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"And call pale spectres from the yawning tomb


Bring from the city, bring, ye charms, my Daphnis


"Forth, Amaryllis, forth the ashes bear,


"And o'er thy shoulder in the streamlet clear "Whelm them, with unreverted head: a spell "Of different kind his stubborn soul shall quell. "Nor Gods he heeds, nor dreads the strains of doom"Bring from the city, bring, ye charms, my Daphnis


"And lo! the altar gleams with quivering blaze,
"Self-kindled, while my tardy hand delays
"To bear the ashes to the destined flood:
"Something it, sure, portends-O be it good!
"May I, then, trust my heart's fond wishes? Hark!
"Loud at the door I hear my Hylax bark-



"Or weave I Love's light dream in fancy's loom? "No, cease, my charms; he comes, comes from the city home!"


Lycidas. WHITHER, good Moris? For the city bent Moris. O Lycidas, our life, with sad extent, Has reach'd to woes beyond my utmost fear; "Begone, old landlords; I am master here," Our little field's usurper sternly cries!


To him, since thus her wheel dame Fortune plies,

These kids-ill luck go with them! sad I bear.

Lyc. I heard, indeed-and oh, would such things were ! That where yon hills slope gently to the plain, Far as to Mincius' banks (his own domain)


Their shatter'd tops where those old beeches raise,
Menalcas had protected by his lays.

Moer. Audiêras; et fama fuit: sed carmina tantùm Nostra valent, Lycida, tela inter Martia, quantùm Chaonias dicunt, aquilâ veniente, columbas. Quod nisi me quàcumque novas incidere lites Ante sinistra cavâ monuisset ab ilice cornix, Nec tuus hic Moris, nec viveret ipse Menalcas.



Lyc. Heu! cadit in quemquam tantum scelus? heu! tua Pænè simul tecum solatia rapta, Menalca!


Quis caneret Nymphas ? Quis humum florentibus herbis Spargeret, aut viridi fontes induceret umbrâ? Vel quæ sublegi tacitus tibi carmina nuper, Quum te ad delicias ferres, Amaryllida, nostras ? “ Tityre, dum redco, brevis est via, pasce capellas; "Et potum pastas age, Tityre; et inter agendum "Occursare capro, cornu ferit ille, caveto."


Moer. Immò hæc, quæ Varo necdum perfecta canebat. "Vare, tuum nomen (superet modò Mantua nobis, “Mantua, væ! miseræ nimiùm vicina Cremonæ !) "Cantantes sublime ferent ad sidera cycni."

Lyc. Sic tua Cyrneas fugiant examina taxos;
Sic, cytiso pastæ, distendant ubera vaccæ:
Incipe, si quid habes. Et me fecêre poëtam
Pierides; sunt et mihi carmina; me quoque dicunt
Vatem pastores: sed non ego credulus illis.


Nam neque adhuc Vario videor, nec dicere Cinna
Digna, sed argutos inter strepere anser olores.


Mær. Id quidem ago; et tacitus, Lycida, mecum ipse


Si valeam meminisse; neque est ignobile carmen. "Huc ades, ô Galatea; quis est nam ludus in undis? "Hic ver purpureum; varios hic flumina circum "Fundit humus flores; hic candida populus antro



Mær. So were you told, and Fame so blazed abroad: But weak our lays, by clashing arms o'er-awed, As, when the eagle swoops, Dodona's dove. Nay-but that, croaking from the tree of Jove, The left-hand raven warn'd me not to strive,

Nor Mæris nor his lord had been alive.



Lyc. And lives there, who such deed of death would Alas! how near had vanish'd into air With thee, Menalcas, all thy soothing verse! For who the nymphs' soft praises would rehearse? Who o'er the ground the gather'd foliage fling, Or screen with verdant shade the living spring? Who those sweet lines repeat I slily heard,

As to my Amaryllis you repair'd?

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• Till, I return, my flock, kind Tityrus, feed (Short is my journey) and to water lead;

'But as thou lead'st them, Tityrus, have a care: "Of that old butting goat, dear boy, beware.'


Mær. Or (sung to Varus) that unfinish'd strain;
Varus, thy name-if Mantua still remain,

Ah! to Cremona fatally too near !

'Melodious swans to yon bright stars shall bear.'



Lyc. So may thy bees the poisonous yew forego; 35
Thy cows, on trefoil fed, with milk o'erflow!
Begin, if aught thy memory retain :
Me, too, the Muses taught the sylvan strain;
I have my songs; and many a swain avers,
A bard I am: but far their judgement errs!
Unfit with Varius or with Cinna I,

As gabbling geese with sweetest swans, to vie.
Moer. Much I in silence have revolved, and long,

To call to mind-'tis no ignoble song

'Hither to land, O Galatea, haste :

'What joy can flourish 'mid the watry waste?

'Here purple Spring with verdure decks the bowers, every streamlet's brink is strew'd with flowers:




"Imminet, et lentæ texunt umbracula vites.
"Huc ades; insani feriant sine litora fluctus."

Lyc. Quid, quæ te purâ solum sub nocte canentem Audiêram? numeros memini, si verba tenerem.


Mær. "Daphni, quid antiquos signorum suspicis ortus? "Ecce, Dionæi processit Cæsaris astrum;

"Astrum, quo segetes gauderent frugibus, et quo
"Duceret apricis in collibus uva colorem.

“Insere, Daphni, piros; carpent tua poma nepotes-" 50
Omnia fert ætas, animum quoque; sæpè ego longos
Cantando puerum memini me condere soles.
Nunc oblita mihi tot carmina; vox quoque Morin
Jam fugit ipsa lupi Morin vidêre priores.
Sed tamen ista satis referet tibi sæpè Menalcas.

Lyc. Caussando nostros in longum ducis amores.
Et nunc omne tibi stratum silet æquor; et omnes,
Adspice, ventosi ceciderunt murmuris auræ.
Hinc adeò media est nobis via; namque sepulcrum
Incipit adparere Bianoris: hic, ubi densas
Agricolæ stringunt frondes, hic, Mori, canamus:
Hic hædos depone; tamen veniemus in urbem.
Aut si, nox pluviam ne colligat antè, veremur,
Cantantes licet usque (minùs via lædat) eamus:
Cantantes ut eamus, ego hoc te fasce levabo.




Moer. Desine plura, puer; et quod nunc instat, agamus.

Carmina tum meliùs, quùm venerit Ipse, canemus.

• Here the white poplar quivers o'er each cave, And curling vines their shady foliage wave. Hither, O Galatea, haste to land,

'And let the surge rave idly on the strand.'


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Lyc. One moon-light night, thou sung'st too-such a The words forgotten, I the air retain.

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Moer. Why on old constellations, Daphnis gaze? 55 See, where it's beams the Julian star displays;

'A star, whence fields draw fatness as it rolls,

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And grapes grow duskier on their sunny knolls.

Graft, Daphnis, for the rising race your pears :'

-Ah! age, which pilfers all, not e'en the memory spares !
Oft when, a careless boy, I trod the mead,
The lingering sun I carol'd to his bed:
Now, every lay is vanish'd from my head.
His very voice has hapless Moris lost;


His path some wolf's first-darted glance has crost: 65 But well the chasm Menalcas will supply.

Lyc. My wish but grows with your apology.

And see! the lake's broad plain unruffled spread,

Nor moves one murmuring breeze the beech's head.
Now midway of our journey we are come,


For lo! where rears it's head Bianor's tomb.

Here sit we, Moris, where the cluster'd boughs

The farmers trim, and sing as we repose.

Here rest your kids: we soon shall reach the town;
Or if we fear the night-storm's gathering frown,

Light song will ease

To aid

your song,

the road of half it's care:

let me

this burthen bear.

Mor. Press me no more, but onward let us go:

Sprightlier the strain, when He returns, will flow.


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