The pilot of the Galilean lake,

Two maffy keys he bore of metals twain,

(The golden opes, the iron fhuts amain)

110

He shook his miter'd locks, and stern befpake,
How well could I have spar'd for thee, young swain,
Enow of fuch as for their bellies' fake

115

[hold

Creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold?
Of other care they little reckoning make,
Than how to fcramble at the shearers' feast,
And shove away the worthy bidden guest;
Blind mouths! that fcarce themfelves know how to
A fheep-hook, or have learn'd ought elfe the least 120
That to the faithful herdman's art belongs!
What recks it them? What need they? They are sped;
And when they lift, their lean and flashy songs
Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw;
The hungry fheep look up, and are not fed,
But fwoll'n with wind, and the rank mist they draw,
Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread :

125

130

Befides what the grim wolf with privy paw
Daily devours apace; and nothing said,
But that two-handed engin at the door,
Stands ready to fmite once, and fmite no more.
Return, Alpheus, the dread voice is past,
That shrunk thy ftreams; return, Sicilian Muse,
And call the vales, and bid them hither caft
Their bells, and flowrets of a thousand hues.
Ye valleys low, where the mild whispers use
Of fhades, and wanton winds, and gushing brooks,
On whofe fresh lap the fwart ftar fparely looks,

M 2

135

Throw

Throw hither all your quaint enamel'd eyes,

That on the green turf fuck the honied showers, 140
And purple all the ground with vernal flowers.
Bring the rathe primrose that forfaken dies,
The tufted crow-toe, and pale jeffamine,
The white pink, and the panfy freakt with jet,
The glowing violet,

The musk-rofe, and the well-attir'd woodbine,
With cowflips wan that hang the pensive head,
And every flower that fad embroidery wears :
Bid amaranthus all his beauty fhed,

145

And daffadillies fill their cups with tears,

150

To ftrow the laureat herse where Lycid lies.

For fo to interpose a little ease,

Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise.

Ay me! Whilft thee the fhores, and founding feas
Wash far away, where'er thy bones are hurl'd,

Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides,
Where thou perhaps under the whelming tide
Vifit'ft the bottom of the monftrous world;
Or whether thou, to our moist vows deny'd,
Sleep'ft by the fable of Bellerus old,
Where the great vifion of the guarded mount
Looks tow'ard Namancos and Bayona's hold;
Look homeward Angel now, and melt with ruth :
And, O ye Dolphins, waft the hapless youth.

155

160

Weep no more, woful Shepherds, weep no more, 165 For Lycidas your forrow is not dead,

Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor;

So finks the day-star in the ocean bed,

And

And yet anon repairs his drooping head,

And tricks his beams, and with new spangled ore 170 Flames in the forehead of the morning sky:

So Lycidas funk low, but mounted high,

Through the dear might of him that walk'd the waves,

Where other groves and other streams along,

With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves,

175

And hears the unexpreffive nuptial fong,
In the bleft kingdoms meek of joy and love.
There entertain him all the Saints above,

In folemn troops and sweet societies,

That fing, and finging in their glory move,
And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.
Now, Lycidas, the fhepherds weep no more;
Henceforth thou art the genius of the fhore,
In thy large recompenfe, and fhalt be good
To all that wander in that perilous flood.

180

185

Thus fang the uncouth swain to th' oaks and rills, While the still morn went out with fandals gray, He touch'd the tender stops of various quills, With eager thought warbling his Doric lay: And now the fun had stretch'd out all the hills, And now was dropt into the western bay; At laft he rofe, and twitch'd his mantle blue: To-morrow to fresh woods, and pastures new.

190

XVIII.

The Fifth ODE* of HORACE, Lib. I.

"Quis multa gracilis te puer in rofa,"

Rendered almoft word for word without rhyme, according to the Latin measure, as near as the language will permit.

W

HAT flender youth bedew'd with liquid odors

Courts thee on rofes in fome pleasant cave,
Pyrrha for whom bind'ft thou

In wreaths thy golden hair,

Plain in thy neatnefs? O how oft shall he

On faith and changed Gods complain, and feas
Rough with black winds and storms
Unwonted fhall admire!

Who now enjoys thee credulous, all gold,

Who always vacant always amiable

Hopes thee, of flattering gales

Unmindful? Hapless they

5

To whom thou untry'd feem'ft fair. Me in my vow'd

Picture the facred wall declares t' have hung

My dank and dropping weeds

To the ftern God of fea.

Firft added in the edition of 1673.

15

Ad

Ad PYRRHAM. O DE V.

Horatius ex Pyrrhæ illecebris tanquam è naufragio enataverat, cujus amore irretitos, affirmat effe mi feros.

Q

UIS multa gracilis te puer in rofa
Perfufus liquidis urget odoribus,
Grato, Pyrrha, fub antro?

Cui flavam religas comam

Simplex munditiis? heu quoties fidem
Mutatofque deos flebit, et afpera
Nigris æquora ventis

Emirabitur infolens!

Qui nunc te fruitur credulus aurea,

Qui femper vacuam femper amabilem
Sperat, nefcius auræ

Fallacis Miferi quibus

Intentata nites.

Me tabula facer

Votiva paries indicat uvida

Sufpendiffe potenti
Veftimenta maris Deo.

と

XIX. On

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