.
‘Methought, my Hercules himself display'd
‘(All naked) in his Hand a pond'rous Spade;
‘And, at the Outskirts of a fruitful Soil,
‘Delv'd a deep Ditch, and urg'd the Laborer's Toil.
‘But when his finish'd Fence seem'd sunk around
‘The wide-girt Area of the Vineyard Ground;
‘And he, now ready for recruiting Rest,
‘Fix'd in the Glebe his Spade, and sought his Vest;
‘Quick-flashing from the Trench a fiery Stream
‘Burst out, and round him roll'd its vengeful Flame!
‘He swift from Vulcan's Fury skimm'd the Field,
‘Shook his broad Spade protective like a Shield;
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‘And mark'd the rapid Volume, as it flew.
‘Then Iphiclus (for such my Dream portray'd)
‘Sudden seem'd rushing to the Hero's Aid;
‘But, ere he reach'd Alcides, slid away,
‘And on the Ground bereft of Motion lay!
‘Like an enfeebled Man that fall'n, thro' Years,
‘All motionless and fix'd to Earth appears;
‘Till some kind Stranger the wish'd Aid supplies,
‘Pities his silver Beard, and bids him rise!
‘To see my Sons thus helpless—thus forlorn—
‘I heav'd the incessant Sigh, and wept till Morn!
‘Then wing'd away before the rosy Beam
‘My Slumbers vanish'd with my frightful Dream.
‘Such then, my Child, the Vision I relate:
‘And ah! the just Interpretess of Fate,
‘May I presage its black'ning Omens true,
‘And see dire Ills Eurystheus' Steps pursue;
‘Turn'd from the Heroes of our House, to spread
‘Their tenfold Horrors on his guilty Head!’
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IDYLLIUM the FIFTH. The CHOICE.
When o'er the blue Wave Zephyr blows,I cannot on the Land repose;
And when a Calm hath hush'd the Seas,
'Tis more inviting than the Breeze:
But when the foaming Waters roar,
And the long Surges lash the Shore;
To Earth I turn my eager Eye,
And from the billowy Thunder fly.
Then, more secure on Land, I hail
The Pine-tree, in the darksome Vale;
Tho', tossing to the Storm, it flings
Its Cones around, and wildly sings.
Sure, most of human Ills the Mark,
The Fisher lives, his House a Bark;
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The finny Race his fickle Spoil!
But O for me, how sweet to sleep
Beneath the Foliage cool and deep
Of a dim Plane, and soothe my Ear
With pebbly Rills, that tinkle near!
How sweet, by no pale Fear allay'd,
Such Pleasure in the rustic Shade!
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IDYLLIUM the EIGHTH. ALPHEUS.
Soon as Alpheus bids his Current pourIts Foam into the Deep, near Pisa's Shore,
With Olives crown'd, fair Leaves and Flowers he brings
And sacred Dust, to Arethusa's Springs.
For deep and unperceiv'd his Waters flow;
Nor mingle with the Main, but roll below.
Thus Cupid full of Wiles, his Power to prove,
Hath taught a River ev'n to dive for Love.
EPIGRAM.
CUPID turn'd PLOUGHMAN.
ONCE Cupid, assuming a rustical Slouch,With a Goad in his Hand, at his Shoulder a Pouch,
(His Torch and his Bow were awhile thrown aside)
Yok'd his Bulls to the Plough, and thus waggishly cried:
‘Now, Jove, swell the Grain! Or, I'll make thee—no Joke—
‘Gentle Bull of Europa, submit to the Yoke!
| The Idyllia, Epigrams, and Fragments, of Theocritus, Bion, and Moschus | |