Had not their bard, the mighty Ceian, strung His many-chorded harp, and sweetly sung, In various tones, each high-resounded name, And given to long posterity their fame!

Verse can alone the steed with glory grace, Whose wreaths announce the triumph of the race! Could Lycia's chiefs, or Cycnus' changing hues, Or Ilion live, with no recording muse?

Not e'en Ulysses, who through dangers ran
For ten long years, in all the haunts of man;
Who e'en descended to the depths of hell,
And fled, unmangled, from the Cyclops' cell-
Not he had lived, but sunk Oblivion's prey,
Had no kind poet stream'd the' unfading ray!
Thus too Philotius had in silence pass'd,
And, nameless, old Laertes breathed his last;
And good Eumæus fed his herds in vain,
But for Ionia's life-inspiring strain.

Lo, while the spirit of the spendthrift heir Wings the rich stores amass'd by brooding care While the dead miser's scattering treasures fly; THE MUSE FORBIDS THE GENEROUS MAN TO Yet 'tis, at least, as easy an essay,

[DIE! From the red brick to wash its hues away; Or, when the stormy billows beat the shore, To mark each wave, and count their number o'er; As from his wealth the miser's soul to part, Or bid one liberal thought expand his heart. Peace to all such! Be theirs the countless store, And still, augmenting, may they covet more! For me, be ever my first wish, to prove, Above the price of gold, esteem and loveFor me, who now pursue the paths of fame, Though rough those paths, and dim the Muse's

flame;

Unless a patron's kind regard inspire,
And Jove's auspicious omens fan the fire.

The' unwearied sun still rolls from year to year:
Still shall proud victors in the race appear!
Great as the stern Pelides' self, ere long
A man shall shine, the subject of my song;
Or in the might of towering Ajax rise,
Who fought on Simois' plain, where Ilus lies.
E'en now where Libya views the westering day,
Phoenician armies shrink in pale dismay!
E'en now, the Syracusians take the field,
Couch the strong spear, and bend the sallow shield;
While, as the chiefs by hymning poets bless'd,
Great Hiero comes, and nods the horse-hair crest.
Hear, O Minerva, and paternal Jove,

And ye, who honour with your guardian love
The walls of wealthy Syracuse, that throw
Their awful shadows on the lake below-
Hear! and may destiny o'erwhelming sweep
Our foes away, far distant through the deep!—
Far from this isle, a scatter'd few, to tell

Widows' and orphans' sons, what myriads fell!
And may the cities they had razed, arise
Girt with new strength, and tower into the skies-
Each old inhabitant his own resume,

And all the rural scene, its former bloom! [play,
There, thousand flocks through rich luxuriance
And droves of oxen crowd the travellers' way:
There may the fallow fields be plough'd again,
And sown with each variety of grain;
What time shrill singing from the topmost trees
Each sunburnt swain the perch'd cicada sees.
Then spiders' webs shall fill the rusted shield,
And every soldier shall forget the field-

Thee, Hiero, while exulting bards proclaim,
And spread, beyond the Scythian sea, thy name;
But e'en Semiramis' high towers attend,

And her bitumen'd walls in terror bend! [join,
Weak are my powers'-yet many a bard shall
Who string their harps beloved by all the Nine,
To hymn Sicilia's tribes-her Arethuse,
And Hiero, blazon'd by the warlike Muse!

Ye sister-maids, who love the stream that flows
Where your first votary's breathing incense rose;
Here though in still suspense may sleep my lyre,
Should no kind whisper wake the trembling wire-
Yet, if a patron's voice invite the Muse,
Shall my dull ear the soothing tone refuse?
No-in your bowers for ever may 1 dwell,
And thus the heavy gloom of life dispel!
Unbless'd by you, what charm can being give?
With you, ye sister-maids, be mine to live!

IDYLLIUM XVII.

Ptolemy.

YE Muses, if ye hymn the first above,
With Jove begin the strain, and end with Jove!
To Ptolemy, the first on earth, belong

Your harp's preluding tones-your closing song!
Heroes of old enjoy'd the' immortal meed
Of bards, who blazon'd each distinguish'd deed!
Thus in my lays shall Egypt's Sovereign live;
Such lays as e'en to Gods new glory give!
The woodman, lost in Ida's shades of oak,
Doubts where to strike, and long delays the stroke!

Thus while around the princely splendours stream, I hesitate amidst the various theme! [shone

Say, Muse, how bright the high-soul'd father
What peerless wisdom deck'd his envied throne!
Him Jove received with honours as a god,
A golden palace his sublime abode !

And near, above the prostrate Persian great,
The mitred Ammon holds his living seat:
While, opposite, the foe to monsters gaunt,
Alcides sits enthroned in adamant―

Where, midst the' immortals, with ambrosia bless'd,

He views his heirs, and hails each son a guest;
And joys, that, deathless through the lapse of
His progeny the bloom of glory wears! [years,
For, sprung from Hercules the last, they trace
To heaven the lineage of a godlike race!
When (as each vein the fragrant nectar fires)
To taste connubial rapture he retires;
To this he gives, so fatal to the foe,
His shafted quiver, and his long-bent bow;
To that his iron club in charge allots,
Ponderous in all the solid strength of knots:
Thus, with his arms, they lead the son of Jove
To silver-footed Hebe's bed of love.

But Berenicé-Gods! her sex's pride-
What prudence crown'd the beauties of the bride!
Sure, Venus' self her odour'd bosom press'd,
And breathed the soul of love into her breast!
Touch'd by such merits her adorer came,
And husband never felt so pure a flame!
Her glowing ardours heighten'd all her charms,
And more than equal fondness bless'd his arms!
How oft, discarding all the monarch's care,
The lover's luxuries he was wont to share;

Pleased on his sons the burden to remove,
And taste the sweet delights of wedded love!
Ah! how unlike the faithless consort's joys,
While far from home her vagrant passion flies:
Though numerous sons announce her guilty fire,
Not one reflects the image of the sire.

Through the fond favour of thy guardian eye,
O thou, the fairest daughter of the sky,
The lovely Queen, O Venus, scaped the grave,
Yet never wafted o'er the moaning wave;
But (ere she saw the' infernal waters flow)
Snatch'd from the grisly ferryman below-
Amid the radiance of thy temple placed,
And with a share of all thy glory graced:
There, kind to all who worship at her shrine,
She breathes soft loves, and sighs that equal thine.
His sable-eyebrow'd spouse to Tydeus bore
Stern Diomed, who carnaged Ilion's shore:
To Peleus Thetis bare the warlike boy,
Whose far whirl'd darts were destined to destroy:
'Twas Berenicé's happier fate to bear
Thee to high Lagus, an unequal'd heir!
Then brightening Coös, as she saw thee born,
With unfeign'd triumphs hail'd thy infant morn!
For, there invoked, benign Lucina came,
And breathed soft languors o'er thy mother's

frame!

While, beauteous offspring, Coös laugh'd to see
Thy father's features all revived in thee-
While, as her eyes survey'd thy lovely charms,
She clasp'd thee, shouting, to her eager arms:

Bless'd boy! such glories on my island shed,
As Phœbus on his Delos stream'd! (she said)
Through thee exalted may the Dorians' fame
Vie, in fair honours, with Rhenæa's name!'

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