Theucarila's loved nurse could e'en persuade
My steps to wander (peace attend her shade!)
I went in Clearista's garments dress'd,
And train'd the trappings of a borrow'd vest.
Say, sacred Moon, &c.
There then, my Delphis (still I fondly trace,
Near Lycon's house, the well remember'd place),
My Delphis' glories all my soul absorb!
O Moon, his bosom, as thy silver orb,
Bright from the sports! His chin the golden hues
Of helichryse, in downy glow, suffuse!
Say, sacred Moon, &c.
O how I saw! what frenzy seized my brain! Throbb'd my full heart, and thrill'd each beating vein!
The' insipid pomp no more I wish'd to see;
Its novelties, alas! were lost on me!
Abrupt I hurried off, with trembling frame,
Sinking, reach'd home, but knew not how I came:
There, on my bed, of pale disease the prey,
Ten lingering days and ten long nights I lay!
Say, sacred Moon, &c.
Then my paled cheeks appear'd, like Thapsus, dead;
And my hair perish'd on my fainting head!
For ease, to many a sorceress I applied:
What arts were practised, and what charms were
In vain!-for nothing could the flame allay:
Dim life decay'd, and time flew swift away!
Say, sacred Moon, &c.
At length, no longer able to endure
My secret wound, and pine without a cure,
To Thestylis (by shame and grief o'erborne)
I show'd the venom of the rankling thorn!
And 'Go,' I cried, (since now too plain appears
The source of all my anguish-all my tears)
To Timagetus' famed Palæstra go-
There (if alone he rove) a nod bestow ;
Or tip a gentle wink, and, whispering say,
Simatha calls-come, Delphis-come away!'
I spoke and Thestylis obey'd—he came—
But, O! what sudden tremors shook my frame!
Cold dews, as he advanced with easy pace,
Like southern damps, distilling from my face!
Stiff as this golden necklace-stiff as frost-
I strove to mutter-but my voice was lost!
Not on my fainting lips such accents hung
As murmur, feeble, from an infant's tongue,
When querulously dreaming on her breast
His mother lulls him into gentler rest.
Say, sacred Moon, &c.
Then thus the youth (though now relentless) cries,
Whilst on my couch he sat, with downcast eyes—
In truth, as erst Philinus I outrun,
The prize of Cupid hath Simætha won!
For I had come (by sweetest love I swear), Though no kind call had mark'd thy partial care, Join'd by select associates of the town, [frown! Through night's dun shade, to meet thy smile or My poplar wreath with purple ribbons dress'd, And the love apples blushing in my breast.
• And if admitted-love had crown'd my prayer (For know, I'm named the Active and the Fair);
Yet had I rested happy in the bliss,
Had I from these sweet lips but snatch'd a kiss!
But if thy pride had given the bolting bar
To kindle, with its harsh repulse, the war;
Then had I bid the stronger axe assail,
And many a flashing torch had turn'd thee pale.
Say, sacred Moon, &c.
Be thine, O Venus, at this happier hour, A heart's warm homage that adores thy power! And, next, this tribute may Simatha claim, Who sweetly call'd, and snatch'd me from the
Ah! lightning Love, more fierce than Ætna's blaze, Pours on his victim pours-consuming rays!" Say, sacred Moon, whence first this passion
[flame! What caused my anguish, and what fed the Full oft hath love with wild disorder sway'd The roving consort, and the frenzied maid! Venom'd alike, the dark contagion spreads Through virgin chambers, or through bridal beds.' He ceased. But thou, O Moon, who know'st my grief
Ah me, too credulous!-while fond belief-
Ah! while seducing fancy fired my breast-
Let tears and burning blushes tell the rest!
Yet bliss was ours, through sweet delusion's aid;
Suspicion slept, and mutual vows were made:
Yet till, this day, shone out the rosy morn
By the sun's rapid steeds from ocean borne,
I cherish'd what I deem'd no hopeless flame-
When, lo!
little minstrel's mother came;
And, 'from the clearest signs,' averr'd, 'she knew That Delphis-perjured Delphis, was not true!' For oft (she said) he drank some favourite love— Then went in haste-while round his rooms were
Of flowery garlands many a gay festoon'
Too certain all! since here, at morn and noon,
His constant visits he was wont to pay;
Or left his Doric box at close of day.
Twelve days are pass'd! no more that face I see!
Heavens! does that heart no more remember me?
Hail, Philtres! hail! if still he scorn the spell,
By Fate, I'll force him to the gates of hell!
Such potent sorceries an Assyrian taught,
As to a magic charm the drugs he wrought!
But now, farewell! in spotless glory fair!
(For, as I've borne my griefs, I yet will bear)
Farewell, bright Moon! In all thy splendour go
To the dark mansions of the waves below;
And, ye attendant orbs, farewell-that light
With many a twinkling ray the car of night!
IDYLLIUM III.
Amaryllis.
GOATHERD.
BEHOLD! I hasten on the wings of love,
To meet my Amaryllis in the grove!
Meantime, my goats shall crop this pasture hill,
And, Tityrus, guide them to their wonted rill:
Yet, whether stream or pasturage be thy care,
That Libyan ram, with butting head, beware.
Say, lovely Amaryllis, why no more,
As thou wert wont, thy charming accents pour;
Near yonder cave recline, at close of day,
And, sunk in soft endearments, melt away?
Say, am I hated? Do my looks offend?
Thy scorn, alas! will bring me to my end!
Yet, lo! (too fondly I remember thee)
Ten apples, gather'd from thy favourite tree!
Ten more, dear maid, to-morrow will I give-
Ah! sooth my aching heart, and let me live!
O, were a humming bee's my happier lot!
Then would I waft me to thy shady grot;
Unheeded, through its fern and ivy creep,
And with soft murmurs lull my love to sleep!
I know thee, Cupid! thee (whose subtle flame
With thrilling ardour shoots through all my frame)
A lioness, besmear'd with human gore,
Amid the wildness of the forest bore;
Nursed thee, dire god, familiar to her den,
And form'd thee savage as the howling glen!
Sweet-smiling nymph, whose ebon eyebrows
Beauty's soft touch, though all thy heart be stone;
Come, clasp me in thy languishing embrace,
That I may kiss at least thy lovely face!
For e'en such empty kisses lull to rest
The fever'd fury of the throbbing breast!
Ah, no! thy proud disdain will bid me tear
This garland-scatter'd to the breezing air—
This wreath, of ivy pale and parsley wove,
With unblown roses-as the pledge of love!
Alas! what sorrows press! what power can save
A wretch undone-I'll rush into the wave,
Where, yonder, Olpis, on the rocky steep,
His tunnies marks, reflected from the deep:
|