Stothard del

Angus. South

Plate XII.

Publish'd as the Act directs by Hamion & Co Nov! 1.1781.

Page 410

Begin then, fifters of the facred well,

That from beneath the feat of Jove doth spring;
Begin, and fomewhat loudly fweep the string.
Hence with denial vain, and coy excufe!

So may fome gentle Mufe

With lucky words favour my deftin'd urn;

And as he paffes turn,

And bid fair peace be to my fable shroud:

For we were nurs'd upon

the felf-fame hill,

Fed the fame flock, by fountain, fhade, and rill.

Together both, ere the high lawns appear'd
'Under the op'ning eye-lids of the morn,
We drove a-field, and both together heard
What time the grey-fly winds her fultry horn,
Batt'ning our flocks with the fresh dews of night;
Oft till the star that rofe, at ev'ning, bright,
Tow'rd Heav'n's descent had flop'd his weft'ring wheel.
Meanwhile the rural ditties were not mute :

Temper'd to th' oaten flute,

Rough Satyrs danc'd, and Fauns with cloven heel
From the glad found would not be abfent long;
And old Damætas lov'd to hear our fong.

But O the heavy change, now thou art gone;
Now thou art gone, and never must return!
Thee, shepherd, thee the woods, and defart caves
With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'ergrown,
And all their echoes mourn.

The willows, and the hazel copfes green,

Shall now no more be feen,

Fanning their joyous leaves to thy foft lays.
As killing as the canker to the rose,

Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze,
Or froft to flow'rs that their gay wardrobe wear
When first the white-thorn blows;

Such, Lycidas, thy lofs to fhepherds ear.

Where were ye, nymphs, when the remorfelefs deep
Clos'd o'er the head of your lov'd Lycidas ?

For neither were ye playing on the steep,
Where your old bards, the famous Druids, lie;
Nor on the fhaggy top of Mona high;

Nor yet where Deva fpreads her wizard ftream.
Ay me! I fondly dream

Had ye been there; for what could that have done?
What could the Mufe herfelf that Orpheus bore,
The Mufe herself for her enchanting fon,
Whom univerfal nature did lament,

When by the rout that made the hideous roar,
His goary visage down the ftream was fent,
Down the fwift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore?
Alas! what boots it with inceffant care
To tend the homely flighted fhepherd's trade,
And ftrictly meditate the thankless Muse?
Were it not better done, as others use,
To sport with Amaryllis in the fhade,
Or with the tangles of Nexra's hair?
Fame is the fpur that the clear fpirit doth raife.
(That last infirmity of noble mind).

To fcorn delights, and live laborious days;
But the fair guerdon when we hope to find,
And think to burst out into fudden blaze,
Comes the blind Fury with th' abhorred fhears,
And flits the thin-fpun life. But not the praise,"
Phœbus reply'd, and touch'd my trembling ears;
Fame is no plant that grows on mortal foil,
Nor in the glist'ring foil-

• Set off to th' world, nor in broad rumour lies,
• But lives and fpreads aloft by those pure eyes,
And perfect witnefs of all-judging Jove;
As he pronounces laftly on each deed,

• Of fo much fame in Heav'n expect thy meed.'

O foun

O fountain Arethufe, and thou honour'd flood, Smooth-fliding Mincius, crown'd with vocal reeds, That ftrain I heard was of a higher mood:

But now my oat proceeds,

And liftens to the herald of the fea

That came in Neptune's plea.

He afk'd the waves, and ask'd the felon winds,

• What hard mishap hath doom'd this gentle swain ?’ And question'd ev'ry guft of rugged wings

That blows from off each beaked

They knew not of his story.

promontory:

And fage Hippotades their answer brings,
That not a blast was from his dungeon ftray'd
The air was calm, and on the level brine
Sleek Panope with all her fifters play'd.
It was that fatal and perfidious bark,

Built in th' eclipfe, and rigg'd with curfes dark,
That funk fo low that facred head of thine!

Next Camus, reverend fire, went footing flow,
His mantle hairy, and his bonnet fedge,

Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge

Like to that fanguine flow'r infcrib'd with woe:

• ‘
Ah! who hath reft,' quoth he, my deareft pledge?"
Laft came, and last did go,

The pilot of the Galilean lake;

Two maffy keys he bore of metals twain,

(The golden opes, the iron fhuts amain).

He shook his miter'd locks, and ftern befpake:

How well could I have fpar'd for thee, young fwain,

• Enow of fuch as for their bellies fake

Creep and intrude, and climb into the fold,!!

• Of other care they little reck'ning make,

< Than how to fcramble at the fhearers feaft,

And fhove away the worthy bidden guest;...

• Blind mouths! that fcarce themselves know how to hold A fheep-hook, or have learn'd aught elfe the least