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Say, if arm'd Diomed should meet thy sightI've conquer'd Daphnis-come, renew the fight!

Begin, dear Muse, the strain of pastoral woe, In melting 'cadence may the numbers flow. 'Ye wolves and bears and panthers of the woods: Ye glens and copses, and ye foaming floods; Ye waters, who your waves of silver roll Near Thymbris' towers, that once could sooth my soul

And thou, dear-dear auspicious Arethuse!
O once the sweet inspirer of my Muse,
Farewell:-no more, alas! shall Daphnis rove
Amidst your haunts; for Daphnis dies of love!

Begin, dear Muse, the strain of pastoral woe,
In melting cadence may the numbers flow.
I—I am he, who lowing oxen fed;

Who to their well known brook my heifers led.

Begin, dear Muse, the strain of pastoral woe, In melting cadence may the numbers flow. 'Pan-Pan-of all our woodlands the delight, Whether thou rovest on Lycæum's height, Or o'er the mighty Mænalus, O deign To visit sweet Sicilia's pastoral plain : Leave Lycaonian Helicas' high tomb, Though gods revere the monumental gloom :

Close, heavenly Muse, the tale of pastoral woe! Ah! let the melting cadence cease to flow! 'O Pan, my reeds so close compacted take, And call forth all their tones for Daphnis' sake! Bent for thy lip this pipe be thine to play! To the drear grave love hurries me away!

Close, heavenly Muse, the tale of pastoral woe! Ah! let the melting cadence cease to flow! 'Ye thorns and brambles, the pale violet bearYe junipers, produce narcissus fair!

Ye pines, with fruitage from the pear-tree crown'd, Mark Daphnis' death, while all things change around

Let stags pursue the beagles o'er the plain,
And screechowls rival Philomela's strain!

Close, heavenly Muse, the tale of pastoral woe! Ah! let the melting cadence cease to flow!'He ceased-and Venus would have raised his head

But Fate had spun his last remaining thread! And Daphnis pass'd the lake! the' o'erwhelming tide

Buried the nymphs' delight—the Muse's pride!

Close, heavenly Muse, the tale of pastoral woe! Ah! let the melting cadence cease to flow! Now, fairly, friend, I claim the cup and goatHer milk, a sweet libation, I devote To you, ye Nine, inspirers of my lay! Be mine a loftier song, some future day.

GOAT. Thrysis; thy mouth may figs Ægilean And luscious honey on thy lips distil! [fill! For sweeter, shepherd, is thy charming song Than e'en Cicadas sing the boughs among. Behold thy cup, so scented, that it seems Imbued with fragrance at the fountain streams, Where sport the Hours!-come Ciss! may Thrysis' pail

Bespeak the richness of thy pasture vale!




WHERE where's the laurel pluck'd from yonder grove?

Where the pale philtre that may charm my love?
Speed, Thestylis: and fill the caldron full!
Haste haste and crown it with this purple

That I may hurry back the wretch, who strays
Far from my silent gate (these twelve long days),
Nor heeds if poor Simætha live or die,
While fairer beauties lure his vagrant eye.
I'll haste to the Palæstra with the morn, [scorn?"
Meet his quick blush, and ask 'whence comes his
Now, as enchantment's midnight powers I hail,
Now, sacred Moon, in all thy glory sail
O'er the dire rites! The mysteries of my song
To thee and hell-born Hecate belong!-
Pale Hecate, who stalks o'er many a tomb,
And adds fresh horror to sepulchral gloom;
Whilst reeking gore distains the paths of death,
And bloodhounds fly the blasting of her breath!
Hail, Hecate! and give my rising spell
E'en Perimeda's sorceries to excel;

Bid the strong witchery match even Circè's skill;
And with Medea's venom'd fury fill!

Iynx, O force him, by thy mystic charms! Force him, though faithless, to these longing arms!

See-see-the crumbling cake consumes away !
Hither but straight, thou lingering wretch, obey!
What, am I scorn'd? does frenzy or amaze
Possess thee, slave? come, strew, amid the blaze,
The sacred salt; and, strewing it, exclaim-
Thus-Delphis' bones I scatter through the
Iynx, O force him, &c.


My tortured bosom rues the perjured vow;
But, in revenge, I give this laurel bough,
The type of Delphis, to the crackling fires—
That, as the spirit of his life expires,

[haste! O'er his scorch'd frame, like these, may flashes Thus his flesh tremble! thus a cinder waste! Iynx, O force him, &c.

E'en as this wax evaporates in fume,


May Myndian Delphis, scorch'd by love, conAnd Venus, whirl him, at my door around, Swift as this brazen orbit marks the ground! Iynx, O force him, &c.

I strew the bran: but Dian's power can shake Hell's adamantine gates, and bid all Tartarus quake!

Hark the dogs howling-to the cymbals fly!
The city dogs proclaim the goddess nigh!
Iynx, O force him, &c.

See, smooth'd in calms the silent waves repose!
But, ah! this bosom no such quiet knows!
Relentless love! no more, alas! I boast
Unspotted fame; my virgin honours lost!
Iynx, O force him, &c.

The due libations, thrice, O Moon, I pour!

Thrice hail, with magic song, this hallow'd hour;

O through whatever flame he faithless proves,
Be his the blank oblivion of his loves!
Such as, in times of old, o'er Theseus stole,
When Ariadne's image fled his soul!
Iynx, O force him, &c.

Fired by the' Arcadian plant, the foaming horse
Breaks o'er the mountains with infuriate force!
Thus may I see the perjured Delphis roam,
And from his wonted sports rush maddening home!
Iynx, O force him, &c.

Rent from the robe of him who works my woe,
This fringe, now rending, to the flames I throw!
Ah, Love! why leechlike cling, too close to part,
Suck my life blood, and drain my fainting heart?
Iynx, O force him, &c.

Soon shall the wretch my direr vengeance prove,
And a crush'd lizard bend his soul to love!
Now, at his threshold (though no more his care,
Still my fix'd passion fondly lingers there)
Go, strew these magic poisons-haste away,
And Delphis' bones I scatter'-muttering, say.
lynx, O force him, by thy mystic charms!

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Force him, though faithless, to these longing

SHE's gone!-and shall I give my sighs to flow,
Trace their sad source, and tell my tale of woe?
What time her offerings fair Anaxo paid,
Ill starr'd, alas! to Dian's grove I stray'd:
Where a gaunt lioness, and many`a beast,
In slow procession led, adorn'd the feast.
Say, sacred Moon, whence first this passion


[flame! What caused my anguish, and what fed the


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