(For what fo foon as Wine makes Fury burn?
And what can wound a Maid fo deep as Scorn?)
Full of their God they wretched Orpheus tore,
Scatter'd his Limbs, and drank his reeking Gore:
His Head torn off, as Hebrus roll'd along,
Eurydice fell from his dying Tongue.
His parting Soul, when flying thro' the Wound,
Cry'd, Ah Eurydice; the Floods around
Eurydice, Eurydice the Banks refound.
The Fourteenth ODE of the Second Book of HORACE.
H! Friend, the pofting Years how fast they fly!
Nor can the ftrictest Piety
Defer incroaching Age,
Or Death's refiftless Rage:
If you each Day
A Hecatomb of Bulls fhou'd flay,
The fmoaking Hoft cou'd not fubdue
The Tyrant to be kind to you.
From Geryon's Head he fnatch'd the triple Crown,
Into th' infernal Lake the Monarch tumbl'd down.
The Prince, and Peasant of this World, must be
Thus wafted to Eternity.
In vain from bloody Wars are Mortals free,
Or the rough Storms of the Tempestuous Sea,
In vain they take fuch care
To shield their Bodies from autumnal Air.
Difmal Cocytus they must ferry o'er,
Whofe languid Stream moves dully by the Shore.
And in their Paffage we shall fee
Of tortur'd Ghofts the various Mifery.
Thy ftately Houfe, thy pleafing Wife
And Children, (Bleffings dear as Life,).
Muft all be left, nor fhalt thou have,
Of all thy grafted Plants, one Tree;
Unless the difmal Cyprefs follow thee,
The fhort-liv'd Lord of all, to thy cold Grave.
But the imprison❜d Burgundy
Thy jolly Heir fhall ftraight fet free.
Releas'd from Lock and Key, the sparkling Wine Shall flow, and make the drunken Pavement fhine.
The Firft Idyllium of THEOCRITUS.
Oat-Herd, the Mufick of yon' whistling Pine, Tho' fweet, yet is not half fo fweet as thine; Thou, when the found of thy fhrill Pipe is heard,
Art next to our great Master Pan prefer'd:
Next him in Skill, and next him in Reward.
If Pan receive a Goat of horned Brow,
A younger Goat is thy unqueftion'd Due:
If he a younger Goat, a Kid belongs to you.
And Kids you know, until the swelling Teat
Yields Milk, are no unpalatable Meat.
Sweeter thy Numbers, Shepherd, and thy Song,
Than that fair lovely Stream, which down along
From yonder Hillock's gently rifing Side
Pours the fmooth Current of its cafie Tide.
If a white Ewe the Mufes Off'ring be,
A fpot'efs Lamb fhall be thy fecond Fee:
Iftheir's a Lamb; the Ewe's referv'd for thee.
And wilt thou, Goat-Herd, on yon rifing Ground, With Streams refresh'd,and fpreading Mirtles crown'd, Say, wilt thou one sweet charming Song rehearse? I'll feed thy Flock, and liften to thy Verfe.
Shepherd, I dare not tread that hallow'd Ground!
'Tis now high Noon, and Pan will hear the Sound.
Weary'd with Sport, he there lyes down to reft:
And 'tis an angry God when at the best.
But, Thyrfis, you can Daphnis Story tell,
And understand the rural Numbers well.
Let us retire then to the Sylvan Shade,
By reverend Oaks extended Branches made,
Where an old Seat ftands rear'd upon the Green:
Hard by Priapus, and the Nymphs are feen.
There if thou fing one of thy nobleft Lays,
And thy loud Voice in fuch sweet Accents raife,
$
As when you baffled Chrome, and won the Bays,
Thrice fhalt thou milk my Goat; come, pr'ythee do:
Two Pails the fills, although the fuckles Two..
Befides a brave large Goblet fhall be thine;
New made, new turn'd, and fmelling wond'rous fine.
Sweet wholfom Wax the inner Hollow hides,
And two neat Handles grace the well wrought fides.
About the brim a creeping Ivy twines,
Thro' whofe brown Leaves the brighter Crocus fhines.
Within, a Woman's lovely Image stands:
(A noble Piece! not wrought by mortal Hands!)
Around her Head a braided Fillet goes:
A decent Veil adown her Shoulders flows.
By her two blooming Youths by turns complain,
Each striving who fhall the bleft Conqueft gain:
Both eagerly contend, but both in vain.
She now on This her wanton Glances throws,
And now on That a careless Smile beftows:
Whilft they their big fwol'n Eye-lids hardly rear,
And filently accufe the cruel Fair.
Next on a Cliff a Fisher-man you'll view,
Who his lov'd Sport does eagerly pursue.
His gather'd Net just hov'ring o'er the Sea,
He labours at the Caft on his half bended Knee
You'd fwear his active Limbs work'd to and fro,
So tight he is, so fitted for the Throw.
His Neck enlarg'd with fwelling Veins appears:
Much is his Strength, tho' many are his Years.
Not far from hence a feeming Vineyard grows,
The Vines all neatly fet in graceful Rows,
Whose weighty Clufters bend the yielding Boughs.
And a young Lad on a Tree's neighb’ring Root
Sits idlely by, to watch the ripening Fruit,
By him, two Foxes unregarded fteal:
Each craftily designs a diff'rent Meal.
One tow'rds the Vineyard cafts a longing Eye;
Looks to, and fro; and then creeps foftly by:
Whilft t'other couch'd in a clofe Ambufcade
To intercept the Scrip and Vict'als laid,
Refolves not firft to quit the deftin'd Prey,
'Till he has fent the Younker Supperlefs away.
Mean while with both his Hands, and both his Eyes,
He's plaiting Straws, and making Traps for Flies.
With Art and Care he the fine Play-thing twines,
Surveys it, and applauds his own Designs:
Unmindful of his Bag, or of his Vines.
The Cup befides a Wood-bine does contain,
Which round the Bottom wreaths its leafie Train,
Admir'd and envy'd by each gazing Swain!
I know, you'll fay your felf, 'tis ftrangely fine!
The Workman, and the Workmanship Divine!
I bought it when I croft th' Ætolian Seas,
The Price a dainty Kid, and a large New-milk Cheese;
Unus'd it lyes, unfully'd, neat and trim:
Nor have my Lips once touch'd the fhining Brim.
With this I'd willingly reward thy Pains,
Would't thou but fing those my beloved Strains.
Nor envy I thy Skill: No---- envious Death
Too foon (alas!) will ftop that charming Breatha
Come on then, Sing, dear Shepherd, while you may. THYRSI S.
Begin, fweet Mufe, begin the Rural Lay. 'Tis Thyrfis fings, Thyrfis on Ætna born: The grateful Hills do his lov'd Notes return. Where were the Nymphs? Where, in that fatal Day, When Daphnis, lovely Daphnis, pin'd away? Did ye by Peneus, or on Pindus ftray? (For fure ye were not by Anapus fide, Nor Atna's Top, nor Acis Silver Tide.) Begin, fweet Mufe, begin the Rural Lay. For him the Panthers and the Tygers mourn'd: They came, they faw; and with fwoln Eyes return'd. Lions themselves did uncouth Sorrows bear, Their Savage Fierceness foftning to a Tear. Close by his Feet the Bulls and Heifers lay; The Calves forgot their Feeding, and their Play; Begin, fweet Mufe, begin the Rural Lay. Swift Hermes firft came down to his Relief: Daphnis, he cry'd, from whence this foolish Grief? What Nymph, what Goddess steals thy Heart away? Begin, fweet Muse, begin the Rural Lay.
Next him the Shepherds, and the Goat-herds came:
All ask'd the Reason of fo ftrange a Flame.
Priapus came too-----
He came, and ask'd him with a pitying Eye,
Why all this Grief? Ah! wretched Daphnis, why?
While the falfe Nymph, unmindful of thy Pains,
Now climbs the Hills, now skims it o'er the Plains,
Where-e'er blind Chance or Fancy leads the way:
Begin, fweet Mufe, begin the Rural Lay.
Ah! foolish and impatient of the Smart,
With which the wanton Boy hath pierc'd thy Heart! An Herdfinan thou wert thought; a Goat-herd fure thou art.
The Goat-herd, when from fome old craggy Rock He views the fportful Paftimes of his Flock,
* Βούτας μὲν ἐλέγει· νιῦ δ ̓ αἰπόλῳ ἀνδρὶ ἔοικας,
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