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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!
Begin, dear Muse, the strain of pastoral woe,
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,
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?
That I may hurry back the wretch, who strays
Bid the strong witchery match even Circè's skill;
Iynx, O force him, by thy mystic charms! Force him, though faithless, to these longing arms!
See-see-the crumbling cake consumes away !
My tortured bosom rues the perjured vow;
[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!
See, smooth'd in calms the silent waves repose!
The due libations, thrice, O Moon, I pour!
Thrice hail, with magic song, this hallow'd hour;
O through whatever flame he faithless proves,
Fired by the' Arcadian plant, the foaming horse
Rent from the robe of him who works my woe,
Soon shall the wretch my direr vengeance prove,
Force him, though faithless, to these longing
SHE's gone!-and shall I give my sighs to flow,
[flame! What caused my anguish, and what fed the