Though buoyant on the surge my body lie,
At least, 'twill please thee, that I meant to die.
Soon by the withering orpine leaf I found
Some change: struck hollow, yet it gave no sound!
Ah! not in vain (I could not, but believe)
Mutter'd the wrinkled hag, and turn'd her sieve:
Too true she sung, prophetic of my fate,
Passion but ill requited by thy hate!

The goat so snowy white, that kidlings bears
(Since now I'm slighted by thy haughty airs),
I give Erithacis. 'Tis true, she's brown-
And yet she will not meet me with a frown!
My right eye itches! shall I see her still?
I sit me down beneath the wild wood hill!
And haply, as I pipe, the wandering maid
May hear my music from the pine-tree shade!
And she may look on me, perchance; and grant
My prayer: for sure, she is not adamant!

Hippomanes, to catch the virgin's eyes, Threw out the golden lure, and won the prize: How Atalanta felt the trancing spell,

And down the depths of love, in frenzy, fell:
From Othrys' top, the seer Melampus drove
His herds to Pylian plains, impell'd by love:
The beauteous mother of a wiser maid
To melting Bias all her charms display'd:
And could not, on his hills, Adonis fire
The raving goddess with such wild desire,
That to her breast she drew his quivering breath,
And lock'd his limbs in hers, though chill'd by
death?

Though Cynthia's favours were Endymion's boast, 'Tis his eternal sleep I envy most!

And such high transports bless'd Iasion knewA tale too hallow'd for the vulgar crew!

My faint head throbs! yet what avails the sigh? No tear of pity melts the scornful eye! Here then I throw my vain-vain pipe away, And lay me down to ravening wolves a prey; While my torn limbs, asunder as they part, Shall please, like honey to the taste, thy heart!

IDYLLIUM IV.

The Swains.

BATTUS, A SHEPHERD, AND CORYDON, A NEATHERD,

BATTUS.

PRAY, Corydon, are these Philonda's cows? COR. No-Egon's: 'tis my charge to see them browse.

[at eve? BAT. By stealth thou milk'st them, I suppose, COR. No-my old master who could e'er de

ceive?

Oft as the calves are suckled, he stands by, And marks my motions with so shrewd an eye, 'Twere vain to practise on the carle a fraud.

BAT. But where is Ægon? Is he gone abroad? COR. Not heard? He's gone with Milo to the

game,

To gain, on Alpheus' banks, the wrestler's fame. BAT. When could his eyes have seen the wrestler's oil?

COR. They say,he'd match Alcides in the toil BAT. Indeed! believe my mother if thou can, And I than Pollux am a better man.

COR. He's gone then-driving with him full a

Score

Of sheep; while in his hand a spade he bore. BAT. What cannot Milo? Sure, he can persuade E'en wolves to madness!

COR. Here, along the shade, His heifers crop no more the tender blade! BAT. Poor beasts! How bad a master! COR. Poor indeed! They low in sorrow, and no longer feed!

BAT. Yes-in yon cow a skeleton we view! What! like Cicadas, does she live on dew?

COR. No at Esarus' streams she loves to

stray,

And feeds on bundles of our fragrant hay:
Oft too she frisks around Latymnus' hill,
And in the shady forest eats her fill.

BAT. And that red bull-of bones a very bag! May the Lampriada no better brag

For Juno's shrine-cursed race!

COR.

Yet Physcus' woods,

The marsh, the groves that hide Neæthus' floods, He wanders o'er-where blossom'd buckwheat

grows;

And sweet, the honeybell—the cowslip glows.
BAT. Yes! and to hell too, will thy cattle go-
And rove, poor Ægon, in the shades below!
While, vainly, thy absurd ambition tries
To bear away the bubble of a prize!
Thy pipe may moulder into dust away,
Framed by thy hands, in troth, for quick decay.
COR. No, Battus, by the Nymphs, the pipe's
my boon!

He gave it me; and I know many a tune!

I chant sweet Glauca's songs and Pyrrhus' lays;
Salubrious Croton and Zacynthus' praise!
And, as I view Lacinium's eastern site,
There, well remember what unrival'd might
Our Ægon (who devour'd alone, that day,
Full fourscore cakes) rush'd onward to display;
When boldly seizing by his iron hoof
(While eager expectation hung aloof)
He dragg'd the bull infuriate down the hill,
That vainly struggled against strength and skill,
And gave it Amaryllis! midst the crowd
The women shouted, and he laugh'd aloud.

BAT. My sweetest Amaryllis! lovely maid!
Though thou art gone, thy memory ne'er shall fade!
Ah, Fate! what evils mortal man betide!
Dear as the goats I tend, the virgin died.

COR. Cheer up, my swain! Another day may

rise,

Though now perhaps it lours, with kindlier skies! Hope shines in life: in death there's not a spark: At times the heavens are bright-at times are dark. BAT. I'm not cast down-But see, thy heifers

prey

On my fat olives: Whiteface, hist!-away. COR. Hoh, Colly, to the bank. Not stir an inch

If I approach thee, faith, I'll make thee flinch!
See now-
she comes again! the villain--look-
By Pan, I wish I had my leveret crook!

the wound

BAT. A thorn pricks sore my leg! see here [ground! How thick these matted briars o'erspread the Haste, Corydon! dost see't? plague take the COR. See here! [beast! BAT. Though small, its pain was not the least.

COR. Then climb no more the mountain's pathless steep

Or through its furzy thickets rashly creep
With feet unsandal'd: on the mountain grow
Brambles and spindling thorns, to work thee woe.
BAT. But, Corydon, pray tell me, whether, still,
Thy gray old master revels at his will?
Hath yet the carle a thirsty soul to quench?
Does he yet follow the dark eyebrow'd wench?
COR. Yes-yes-he still pursues his girl-
the goat―

Last night I caught him in the hurdled cote. BAT. Well done! no Satyr, with his spindleshanks,

Not Pan with thee, salacious fellow, ranks!

IDYLLIUM V.

The Travellers.

COMATES, A GOATHERD, AND LACON, A SHEPHERD, WOODMAN MORSON, THE umpire.

COMATES.

FLY-fly, my goats, that wicked Sybarite
The rogue he stole my goatskin but last night!
LAC. Lambs, from the brook-my tender
lambkins, fly-

For he who stole my flute, stands skulking by!
COм. Thy flute! What song can servile Lacon

play?

Indeed, with brother Corydon, thy lay