Billeder på siden
PDF
ePub

IDYLLIUM

THE THIRTIETH.

THE DEATH OF ADONIS.

WHEN, his rosy colour fled,

Venus saw her lover dead,

Stiff his hair, and clos'd his eyes→→
'Cupids, go (she frantic cries),
Trace the boar through all the wood,
Stain'd with my Adonis' blood!'
Swift as birds, each fluttering Love
Hastens through the mazy grove:
Soon the guilty boar they find,
Fearless run, and seize, and bind.
This, to guide the beast along,
Panting, pulls his cord of thong;
That, to make the felon go,
Beats him with his little bow,
He an easy captive led,
Aw'd by Venus, hung his head.
Venus thus, in angry strain :
"Fellest of the prowling train!
Didst thou wound Adonis' thigh?
Didst thou cause my love to die?
He replied: 'O Venus, hear!
By thyself, and lover dear;

By the chains with which I'm bound;
By the hunters standing round;
Never did my erring tooth
Mean to pierce so fair a youth!
But when he surpris'd my sight,
As a polish'd statue bright;
And, my rapture rising high,
I survey'd his naked thigh;
Ah! not able to resist,
Furiously I ran and kiss'd!
To a fatal frenzy wrought-
Too much passion was my fault!
Now, for thy Adonis' sake,
Take my tusks, all bloody, take!
Take my lips beside, if these
Prove too trivial to appease!"
She, in pity to his pain,
Bid her Cupids loose his chain.
But, though free, the grateful boar,
Ranging in the woods no more,
Follow'd close Cythera's Queen;
And his cruel tusks so keen

(That had glow'd with amorous fire) Burnt amid the blazing pyre!

[blocks in formation]

EPIGRAMS.

OFFERINGS

TO THE MUSES AND APOLLO.

THESE dewy roses, and this wildling thyme,
I offer to the sacred Nine, who love
The Heliconian hill: but lo, to thee,
Apollo! I devote the laurel's leaves,
Of sabler hue. Such offerings oft adorn
The Delphic rock! and, meantime, to enrich
Thy altar with its purple stream, shall bleed
Yon horn'd he-goat, that crops, so snowy-white,
The pendant branches of the gummy pine.

AN OFFERING TO PAN.

DAPHNIS the fair, who tunes the reed,
To Pan these presents hath decreed :
Three pipes his lips that deftly suit;
A scrip, that oft hath borne his fruit;
A skin, which from a fawn he took-
A pointed dart, a shepherd's crook!

TO DAPHNIS SLEEPING.

WHILE, Daphnis, on the leaf-strown ground, you Your weary body in the dews of sleep;

[steep And on the green hill-top your snares are laid— With Pan, who hunts where erst your footsteps The rude Priapus hastens to your cave— [stray'd, See on his brows the saffron ivy wave!

But fly them, though the sultry noon-day glows,
Fly the wild revellers, and forego repose!

A VOW TO PRIAPUS.

HAPLY through yonder village if thou bend
Thy footsteps, turn thee, goatherd, by the grove
Of wide o'er-arching oaks. There, freshly wrought,
A fig-tree statue thou wilt find; though rough
With bark, three-legg'd, and void of ears, yet prompt
For pleasure's pranks: while, near, a hallow'd fane
Low rises; and a sweet perennial spring
Flows tinkling from the living rock, that gleams
Through bowering laurel, myrtles, and the shrub
Of odour'd cypress-where the clustering vine
Diffuses many a tendril. In these shades
The vernal blackbird warbles his clear note
Yet varied; and the yellow nightingale,
Responsive in a sweeter murmur, trills
Her rival minstrelsy. Amid this scene
Repose; and to thy God Priapus pray,
That he will free my bosom from the power
Of cruel Daphne! so the bleeding goat
Shall grace his shrine! yet haply, if I gain

The virgin, these fair victims will I slay-
A goat, a spotless heifer, and a lamb
Fat from the stall! propitious may the God
Attend; and crown my wishes, and thy prayer!

THE CONCERT.

SAY, Swain, hast thou a mind to suit
Some ditty to thy double flute?
For by the Wood-nymphs, if thou will,
I'll try a tune upon my quill:

The herdsman Daphnis too shall play,
On his wax'd reed, a lively lay;
While at the cave our stand we keep
Near yon hoar oak, and rob of sleep
Arcadia's God-the goatherd Pan-
Rousing the snorer, all we can!

THYRSIS HATH LOST HIS KID.

AH, Thyrsis! what avails this wasting woe?
Thy lost kid wanders through the shades below!
The wolf hath torn him on the pasture-plain;
He died-And can thy tears bring life again?
Thy very dogs exclaim, 'What boots thy moan?
When nought of him remains-no—not a bone !'

« ForrigeFortsæt »