'Twas there I hoped my liberty to find.
And there my liberty I found at last,
Though long with listless indolence opprest;
Yet not till Time had silver'd o'er my hairs,
And I had told a tedious length of years;
Nor till the gentle Amaryllis charm'd,*
And Galatea's love no longer warm'd.
For (to my friend I will confess the whole)
While Galatea captive held my soul,
Languid and lifeless all I dragg'd the chain,
Neglected liberty, neglected gain,
Though from my fold the frequent victim bled,
Though my fat cheese th' ungrateful city fed,
For this I ne'er perceived my wealth increase;
I lavish'd all her haughty heart to please.
Why Amaryllis pined, and pass'd away
In lonely shades the melancholy day;
Why to the gods she breathed incessant vows;
For whom her mellow apples press'd the boughs
So late, I wonder'd-Tityrus was gone,
And she (ah luckless maid!) was left alone.
Your absence every warbling fountain mourn'd,
And woods and wilds the wailing strains return'd.
What could I do? to break th' enslaving chain
All other efforts had (alas!) been vain ;
Nor durst my hopes presume, but there, to find
The gods so condescending and so kind.
Twas there these eyes the Heaven-born youth+
beheld,
To whom our altars monthly incense yield:
The refinements of Taubmannus, De La Cerda, and others, who will have Amaryllis to signify Rome, and Galatea to signify Mantua, have perplexed this passage not a little: if the literal meaning be admitted, the whole becomes obvious and natural. + Augustus Cæsar.
My suit he even prevented, while he spoke,
'Manure your ancient farm, and feed your former flock.'
Happy old man! then shall your lands remain,
Extent sufficient for th' industrious swain !
Though bleak and bare yon ridgy rocks arise,
And lost in lakes the neighbouring pasture lies.
Your herds on wonted grounds shall safely range,
And never feel the dire effects of change.
No foreign flock shall spread infecting bane
To hurt your pregnant dams, thrice happy swain!
You by known streams and sacred fountains laid
Shall taste the coolness of the fragrant shade.
Beneath yon fence, where willow-boughs unite,
And to their flowers the swarming bees invite,
Oft shall the lulling hum persuade to rest,
And balmy slumbers steal into your breast;
While warbled from this rock the pruner's lay
In deep repose dissolves your soul away;
High on yon elm the turtle wails alone,
And your loved ring-doves breathe a hoarser moan.
Tityrus.
The nimble harts shall graze in empty air, And seas retreating leave their fishes bare, The German dwell where rapid Tigris flows, The Parthian, banish'd by invading foes, Shall drink the Gallic Arar, from my breast Ere his majestic image be effaced.
But we must travel o'er a length of lands,
O'er Scythian snows, or Afric's burning sands
Some wander where remote Oäxes laves
The Cretan meadows with his rapid waves;
In Britain some, from every comfort torn,
From all the world removed, are doom'd to mourn.
When long long years have tedious roll'd away,
Ah! shall I yet at last, at last, survey
My dear paternal lands, and dear abode,
Where once I reign'd in walls of humble sod!
These lands, these harvests must the soldier share!
For rude barbarians lavish we our care!
How are our fields become the spoil of wars!
How are we ruin'd by intestine jars!
Now, Meliboeus, now ingraff the pear,
Now teach the vine its tender sprays to rear !-
Go then, my goats!-go, once a happy store-
Once happy!-happy now (alas!) no more!
No more shall I, beneath the bowery shade
In rural quiet indolently laid,
Behold you from afar the cliff's ascend,
And from the shrubby precipice depend;
No more to music wake my melting flute,
While on the thyme you feed, and willow's wholesome
shoot.
This night at least with me you may repose
On the green foliage, and forget our woes.
Apples and nuts mature our boughs afford,
And curdled milk in plenty crowns my board,
Now from yon hamlets clouds of smoke arise,
And slowly roll along the evening skies;
And see, projected from the mountain's brow,
A lengthen'd shade obscures the plain below.
YOUNG Corydon for fair Alexis pined,
But hope ne'er gladden'd his desponding mind;
Nor vows nor tears the scornful boy could move,
Distinguish'd by his wealthier master's love.
The chief excellency of this poem consists in its delicacy and simplicity. Corydon addresses his favourite in such a purity of sentiment as one would think might effectually discountenance the prepossessions which generally prevail against the subject of this eclogue. The nature of his affection may easily be ascertained from his ideas of the happiness which he hopes to enjoy in the company of his beloved Alexis.
O deign at last amid these lonely fields, &c.
It appears to have been no other than that friendship, which was
Oft to the beech's deep-embowering shade
Pensive and sad this hapless shepherd stray'd;
There told in artless verse his tender pain
To echoing hills and groves, but all in vain.
In vain the flute's complaining lays I try!
And am I doom'd, unpitying boy, to die;
Now to faint flocks the grove a shade supplies,
And in the thorny brake the lizard lies;
Now Thestylis with herbs of savory taste
Prepares the weary harvest-man's repast:
And all is still, save where the buzzing sound
Of chirping grasshoppers is heard around:
While I, exposed to all the rage of heat,
Wander the wilds in search of thy retreat.
Was it not easier to support the pain
I felt from Amaryllis' fierce disdain?
Easier Menalcas' cold neglect to bear,
Black though he was, though thou art blooming fair?
Yet be relenting, nor too much presume,
O beauteous boy, on thy celestial bloom;
The sable violet" yields a precious die,
While useless on the field the withering lilies lie.
Ah, cruel boy! my love is all in vain,
No thoughts of thine regard thy wretched swain.
How rich my flock thou carest not to know,
Nor how my pails with generous milk o'erflow.
With bleat of thousand lambs my hills resound,
And all the year my milky stores abound.
Not Amphion's lays were sweeter than my song,
Those lays that led the listening herds along;
And if the face be true I lately view'd,
Where calm and clear th' uncurling ocean stood,
encouraged by the wisest legislators of ancient Greece, as a noble incentive to virtue, and recommended by the example even of Agesilaus, Pericles, and Socrates: an affection wholly distinct from the infamous attachments that prevailed among the licentious. The reader will find a full and satisfying account of this generous passion in Dr. Potter's Antiquities of Greece, Book iv. chap. 9. Mons. Bayle in his Dictionary, at the article Virgile, has at great length vindicated our poet from the charge of immorality which the critics have grounded upon this pastoral. The scene of this pastoral is a grove interspersed with beechtrees; the season, harvest.
Vaccinium (here translated violet) yielded a purple colour used in dying the garments of slaves, according to Plin. 1. xvi.
I lack not beauty, nor could'st thou deny,
That even with Daphnis I might dare to vie.
O deign at last, amid these lonely fields,
To taste the pleasures which the country yields;
With me to dwell in cottages resign'd,
To roam the woods, to shoot the bounding hind;
With me the weanling kids from home to guide
To the green mallows on the mountain side;
With me in echoing groves the song to raise,
And emulate ev'n Pan's celestial lays.
Pan taught the jointed reed its tuneful strain,
Pan guards the tender flock, and shepherd swain.
Nor grudge, Alexis, that the rural pipe
So oft hath stain'd the roses of thy lip:
How did Amyntas strive thy skill to gain!
How grieve at last to find his labour vain!
Of seven unequal reeds a pipe I have,
The precious gift which good Damotas gave;
'Take this,' the dying shepherd said, for none
Inherits all my skill but thou alone.'
He said; Amyntas murmurs at my praise,
And with an envious eye the gift surveys.
Besides, as presents for my soul's delight
Two beauteous kids I keep, bestreak'd with white,
Nourish'd with care, nor purchased without pain;
An ewe's full udder twice a day they drain,
These to obtain oft Thestylis hath tried
Each winning art, while I her suit denied:
But I at last shall yield what she requests,
Since thy relentless pride my gifts detests.
Come, beauteous boy, and bless my rural bowers,
For thee the nymphs collect the choicest flowers:
Fair Naïs culls amid the blooming dale
The drooping poppy, and the violet pale,
To marygolds the hyacinth applies,
Shading the glossy with the tawny dies:
Narcissus' flower with daffodil entwined,
And Cassia's breathing sweets to these are join'd,
With every bloom that paints the vernal grove,
And all to form a garland for my love.
Myself with sweetest fruits will crown thy feast;
The luscious peach shall gratify thy taste,
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