Above mortality; the destinies

Spin not thy days out with their fatal clue;
They have no law, to which thy life is due.

DAPHNIS:

An Elegiac Eclogue: the Interlocutors, Damon and Menalcas.1

Damon.

HAT clouds Menalcas, do oppress thy

brow,

Flow'rs in a sunshine never look so low?

Is Nisa still cold flint? or have thy lambs
Met with the fox by straying from their dams?

Menalcas.

Ah, Damon, no! my lambs are safe; and she Is kind, and much more white than they can be. But what doth life when most serene, afford Without a worm which gnaws her fairest gourd? Our days of gladness are but short reliefs, Giv'n to reserve us for enduring griefs:

In Mr. Lyte's edition (1847) and in the reprint of 1858, this Elegiac Eclogue' has filled in as heading "On the death of the Revd. Thomas Vaughan". This no doubt is true, but it is not in the original edition. G.

So smiling calms close tempests breed, which

break

Like spoilers out, and kill our flocks, when weak.
I heard last May-and May is still high Spring-
The pleasant philomel her vespers sing.
The green wood glitter'd with the golden sun,
And all the West like silver shin'd; not one

Black cloud [appeared;] no rags, nor spots did

stain

The welkin's beauty; nothing frown'd like rain. But e're night came, that scene of fine sights

turn'd

To fierce dark show'rs; the air with lightnings

burn'd;

The wood's sweet syren, rudely thus opprest,
Gave to the storm her weak and weary breast.

I saw her next day on her last cold bed:
And Daphnis so, just so is Daphnis, dead!

Damon.

So violets, so doth the primrose, fall,
At once the Spring's pride, and its funeral.
Such early sweets get off still in their prime,

And stay not here to wear the soil of time;

While courser flow'rs, which none would miss, if

past,

To scorching Summers and cold Autumns last.

Menalcas.

Souls need not time. The early forward things Are always fledg'd, and gladly use their wings. Or else great parts, when injur'd, quit the crowd, To shine above still, not behind, the cloud. And is't not just to leave those to the night That madly hate and persecute the light? Who, doubly dark, all negroes do exceed, And inwardly are true black Moores indeed?

Damon.

The punishment still manifests the sin, As outward signs shew the disease within. While worth opprest, mounts to a nobler height, And palm-like bravely overtops the weight. So where swift Isca from our lofty hills With lowd farewells descends, and foming fills A wider channel, like some great port-vein With large rich streams to fill the humble plain : I saw an oak, whose stately height and shade, Projected far, a goodly shelter made; And from the top with thick diffused boughs In distant rounds grew like a wood nymph's

house.

How many garlands won at roundel-lays
Old shepheards hung up in those happy days
With knots and girdles, the dear spoils and dress

Of such bright maids, as did true lovers bless.
And many times had old Amphion made
His beauteous flock acquainted with this shade :
His flock, whose fleeces were as smooth and white
As those the welkin shews in moonshine night.
Here, when the careless world did sleep, have I
In dark records and numbers noblie high,
The visions of our black, but brighest bard
From old Amphion's mouth full often heard;
With all those plagues poor shepheards since have
known,

And ridles more, which future times must own:
While on his pipe young Hylas plaid, and made
Music as solemn as the song and shade.
But the curs'd owner from the trembling top
To the firm brink, did all those branches lop;
And in one hour what many years had bred,
The pride and beauty of the plain, lay dead.
The undone swains in sad songs mourn'd their

loss,

While storms and cold winds did encrease the

cross;

But nature, which-like vertue-scorns to yield, Brought new recruits and succours to the field; For by next Spring the checked sap wak'd from

sleep,

And upwards still to feel the sun did creep;

Till at those wounds, the hated hewer made,
There sprang a thicker and a fresher shade.

Menalcas.

So thrives afflicted Truth, and so the light When put out, gains a value from the night. How glad are we, when but one twinkling star Peeps betwixt clouds more black than is our tar: And Providence was kind, that order'd this,

To the brave suff'rer should be solid bliss:

Nor is it so till this short life be done,

But goes hence with him, and is still his sun.

Damon.

Come, shepherds, then, and with your greenest

bays

Refresh his dust, who lov'd your learned lays.
Bring here the florid glories of the Spring,
And, as you strew them, pious anthems sing;
Which to your children and the years to come
May speak of Daphnis, and be never dumb.
While prostrate I drop on his quiet urn

My tears, not gifts; and like the poor that mourn
With green but humble turfs, write o're his hearse
For false, foul prose-men this fair truth in verse.

"Here Daphnis sleeps, and while the great watch;

goes