TRANSLATIONS

FROM

THEOCRITUS.

1

A MARYLLIS:

OR, THE

THIRD IDYLLIUM OF

THEOCRITUS, Paraphrafed.

To Amaryllis Love compels my way,

My browzing goats upon the mountains stray : O Tityrus, tend them well, and fee them fed In paftures fresh, and to their watering led; And 'ware the ridgling with his budding head. Ah, beauteous nymph! can you forget your love, The conscious grottos, and the fhady grove; Where stretch'd at ease your tender limbs were laid, Your nameless beauties nakedly display'd? Then I was call'd your darling, your defire, With kiffes fuch as fet my foul on fire: But you are chang'd, yet I am ítill the fames My heart maintains for both a double flame; Griev'd, but unmov'd, and patient of your fcorn: So faithful I, and you so much forsworn ! I die, and death will finish all my pain; Yet, ere I die, behold me once again : Am I fo much deform'd, so chang'd of late? What partial judges are our love and hate!

Ten

Ten wildings have I gather'd for my dear;
How ruddy, like your lips, their ftreaks appear!
Far off you view'd them with a longing eye
Upon the topmoft branch (the tree was high):
Yet nimbly up, from bough to bough I fwerv'd,
And for to-morrow have ten more referv'd.
Look on me kindly, and fome pity fhew,
Or give me leave at least to look on you.
Some God transform me by his heavenly power
Ev'n to a bee to buzz within your bower,
The winding ivy-chaplet to invade,

And folded fern that your fair forehead fhade.
Now to my coft the force of Love I find;
The heavy hand it bears on human-kind.
The milk of tigers was his infant food,

Taught from his tender years the taste of blood;
His brother whelps and he ran wild about the wood.
Ah, nymph, train'd up in his tyrannic court,
To make the fufferings of your flaves your sport!
Unheeded ruin! treacherous delight!

O polish'd hardness soften'd to the fight!
Whose radiant eyes your ebon brows adorn,
Like midnight thofe, and these like break of morn!
Smile once again, revive me with your charms;
And let me die contented in your arms.
I would not ask to live another day,
Might I but fweetly kifs my foul away.
Ah, why am I from empty joys debarr'd?
For kiffes are but empty when compar’d.

I rave,

I rave, and in my raging fit fhall tear
The garland, which I wove for you to wear,
Of parfly, with a wreath of ivy bound,
And border'd with a rofy edging round.
What pangs I feel, unpity'd and unheard!
Since I must die, why is my fate deferr'd!
I ftrip my body of my fhepherd's frock :
Behold that dreadful downfall of a rock,
Where yon
old fisher views the waves from high!
'Tis that convenient leap I mean to try.
Yon would be pleas'd to fee me plunge to fhore,
But better pleas'd if I should rise no more.

I might have read my fortune long ago,

When, feeking my fuccefs in love to know,
I try'd th' infallible prophetic way,

A poppy-leaf upon my palm to lay :

I ftruck, and yet no lucky crack did follow;
Yet I ftruck hard, and yet the leaf lay hollow:
And which was worfe, if any worfe could prove,
The withering leaf forefhew'd your withering love.
Yet farther (ah, how far a lover dares !)
My laft recourfe I had to fieve and sheers;
And told the witch Agreo my disease:
Agreo, that in harveft us'd to lease:

But harvest done, to chare-work did afpire;
Meat, drink, and two-pence, was her daily hire.
To work fhe went, her charms fhe mutter'd o'er,
And yet the refty fieve wagg'd ne'er the more;
I wept for woe, the tefty beldame swore,

And,