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We know little relating to these two celebrated paftoral poets: And therefore their history may be comprifed in few words.

Bion was born at Smyrna, a famous city of Afia Minor, which alfo has the faireft title to the birth of Homer: For this father of poets is said to have been the fon of the river Meles, which flows not far from its walls; and therefore he is called Melefigenes. To this river Mofchus, in his Idyllium on the death of Bion, addreffes himself; and makes that fine comparison between thefe two poets:

Τάτο του, οι ποταμων λιγυρωπατε, κ. τ. λ.
Meles! of streams in melody the chief,
Now heaves thy bofom with another grief;
Thy Homer died, great mafter of the fong,
Thy Homer died, the muses sweetest tongue;
Then did thy waves in plaintive murmurs weep,
And roll'd thy fwelling forrows to the deep.
Another fon demands the meed of woe,
Again thy waters weep in long-drawn murmurs
flow.

Dear to the fountains was each tuneful fon,
This drank of Arethufe, that Helicon.
He fung Atrides' and Achilles' ire,

Mofchus was born at Syracufe, and was the difciple of Bion, as was before obferved. Suidas will have him to have been a profeffor of grammar at Syracufe: but it is certain, that when he wrote his beautiful elegy on the death of his mafter, his refidence was among the Italians, (though perhaps in those parts that lie over against Sicily, called Great Greece); and probably he fucceeded him in governing the poetic fchool. Some critics have formerly afferted, that Mofchus and Theocritus are the fame perfon; but they are fufficiently confuted by a paffage in the elegy, where Mofchus introduces Theocritus bewailing the fame misfortune in another country which he was lamenting in Italy.

"The few remains of these two poets," fays Kennet," are reckoned among the fweeteft pieces "of the ancient delicacy. They feem, in a great "measure, to have neglected that blunt rufticity "and plainnefs, which was fo admired an art of "their great rival Theocritus; for they always "aim at fomething more polite and genteel, "though equally natural, in their compofitions." Mr. Longepierre obferves, that "the beauty of

thefe Idylliums can never be fufficiently ad"mired. If I dare not, fays he, affirm, that these And the fair dame that fet the world on fire: two poets are fuperior to Theocritus himself; This form'd his numbers on a fofter plan, yet, I may safely aver, that in general they are And chanted shepherds loves, and peaceful Pan. more correfpondent to the taste of the prefent age; which can never be brought to relish that We are not informed in what part of the world" extreme fimplicity, which abounds in Theohe lived, though it is evident that he spent much "critus. Bion and Mofchus are not lefs natural

of his time in Sicily; and there it was, probably,"
that the wonderful fweetnefs of his compofitions
drew together great numbers of admirers and dif-
ciples; among whom was Mofchus, as may be
deduced from the above-mentioned poem:

I too, with tears, from Italy have brought
Such plain bucolics as my mafter taught;
Which, if at all, with tuneful ease they flow,
To thy learn'd precepts, and thy art I owe.
To other heirs thy riches may belong;
I claim thy pastoral pipe and Doric fong.
These two last verses prove, that he was not in
receflitous circumftances. From the fame Idyllium,
it appears, that he died by poifon, not accidentally,
but by the appointment of fome great man:
O hapless Bion! poifon was thy fate;
The baneful potion circumfcrib'd thy date,
How could fell poifon caufe effect fo, ftrange,
Touch thy fweet lips, and not to honey change?
Which probably was not unpunished :

But foon juft vengeance will the wretch pursue.
It is likewife evident from the above-mentioned
authority, that he was contemporary with The-
And this famous Syracufan flourished

ocritus.

than he is; but though their fimplicity is pure nature, it is lefs ruftic, and more elegant; and their poems, having a more pleafing and agreeable air, one may with juftice affirm, that Bion "has more grace, fweetness, and delicacy, and "lefs rufticity (if I may be allowed the expref"fion) than Theocritus; and that Mofchus keeps "the middle track between them both. However, if their works are not admitted among "fome for fuch true paftorals, they will certainly pafs among the best judges for better poems."

There is a remarkable paper in the Guardian, rals of Mr. Pope and Mr. Phillips (by the way No. 40. containing a parallel between the paftowritten by Pope himself, though the former papers on paftoral poetry were composed by Mr. Tickell). It abounds with the fineft farcaftic irony, which Phillips not having penetration enough to fee through, made an apology to Pope on the occafion, declaring that he had no hand in it, nor knew the author. It concludes thus: After all that has been faid, I hope none can think it any injuftice to Mr. Pope that I forebore to mention him as a paftoral writer: fince, upon the whole, he is of the fame clafs with Melchus and Bion, whom we have excluded that rank; and on

under Ptolemy Philadelphus, who began his reign whofe eclogues, as well as fome of Virgil's, it

THE WORKS OF BION.

Begin, Sicilian Mufe, the mournful lay—————
Alas! the Mufes will no longer stay,
No longer on these lovely coafts abide;

With him they warbled, and with him they died:
With Bion perifh'd all the grace of song,
And all the kiffes of the fair and young :

The little Loves, lamenting at his doom,

Beat their fair breafts, and weep around his tomb.

MOSCHUS ON THE DEATH OF BION.

IDYLLIUM I.

IDYLLIUMS.

ON THE DEATH OF ADONIS.

THE death of fair Adonis 1 deplore; The lovely youth Adonis is no more: The cruel fates have cut his vital thread, And all the Loves lament Adonis dead. Ah Venus! never more in purple rest, For mournful fable change thy flow'ry vest; Thy beauteous bofom beat, thy lofs deplore Aloud with fighs, Adonis is no more!

ΙΟ

For the lov'd youth these copious tears I fhed,
And all the Cupids mourn Adonis dead
Methinks I fee him on the mountain lie,
The boar's keen tusk has pierc'd his tender thigh;
Weltering he lies, expiring on the ground,
And near him Venus all in forrow drown'd;
I fee the crimson flood fast trickling flow
Down his white skin that vies with winter fnow;
I fee the luftre of his eyes decay,
And on his lips the rofes fade away:
Yet who can Venus from thofe lips divide,
Though their fweet kiffes with Adonis dy'd? 20
To Venus fweet, ev'n now his breath is fled,
Yet all her kiffes cannot warm the dead.

The fate of fair Adonis I deplore;
The Loves lament, Adonis is no more!
"A deep wide wound is in his thigh impreft,
But Venus bears a deeper in her breast.
His beagles round a mournful howling keep;
And all the Dryads of the mountains weep:
But Venus quite abandon'd to defpair,
Her locks dishevell'd, and her feet all bare,

Flies through the thorny brake, the bri'ry wood,
And ftains the thickets with her facred blood:
With piercing cries Adonis she bewails,
Her darling youth, along the winding vales;
While the blood starting from his wounded thigh,
Streams on his breast, and leaves a crimson dye.
Ah me! what tears fair Cytherea shed,
And how the Loves deplor'd Adonis dead!
The Queen of Love no longer now a bride,
Has loft her beauty fince Adonis dy'd;
Though bright the radiance of her charms before,
Her lover and her beauty are no more!
The mountains mourn, the waving woods bewail,
And rivers roll lamenting through the vale;
The filver fprings defcend in ftreams of woe
Down the high hills, and murmur as they flow:
And every flower in drooping grief appears
Deprefs'd, and languishingly drown'd in tears:
While Venus o'er the hills and vallies flies,
And, "Ah! Adonis is no more," the cries. 50
Along the hills and vales, and vocal flore,
Echo repeats," Adonis is no more
Who could unmov'd these piteous wailings hear,
Or view the love-lorn queen without a tear?
Soon as the faw him wounded on the plain,
His thigh difcolour'd with the crimson ftain,
Sighing she said, and clasp'd him as he lay,

Oftay, dear hapless youth! for Venus ftay! "Our breasts once more let close embraces join, "And let me prefs my glowing lips to thine, 60 "Raife, lov'd Adonis, raife thy drooping head, "And kifs me ere thy parting breath be fled, "The laft fond token of affection give, 30 "O kifs thy Venus, while the kisses live;

Till in my breast I draw thy lingering breath, * And with my lips imbibe thy love in death. "This farewell kifs, which forrowing thus I take, "I'll keep for ever for Adonis' fake. "Thee to the fhades the Fates untimely bring "Before the drear, inexorable king; "Yet ftill I live unhappy and forlorn; "How hard my lot to be a goddess born! "Take, cruel Proferpine, my lovely boy, "Since all that's form'd for beauty, or for joy, « Descends to thee, while I indulge my grief, "By fruitless tears foliciting relief.

"Thou dy't, Adonis, and thy fate I weep, Thy love now leaves me like a dream in sleep, * Leaves me bereav'd no more a blooming bride, "With unavailing Cupids at my fide.

"With thee my zone, which coldest hearts could

"warm,

"Loft every grace, and all its power to charm. "Why didft thou urge the chafe, and rafhly dare T'encounter beafts, thyself so wond'rous fair!" Thus Venus mourn'd, and tears inceffant shed, And all the Loves bewail'd Adonis dead; Sighing they cry'd, "Ah! wretched queen, "deplore

"Thy joys all fled, Adonis is no more." As many drops of blood as from the wound Of fair Adonis trickled on the ground, So many tears the fhed in copious fhowers : Both tears and drops of blood were turn'd to flowers.

From these in crimson beauty sprung the rose,
Cerulean-bright anemonies from those.

ΙΟΙ

The death of fair Adonis I deplore, The lovely youth Adonis is no more. No longer in lone woods lament the dead, 0 Queen of Love! behold the stately bed, On which Adonis, now depriv'd of breath, Seems funk in flumbers, beauteous ev'n in death. Drefs him, fair goddess, in the fofteft veft, la which he oft with thee diffolv'd to reft; On golden pillow be his head reclin'd, And let paft joys be imag'd in thy mind. Though death the beauty of his bloom devours, Crown him with chaplets of the fairest flowers; Alas! the flowers have loft their gaudy pride, With him they flourish'd, and with him they dy'd. With odorous myrtle deck his drooping head, And o'er his limbs the fweeteft effence thed: 110 Ah! rather perish every rich perfume, The fweet Adonis perifh'd in his bloom. Clad in a purple robe Adonis lies; Surrounding Cupids heave their breasts with fighs, Their locks they fhear, excels of grief to show, They fpurn the quiver, and they break the bow. Seme loofe his fandals with officious care, Seme in capacious golden veffels bear

The cleanfing water from the crystal springs; This bathes his wound, that fans him with his wings.

120

For Venus' fake the pitying Cupids fhed A shower of tears, and mourn Adonis dead. Already has the nuptial god difmay'd, Perch'd his bright torch, for all his garlands fade. No more are joyful hymenæals fung, But notes of forrow dwell on ev'ry tongue;

When long in vain he waited to betray
The god, enrag'd he flung his twigs away,
And to a ploughman near, an ancient man,
Of whom he learnt his art, the youngster ran,
Told the ftrange ftory, while he held his plough,
And show'd the bird then perch'd upon a bough,
The grave old ploughman archly fhook his head,
Smil'd at the fimple boy, and thus he said:
"Ceafe, ceafe, my fon, this dangerous fport give
" o'er,

"Fly far away, and chafe that bird no more:
"Bleft, fhould you fail to catch him!-Hence,

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As late I flumbering lay, before my fight
Bright Venus rofe in vifions of the night:
She led young Cupid; as in thought profound
His modeft eyes were fix'd upon the ground;
And thus the fpoke: "To thee, dear swain, I
"bring

"My little fon; inftruct the boy to fing."
No more the faid; but vanifh'd into air,
And left the wily pupil to my care:
I, fure I was an idiot for my pains,
Began to teach him old bucolic strains;
How Pan the pipe, how Fallas form'd the flute,
Phoebus the lyre, and Mercury the lute:
Love, to my leffons quite regardless grown,
Sung lighter lays, and fonnets of his own,
Th' amours of men below, and gods above,
And all the triumphs of the Queen of Love,
I, fure the fimpleft of all fhepherd fwains,
Full foon forgot my old bucolic ftrains:

ΙΟ

refine,

Woo the fair Mufes, they his fuit decline;
But if the love-fick fhepherd fweetly fing,
The tuneful choir attending in a ring,

Catch the foft founds, and tune the vocal fhell;
This truth by frequent precedent I tell :
For when I praise fome hero on my lyre,
Or, nobly daring to a god afpire,

In ftrains more languid flows the nerveless song,
Or dies in faultering accents on my tongue :
But when with love or Lycidas I glow,
Smooth are my lays, the numbers sweetly flow.

IDYLLIUM V.

LIFE TO BE ENJOYED.

ΤΟ

Ir merit only ftamps my former lays,
And thofe alone fhall give me deathless praife,
But if ev'n thofe have lost their bright applause,
Why should I labour thus without a cause?
For if great Jove or Fate would ftretch our fpan,
And give of life a double fhare to man,
One part to pleasures and to joy ordain,
And vex the other with hard toil and pain;
With fweet complacence we might then employ
Our hours, for labour ftill enhances joy.
But fince of life we have but one small share,
A pittance fcant which daily toils impair,
Why should we wafle it in purfuit of care?
Why do we labour to augment our store,
The more we gain, ftill coveting the more?
Alas, alas we quite forget that man
Is a mere mortal, and his life a span.

IDYLLIUM VI.

CLEODAMUS AND MYRSON. Cleodamus.

ΙΟ

SAY, wilt thou, Lycidas, fweet fhepherd fwain,
Begin fome foothing, foft Sicilian ftrain,
Such as the Cyclops, on a rock reclin'd,
Sung to the fea-nymph, to compose his mind,
And fent it in the whispers of the wind?
Lycidas.
What can I fing that Myrfon will commend?
With pleasure I would gratify my friend,
Myrfon.

}

Repeat the fong which moft my taste approves, Achilles' ftol'n embrace, and hidden loves; How the bold hero laid his arms aside, A woman's robe the manly fex belied, And Deidamia foon became his bride.

Lycidas.

When with fair Helen Paris crofs'd the deep, Brought her to Troy and made Oenone weep; The injur'd states of Greece were all alarm'd, Spartans, Mycenians, and Laconians arm'd: The treachery ftung their fouls, and bloody vengeance warm'd;

In close disguise his life Achilles led,
Among the daughters of King Lycomed:
Inftead of arms the hero learn'd to cull
The fnowy fleece, and weave the twisted wool.
Like theirs, his cheeks a rofy bloom display'd,
Like them he seem'd a fair and lovely maid;
As foft his air, as delicate his tread,
Like them he cover'd with a veil his head;
But in his veins the tides of courage flow'd,
And love's foft paffion in his bofom glow'd;
By Deidamia's fide from morn to night
He fat, and with ineffable delight
Oft kifs'd her fnow-white hand, or gently prefs'd
The blooming virgin to his glowing breast. 31
His foul was all enraptur'd with her charms,
Ardent he long'd to clafp her in his arms;
Oft in her ear thefe words enamour'd faid,
"By pairs your fifters prefs the downy bed;
"But we, two maids of equal age and bloom,
"Still fleep divided in a separate room.
"Why fhould the night, more cruel than the day,
"Steal the sweet virgin whom I love away?"

IDYLLIUM VIII.

LOVE RESISTLESS.

SWEET Venus, daughter of the main,
Why are you pleas'd with mortals pain?
What mighty trespass have they done,
That thus you fcourge them with your fon?
A guileful boy, a cruel foe,
Whofe chief delight is human woe.
You gave him wings, alas! and darts,
To range the world and shoot at hearts;

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