Now much he meditates if yet to speak,
And now refolves his paffion to conceal :

But fure,' quoth he, my feely heart will break,
If aye I fmother what I aye muft feel!'

At length, by hope embolden'd to reveal,
The labouring fecret dropped from his tong.

Whiles frequent fingults check'd his falt'ring tale, In modeft wife her head Paftora hong:

For never maid more chafte infpired fhepherd's fong.

What needs me to recount, in long detail,
The tender parley which these lemans held?
How oft he vow'd his love her ne'er should fail;
How oft the ftream from forth her eyne outwell'd,
Doubting if conftancy yet ever dwell'd
In heart of youthful wight. Suffice to know,
Each rifing doubt he in her bofom quell'd.
So parted they, more blithfome both, I trow:
For rankling love conceal'd, me feems, is deadly woe.

Eftfoons to Lycon fwift the youth did fare,

(Lagg'd ever youth when Cupid urg'd his way?)
And straight his gentle purpofe did declare,
And footh the mount'naunce of his herds difplay;
Ne Lycon meant his suiten to forefay :

Be thine, Paftora,' quoth the masker fly,

• And twice two thousand sheep her dower shall pay.' Beat then the lover's heart with joyaunce high;

Ne dempt that aught his blifs could now betray," Ne guefs'd that foul deceit in Lycon's bosome lay.

So forth he yode to feek his reverend fire;

(The good Euphormius, fhepherds him did call) How fweet Paftora did his bofome fire!

Her worth, her pramis'd flocks, he tolden all

< Ah!

Ah! nere, my fon, let Lycon thee enthrall;* Reply'd the fage, in wife experience old;

Smooth is his tongue, but full of guile withal, In promise faithlefs, and in vaunting bold: • Ne ever lamb of his will bleat within thy fold.'

With words prophetick thus Euphormius spake:
And fact confirm'd what wisdom thus foretold.
Full many a mean devise did Lycon make,
The hoped day of spousal to with-hold,

Framing new trains when nought mote serve his old.
Nath'lefs he vow'd, Cyllene cloud-topt hill

Should fooner down the lowly delve be roll'd,'
Than he his plighted promise nould fulfil:
But when, perdy, or where, the caitive fayen nill.

Whiles thus the tedious funs had journey'd round,
Ne ought mote now the lovers hearts divide,
Ne truft was there, ne truth in Lycon found;
The maid with matron Juno for her guide,
The youth by Concord led, in fecret hy'd
To Hymen's facred fane: the honeft deed

Each god approv'd, and close the bands were ty'd;
Certes, till happier moments should fucceed,
No prying eyne they ween'd their emprize mote areed.

But prying eyne of Lycon 'twas in vain

(Right practick in difguife) to hope beware. He trac'd their covert fteps to Hymen's fane, And joy'd to find them in his long-laid fnare. Algates, in femblaunt ire, he 'gan to fwear, And roaren loud as in difpleafaunce high;

Then out he hurlen forth his daughter fair, Forelore, the houseless child of Misery, Expos'd to killing cold, and pinching penury.

Ah!

1

Ah! whither now fhall fad Paftora wend,

To want abandon'd and by wrongs opprefs'd? Who fhall the wretched out-caft's teen befriend?

Lives Mercy then, if not in parent's breast? Yes, Mercy lives, the gentle goddess blefs'd, At Jove's right-hand, to Jove for ever dear;

Aye at his feet fhe pleads the caufe diftrefs'd, To forrow's plaints she turns his equal ear,

And wafts to heaven's ftar-throne fair Virtue's filent tear.

'Twas SHE that bade Euphormius quell each thought, That well mote rife to check his generous aid : Tho' high the torts which Lycon him had wrought, Tho' few the flocks his humble pastures fed, When as he learn'd Paftora's hapless sted, His breaft humane with wonted pity flows; He op'd his gates, the naked exile led Beneath his roof, à decent drapet throws O'er her cold limbs, and foothes her undeferved woes.

Now loud-tongu'd Rumor bruited round the tale;
Th' aftonied swains uneath could credence give,
That in Arcadia's unambitious vale

A faytor falfe as Lycon e'er did live:

But Jove (who in high heaven does mortals prive, And every deed in golden ballance weighs) To earth his flaming charret baden drive, And down defcends, enwrapt in peerless blaze, To deal forth guerdon meet to good and evil ways.

Where Eurymanthus, crown'd with many a wood,

His filver ftream through daify'd vales does lead, Stretch'd on the flowery marge, in reckless mood, Proud Lycon fought by charm of jocund reed

To lull the dire remorfe of tortious deed;
Him Jove accofts, in reverend semblaunce dight
Of good Euphormius, and 'gan mild areed
Of compact oft confirm'd, of fay yplight,
Of nature's tender tye, of facred rule of right.

With lofty eyne, half loth to look fo low,

Him Lycon view'd, and with swol'n furquedry
'Gan ruly treat his facred eld; when now
Forth ftood the God confefs'd that rules the sky,
In fudden fheen of drad divinity:

And

Know, falfe man,' the lord of thunders faid,
Not unobferv'd by Heaven's all-perfent eye
Thy cruel deeds; nor fhall be unappay'd.

Go! be in form that beft befeems thy thews, array'd.'

Whiles yet he spake th' affrayed trembling wight
Tranfmew'd to blatant beaft, with hideous howl
Rufh'd headlong forth, in well-deferved plight,
'Midft dragons, minotaurs, and fiends, to prowl;
A wolf in form, as erft a wolf in foul!
To Pholoë, foreft wild, he hy'd away,

The horrid haunt of favage monsters foul:
There helpless innocence is still his prey,

Thief of the bleating fold, and fhepherd's dire difmay.

Tho' Jove to good Euphormius' cot did wend,
Where peaceful dwelt the man of virtue high,
Each fhepherd's praife, and eke each fhepherd's friend,
In every act of sweet humanity;

Him Jove approaching in mild majesty,

Greeted all hail! then bade him join the throng

Of glitt'rand lights that gild the glowing sky: There fhepherd's nightly view his orb yhong,

Where bright he fhines eterne, the brighteft ftars emong.

LOVE ELEGIES.

BY MR. HAMMOND.

ELEGY I.

AREWEL that liberty our fathers

gave;

they gave, & in vain!

I faw Neæra; and, her inftant flave,

Tho' born a Briton, hugg'd the fervile chain,

Her ufage well repays my coward heart!
Meanly fhe triumphs in her lover's shame;
No healing joy relieves his conftant fiart,
No fmile of love rewards the lofs of fame.

Oh! that, to feel these killing pangs no more,
On Scythian hills I lay, a fenfeless stone!
Was fix'd a rock amidst the watʼry roar,
And in the vast Atlantick ftood alone!

Adieu, ye Mufes-or my paffion aid;

Why should I loiter by your idle spring? My humble voice would move one only maid, And she contemns the trifles which I fing!

I do not ask the lofty Epick ftrain,

Nor strive to paint the wonders of the sphere:
I only fing one cruel maid to gain—
Adieu, ye Mufes, if she will not hear!

No more in useless innocence I'll pine:

Since guilty prefents win the greedy fair,

I'll tear it's honours from the broken fhrine ;
But chiefly thine, O Venus, will I tear.