So may thy filver streams beneath the tide,
Unmix'd with briny feas, fecurely glide.
Sing then, my Gallus, and his hopeless vows;
cattle crop
the tender browse.
Sing, while my
The vocal grove shall answer to the found,
And echo, from the vales, the tuneful voice re
What lawns or woods withheld you from his aid,
Ye nymphs, when Gallus was to love betray'd;
To love, unpity'd by the cruel maid ?
Nor steepy Pindus cou'd retard your course,
Nor cleft Parnaffus, nor th' Aonian fource :
Nothing that owns the Mufes cou'd fufpend
Your aid to Gallus, Gallus is their friend.
For him the lofty laurel ftands in tears,
And hung with humid pearls the lowly fhrub appears.
Mænalian pines the godlike swain bemoan;
When spread beneath a rock he figh'd alone;
And cold Lycæus wept from every dropping stone.
The sheep furround their fhepherd, as he lies:
Blush not,
fweet poet, nor the name defpife:
Along the ftreams his flock Adonis fed;
the queen of beauty bleft his bed.
The fwains and tardy neat-herds came, and laft
Menalcas, wet with beating winter mast.
Wondering they ask'd from whence arose thy flame;
Yet more amaz'd, thy own Apollo came.
Flush'd were his cheeks, and glowing were his eyes : Is fhe thy care? is fhe thy care? he cries.
Thy falfe Lycoris flies thy love and thee:
And for thy rival tempts the raging sea,
The forms of horrid war, and heaven's inclemency.
Sylvanus came: his brows a country crown
Of fennel, and of nodding lilies, drown.
Great Pan arriv'd; and we beheld him too.
His cheeks and temples of vermillion hue.
Why, Gallus, this immoderate grief, he cry'd:
Think'st thou that love with tears is satisfy'd?
The meads are fooner drunk with morning dews
The bees with flowery shrubs, the goats with browse.
Unmov'd, and with dejected eyes he mourn'd:
He paus'd, and then these broken words return'd.
'Tis past; and pity gives me no relief :
But you, Arcadian fwains, fhall fing my grief :
And on your hills my laft complaints renew ;
So fad a fong is only worthy you.
How light would lie the turf upon my breast,
If you my fufferings in your fongs expreft?
Ah! that your birth and business had been mine;
To penn the sheep, and press the swelling vine!
Had Phyllis or Amyntas caus'd my pain,
Or any nymph, or any shepherd on the plain,
Though Phyllis brown, though black Amyntas were,
Are violets not sweet, because not fair?
Beneath the fallows, and the fhady vine,
My loves had mix'd their pliant limbs with mine; 60 Phyllis with myrtle wreaths had crown'd my hair, And foft Amyntas fung away my care.
Come, fee what pleasures in our plains abound;
The woods, the fountains, and the flowery ground.
As you are beauteous, were you half so true,
65
Here could I live, and love, and die with only you.
Now I to fighting fields am sent afar,
And strive in winter camps with toils of war;
While you, (alas, that I fhould find it fo!)
To fhun my fight, your native foil forego,
And climb the frozen Alps, and tread th' eternal
fnow.
Ye frofts and fnows, her tender body spare;
Those are not limbs for ificles to tear.
For me, the wilds and deferts are my choice;
The Muses, once my care; my once harmonious voice.
There will I fing, forfaken and alone,
The rocks and hollow caves fhall echo to my moan.
The rind of every plant her name shall know;
And as the rind extends, the love fhall grow.
Then on Arcadian mountains will I chace
(Mix'd with the woodland nymphs) the favage race.
Nor cold fhall hinder me, with horns and hounds
To thrid the thickets, or to leap the mounds.
And now methinks o'er fteepy rocks I go,
And rush through founding woods, and bend the Par
As if with sports my fufferings I could ease,
Or by my pains the God of love appease.
My frenzy changes, I delight no more
On mountain tops to chace the tusky boar;
No game but hopeless love my thoughts pursue:
Once more, ye nymphs, and fongs, and founding woods, adieu.
Love alters not for us his hard decrees,
Not though beneath the Thracian clime we freeze; Or Italy's indulgent heaven forego;
And in mid-winter tread Sithonian fnow.
Or when the barks of elms are fcorch'd, we keep
On Meroe's burning plains the Libyan sheep.
In hell, and earth, and feas, and heav'n above,
Love conquers all; and we must yield to love,
My Mufes, here facred raptures
your
end:
The verfe was what I ow'd my fuffering friend.
This while I fung, my forrows I deceiv'd,
And bending ofiers into baskets weav'd.
The fong, because infpir'd by you, shall shine :
And Gallus will approve, because 'tis mine.
Gallus, for whom my holy flames renew
Each hour, and every moment rife in view:
As alders, in the fpring, their boles extend;
And heave fo fiercely, that the bark they rend.
Now let us rife, for hoarfeness oft invades
The finger's voice who fings beneath the shades.
From juniper unwholsom dews diftil,
That blaft the footy corn: the withering herbage kill;
Away, my goats, away:
have brows'd your
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