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'He may freely demand of fair Venus a kifs;

His

But if to my arms he the boy can restore,
'He's welcome to kiffes, and fomething still more.
His marks are fo plain, and so many, you'll'own
That among twenty others he's easily known. 10
His skin is not white, but the colour of flame;
eyes are moft cruel, his heart is the fame:
His delicate lips with perfuafion are hung;
But, ah! how they differ, his mind and his
6 tongue!
[troul,
His voice fweet as honey; but nought can con-
Whene'er he's provok'd, his implacable foul.
He never speaks truth, full of fraud is the boy;
And woe is his paftime, and forrow his joy.
His head is embellish'd with bright curling hair;
He has confident looks, and an infolent air. 20
Though his hands are but little, yet darts they
⚫ can fling

To the regions below, and their terrible king.
His body quite naked to view is reveal'd,
But he covers his mind, and his thoughts are
' conceal'd.

Like a bird light of feather, the branches among,
He skips here and there, to the old, to the young,
From the men to the maids on a fudden he ftrays,
And hid in their hearts on their vitals he preys.
'The bow which he carries is little and light,
On the nerve is an arrow wing'd ready for

flight,

A little fhort arrow, yet fwiftly it flies

A quiver of gold on his fhoulders is bound,
Stor'd with darts, that alike friends and enemies

' wound:

'Ev'n I, his own mother, in vain ftrive to fhun His arrows-fo fell and fo cruel my fon,

His torch is but small, yet so ardent its ray, It fcorches the fun, and extinguishes day. "O you, who perchance may the fugitive find, 'Secure first his hands, and with manacles bind; 40 Show the rogue no compaffion, though oft he

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To weep his are all hypocritical tears. With caution conduct him, nor let him beguile Your vigilant care with a treacherous smile. Perhaps with a laugh kiffes fweet he will proffer; His kiffes are poison, ah! fhun the vile offer. 'Perhaps he'll fay, fobbing," No mischief I know; "Here take all my arrows, my darts, and my "bow!" [aim;

Ah! beware, touch them not-deceitful his aim; 'His darts and his arrows are all tipt with flame.'

IDYLLIUM II.
EUROPA.

THE Queen of Love, on amorous wiles intent,
A pleafing dream to fair Europa fent.
What time still night had roll'd the hours away,
And the fresh dawn began to promise day,
When balmy flumbers, and compofing reft,
Clofé every eye, and footh the penfive breaft,
When dreams and vifions fill the bufy brain,
Prophetic dreams, that never rise in vain :
'Twas then Europa, as fhe fleeping lay,
Chafte as Diana, fifter of the day,
Saw in her cause the adverse shore engag'd
In war with Asia; terribly they rag'd:
Each feem'd a woman; that in foreign guife,

! Through regions of ether, and pierces the skies. A native this, and claim'd the lovely prize

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The fair Europa, ftruck with fudden dread, All pale and trembling started from her bed; Silent fhe fat, and thought the vision true, Still feem'd their forms to ftrive before her view: At length fhe utter'd thus the voice of fear; "Ye gods, what spectres to my fight appear? "What dreams are thefe, in fancy's livery dreft, "That haunt my fleep, and break my golden reft? "And who that form that feem'd fo wond'rous "kind?

"The dear idea ftill delights my mind. "She, like a mother, prefs'd me in her arms: "But, O ye gods! that fend fuch strange a"larms,

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" Preserve these visionary scenes from harms "
She faid, and lightly from her couch the fprung,
Then fought her comrades, beautiful and young,
Her focial mates; with them she lov'd to lave
Her limbs unblemish'd in the crystal wave:
With them on lawns the fprightly dance to lead,
Or pluck fweet lilies in the flowery mead.
The nymphs affembled foon, a beauteous band! 40
With each a curious basket in her hand;
Then reach'd thofe fields where oft they play'd7
before,

The fragrant fields along the fea-beat shore,
To gather flowers, and hear the billows roar.
Europa's basket, radiant to behold,
The work of Vulcan, was compos'd of gold;
He gave it Lybia, mighty Neptune's bride,
She Telephaffa, next in blood ally'd;
From her bequeath'd to fair Europa came
This fplendid basket of celestial frame.
Fair in the work the milk-white lö ftood

In roughen'd gold, and lowing paw'd the flood,
(For Vulcan there had pour'd the azure main)
A heifer ftill, nor yet transform'd again.
Two men ftood figur'd on the ocean's brim,
Who watch'd the cow, that feem'd inclin'd to
fwim.

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Jove too appear'd enamour'd on the strand,
And ftrok'd the lovely heifer with his hand :
Till, on the banks of Nile again array'd,
In native beauty fhone the blooming maid:
The feven-mouth'd Nile in filver currents roll'd,
And Jove was fculptur'd in refulgent gold.
Near piping Hermes fleepless Argus lies,
Watching the heifer with his hundred eyes:
From Argus flain a painted peacock grew,
Fluttering his feathers ftain'd with various hue,
And, as a fhip expands her fwelling fail,
He round the bafket fpread his ftarry tail.
Such were the fcenes the Lernian god difplay'd,
And such the basket of the Tyrian maid.

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. The lovely damfels gather'd flow'rets bright, Sweet to the fmell, and beauteous to the fight; The fragrant hyacinth of purple hue, Narciffus, wild thyme, and the violet blue;

Some the gilt crocus or pale lily chofe,
But fair Europa cropp'd the blooming rofe;
And all her mates excell'd in radiant mien,
As 'midft the graces fhines the Cyprian queen.
Not long, alas in these fair fields the fhone,
Nor long unloos'd preferv'd her virgin zone; 80
Saturnian Jove beheld the matchless maid,
And fudden tranfports the rapt god invade;
He glows with all the fervid shame of love;
For Cupid's arrows pierce the breast of Jove.
But, beft his amorous intent to screen,
And fhun the jealous anger of his queen,
He laid his immortality afide,
And a bull'e form th' intriguing god bely'd;
But not of earthly fhape, or mortal breed,
Such as at large in flowery paftures feed;
Whose stubborn necks beneath the yoke we bow,
Break to the wain, or harness to the plough.
His golden hue distinguish'd him afar;
Full in his forehead beam'd a filver star:
His large blue eyes, that fhone ferenely bright,
Languifh'd with love, and sparkled with delight:
On his broad temples rofe two equal horns,
Like that fair crefcent which the skies adores.
Gently he moves with peaceful look and bland,
And spreads no terror in the virgin band:
Nearer they drew, with eager longing led
To ftroke his fides, and pat his comely head:
His breath divine ambrofial odours yields,
Sweeter than fragrance of the flowery fields.
At fair Europa's feet with joy he stands,
And prints fweet kiffes on her lily hands.
His foamy lips the wipes, unaw'd by dread,
And ftrokes his fides, and pats his comely head
Gently he low'd, as mufical and clear
As notes foft warbled on the raptur'd ear: 114
And, as on earth his pliant knees he bent,
Show'd his broad back, that hinted what he
(maid
Then turn'd his fuppliant eyes, and view'd the
Who thus, aftonifh'd to her comrades faid:

meant;

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"Say dearest mates, what can this beaft in

a tend?

"Let us (for lo! he stoops) his back afcend, "And ride in sportive gambols round the mead; "This lovely bull is fure of gentle breed;

So meek his manner, fo benign his mind, "He wants but voice to equal human kind." 1 So fpoke the fair, and up the rofe to ride, And call'd her lingering partners to her fide: Soon as the bull his pleafing burden bere, Vigorous he fprung, and haft n'd to the shore. The nymph difmay'd invok'd the virgin band For help, and wav'd her unavailing hand. On the foft bofom of the azure flood With his fair prize the bull triumphant rode: Up-rofe the Nereids to attend his train, And all the mighty monsters of the main. Cerulean Neptune was the Thunderer's guide, And for the paffing pomp he fmooth'd the tide: The Tritons hail'd him as he steer'd along, And founded on their conchs the nuptial fong. On Jove's broad back the lovely damfel borne, Gralp'd with her fair right hand his polif'd

horn,

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No fea-beat thore fhe faw, nor mountain's brow,
Nor aught but sky above, and waves below.
Then with a mournful look the damfel faid:

"Ah! whither wilt thou bear a wretched maid? "Who, and whence art thou, wond'rous creature, "fay?

How can't thou fearlefs tread the wat'ry way? "On the broad ocean fafely fails the fhip, "But bulls avoid, and dread the ftormy deep. ISO "Say, can a bull on fea-born viands feed? "Or, if defcended from celeftial breed,

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But, O! I truft, great Neptune, in thy aid;

Soon let my eyes my great conductor hail,
For not without a deity I fail."

Thusfpoke the nymph, and thus the bull reply'd: Courage, fair maid, nor fear the foaming tide: Though now a bull I feem to mortal eyes, "Thou foon fhalt fee me ruler of the fkies. "What shape I please, at will I take and keep, "And now a bull I cross the boundless deep; 170 For thy bright charms infpire my breast with " love :

Bat foon fhall Crete's fair ifle, the nurse of Jove, • Receive Europa on its friendly ftrand, *To join with me in Hymen's blifsful band: 'From thee shall kings arife in long array, To rule the world with delegated sway." Thus fpoke the god; and what he spoke prov'd

true :

or loon Crete's lofty fhore appear'd in view: ve trait affum'd another form and air,

And loos'd her zone; the Hours the couch prepare,

The aynph Europa thus, through powerful love,
Became the bride of cloud-compelling Jove :
rom her sprung mighty kings in long array,
Who rul'd the world with delegated Iway.

IDYLLIUM III.

ON THE DEATH OF BION

Iz woods, with grief your waving fummits bow, it Dorian fountains, murmur as ye flow, from weeping urns your copious forrows fhed, And bid the rivers mourn for Bion dead : Yehady groves, in robe of fable hue Dewail; ye plants, in pearly drops of dew: edrooping flowers, diffufe a languid breath, And die with forrow at fweet Bion's death:

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Ye roses change from red to fickly pale,
And, all ye bright anemonies, bewail:
Now, hyacinth, thy doleful letters fhow
Infcrib'd in larger characters of woe
For Bion dead, the sweetest shepherd swain.
Begin, Sicilian Muse, begin the mournful strain!
Ye nightingales, that perch among the sprays,
Tune to meoldious elegy your lays,

And bid the streams of Arethufe deplore
Bion's fad fate; lov'd Bion is no more:
Nor verfe nor mefic could his life prolong,
He died, and with him died the Doric fong.

Begin Sicilian Mufe, the mournful strain!
Ye fwans of Strymon, in loud notes complain,
Penfive, yet fweet, and droop, the fickly wing,
As when your own fad elegy ye fing.
All the fair damfels of Oëagria tell,

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And all the nymphs that in Biftonia dwell,
That Doric Orpheus charms no more the plains.
Begin, Sicilian Mufe, begin the mournful strains!
No more he fooths his oxen at the yoke,
No more he chants beneath the lonely oak.
Compell'd, alas! a doleful dirge to fing
To the grim god, the deaf Tartarean king.
And now each ftraggling heifer ftrays alone,
And to the filent mountains makes her moan;.
The bulls loud bellowing o'er the forefts rove,
Forfake their pasture, and forget their love.

Begin, Sicilian Mufe, the mournful lay!
Thy fate, O Bion, wept the god of day;
Pan griev'd; the dancing Satyrs and the Fauns
March'd flow and fad, and figh'd along the lawns:
Then wail'd the Nymphs, that o'er the ftreams

prefide,

4I

Faft flow'd their tears, and fwell'd the cryftal tide,

Mute Echo now laments the rocks among,
Griev'd the no more can imitate thy long.
The flow'rets fade, and wither'd are the trees,
Those lose their beauty, and their verdure these.
The ewes no more with milky udders thrive,
No more drops honey from the fragrant hive;
The bees, alas! have loft their little store,
And what avails it now to work for more,
When from thy lips the honey's ftol'n away?
Begin, Sicilian Mufe, begin the mournful lay!
Ne'er did the dolphin on the azure main
In fuch pathetic energy complain;
Nor Philomel with fuch melodious woe,
E'er wail'd, nor fwallow on the mountains brow;
Nor did Alcyone transform'd deplore

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So loud her lover dafh'd upon the shore.
Not Memnon's birds fuch figns of forrow gave,
When, fcreaming round, they hover'd o'er his

grave;

As now in melancholy mood they fhed Their plaintive tears, lamenting Bion dead.

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Begin, Sicilian Mufe, the mournful lay! The nightingales, that perch upon the spray, The fwallows fhrill, and all the feather'd throng, Whom Bion taught, and ravish'd with his fong, Now funk in grief their penfive music ply, And ftrive to fing their mafter's eleg; And all the birds in all the groves around Strain their fweet throats to emulate the found: 70

Ye turtles too, the gentle bard deplore,
And with dee murmurs fill the founding fhore.
Begin, Sicilian Muse, the mournful lay!
Who now, lov'd fhepherd, on thy pipe fhall play?
Still, ftill, methinks, the melting notes I hear,
But ah more faint they die upon my ear.
Echo, ftill listening, roves the meads along,
Or near the rocks ftill meditates thy song.
To Pan I'll give thy tuneful pipe, though he
Will fear, perchance, to be furpafs'd by thee.
Begin, Sicilian Mufe, the mournful strain !
Thee Galatea weeps, fweet fhepherd-swain`;
For oft thy graceful form her bofom warm'd,
Thy fong delighted, and thy music charm'd:
She fhunn'd the Cyclops, and his numbers rude,
But thee with ardent love the nymph purfu'd:
She left the fea, her element, and feeds,
Forlorn, thy cattle on the flowery meads.

So

Mourns to Philetas' elegiac muse,
And sweet Theocritus of Syracuse:
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 paft'ral pipe and Doric fong;
In Doric fong my pensive boon I pay :

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Begin, Sicilian Mufe, begin the mournful lay!
Alas! the meaneft flowers which gardens yield,
The vileft weeds that flourish in the field,
Which dead in wint'ry fepulchres appear,
Revive in fpring, and bloom another year:
But we, the great, the brave, the learn'd, the
wife,

Soon as the hand of death has clos'd our eyes, 150
In tombs forgotten lie, no funs restore,
We fleep, for ever sleep, to wake no more.
90 Thou too lieft buried with the filent dead:
Fate spares the witlings, but thy vital thread
Snapp'd cruel chance! and now its my hard lot
To hear the dull bards (but I envy not)
Grate their harsh fonnets flafhly, rude, and vain:
Begin, Sicilian Mule, begin the mournful ftrain!
O hapless Bion! poifon was thy fate;
The baneful potion circumfcrib'd thy date: 160
How could fell poifon cause effect so strange,
Touch thy fweet lips, and not to honey change?
How could the favage wretch, that mix'd the
draught,

Begin, Sicilian Mufe, the mournful lay!
Alas! the mufes will no longer stay,
No longer on thefe lonely coafts abide ;
With thee they warbled, and with thee they died:
With Bion perifh'd all the grace of fong,
And all the kiffes of the fair and young.
The little Loves, lamenting at his doom,
Strike their fair breasts, and weep around his tomb.
See Venus too her beauteous bosom beat?
She lov'd her fhepherd more than kisses sweet,
More than those last dear kiffes, which in death
She gave Adonis, and imbib'd his breath.
Meles of ftreams in melody the chief,
Now heaves thy bofom with another grief;
Thy Homer died, great master of the song,
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.

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Dear to the fountains was each tuneful son,
This drank of Arethufe, that Helicon :
He fung Atrides' and Achilles' ire,
And the fair dame that fet the world on fire:
This form'd his numbers on a fofter plan,
And chaunted fhepherds loves, and peaceful Pan;
His flock he tended on the flower meads,
And milk'd his kine, or join'd with wax the reeds;
Oft in his bofom he would Cupid take,
And Venus lov'd him for her Cupid's fake.

Begin, Sicilian Mufe, the mournful strains!
Thee all the cities of the hills and plains,
Illuftrious bard, in filent grief deplore;
Afcra for Hefiod ne'er lamented more;
Not thus Baotia mourn'd her Theban fwan,
Nor thus the tears for bold Alcœus ran;

Not Ceos for Simonides, nor thus

Griev'd Paros for her bard Archilocus:

The fhepherds of the Lesbian ifle have long
Neglected Sappho's for thy sweeter fong:
And all that breathe the past'ral reed rehearse
Thy fate, O Bion, in harmonious verfe.
Sicelidas, the Samian fhepherd sweet,
And Lycidas, the blitheft bard of Crete,

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Whole fprightly looks erst spoke their hearts elate,
Now forrowing mourn thy fad untimely fate;

Hear heavenly music with a murderous thought?
Could not thy fongs his hellish purpose sway?

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Begin, Sicilian Mufe, begin the mournful lay!
But foon juft vengeance will his crime pursue,
While I with pious tears thy tomb bedew.
Could I like Orpheus, as old poets tell,
Or mighty Hercules, defcend to hell;
To Pluto's dreary manfion I would go,
To hear what mufic Bion plays below.
Lift to my counsel gentle shepherd swain,
And foftly warble some Sicilian ftrain,
(Such as, when living, gave divine delight)
To footh the empress of the realms of night:
For fhe, cre Pluto feiz'd the trembling maid,
Sung Dorian lays, and in these meadows play'd.
Not unrewarded fhall thy numbers prove,
The dame will pity, though fhe cannot love: 18
At once the heard the Thracian's tuneful prayer,
And gave him back Eurydice the fair,
She'll pity now thy more melodious strain,
And fend thee to thy hills and woods again.
Could I in powerful harmony excel,
For thee my pipe should charm the rigid king o

IDYLLIUM IV.

MEGARA.

Megara.

[hell

"Why these complaints, and whence that dread "ful figh?

"Why on thy cheek do thus the roses dic? Is it to fee thy glorious fun fuftain,

From worthless hands, pre-eminence of pain? A lion tortur'd by a fawn-Great Jove! "Why fuch injurious treatment must I prove?

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