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The pilot of the Galilean lake,
Two maffy keys he bore of metals twain,
(The golden opes, the iron shuts amain)
He shook his miter'd locks, and stern bespake,
How well could I have spar'd for thee, young swain,
Enow of such as for their bellies' fake
Creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold ?

Of other care they little reckoning make,
Than how to scramble at the shearers' feast,
And shove away the worthy bidden guest; (hold
Blind mouths ! that scarce themselves know how to
A Jeep-hook, or have learn’d ought else 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 sheep look up, and are not fed,

125 But swoll'n with wind, and the rank mist they draw, Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread : Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw Daily devours apace; and nothing said, But that two-handed engin at the door,

130 Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.

Return, Alpheus, the dread voice is past,
That shrunk thy streams; return, Sicilian Muse,
And call the vales, and bid them hither cast
. Their bells, and flowrets of a thousand hues.

Ye valleys low, where the mild whispers use
Of fades, and wanton winds, and gushing brooks,
On whofe fresh lap the swart star (parely looks,
M 2


Throw hither all your quaint enameld eyes,
That on the green turf fuck the honied showers, 14.
And purple all the ground with vernal flowers.
Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies,
The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine,
The white pink, and the panfy freakt with jet,
The glowing violet,

The musk-rose, and the well-attir'd woodbine,
With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head,
And every

flower that fad embroidery wears : Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed, And daffadillies fill their cups with tears,

150 To strow the laureat herse where Lycid lies. For so to interpose a little ease, Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise. Ay me! Whilst thee the shores, and sounding feas Wash far away, where'er thy bones are hurl'd,

155 Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides, Where thou perhaps under the whelming tide Visit'st the bottom of the monstrous world; Or whether thou, to our moist vows deny'd, Sleep'st by the fable of Bellerus old,

160 Where the great vision 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.

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 yet anon repair's 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

locks he laves,

And hears the unexpressive nuptial song,
In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love.
There entertain him all the Saints above,
In folemn troops and sweet focieties,
That sing, and singing in their glory move,

180 And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes. Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more; Henceforth thou art the genius of the shore, In thy large recompense, and shalt be good To all that wander in that perilous flood.

Thus fang the uncouth swain to th' oaks and rills, While the still morn went out with sandals gray, He touch'd the tender stops of various quills, With eager thought warbling his Doric lay: And now the sun had stretch'd out all the hills, 190 And now was dropt into the western bay; At last he rose, and twitch'd his mantle blue : To-morrow to fresh woods, and pastures new,


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The Fifth ODE * of HORACE, Lib. I.


Quis multa gracilis te puer in rosa," Rendered almost word for word without rhyme, ac

cording to the Latin measure, as near as the language will permit.

HAT slender youth bedew'd with liquid odors

Courts thee on roses in some pleasant cave,
Pyrrha ? for whom bind'st thou

In wreaths thy golden hair,
Plain in thy neatness ? O how oft shall he

5 On faith and changed Gods complain, and seas

Rough with black winds and storms

Unwonted shall admire!
Who now enjoys thee credulous, all gold,
Who always vacant always amiable

Hopes thee, of flattering gales

Unmindful? Hapless they
To whom thou untry'd seem'st fair. Me in


vow'd Picture the sacred wall declares t' have hung My dank and dropping weeds

15 To the stern God of sea.


* First added in the edition of 1673.



Horatius ex Pyrrhæ illecebris tanquam è naufragio

enataverat, cujus amore irretitos, affirmat effe mi. seros.



UIS multa gracilis te puer in rosa

Perfusus liquidis urget odoribus,
Grato, Pyrrha, sub antro?

Cui flavam religas comam
Simplex munditiis ? heu quoties fidem
Mutatofque deos flebit, et aspera

Nigris æquora ventis

Emirabitur insolens !
Qui nunc te fruitur credulus aurea,
Qui semper vacuam semper amabilem

Sperat, nescius aura

Fallacis? Miseri quibus
Intentata nites. Me tabula facer
Votiva paries indicat uvida

Suspendisse potenti
Vestimenta maris Deo.



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