Limes round his haunts diffused a grateful shade,
And verdant pines with many a cone array'd;
And every bud, that gemm'd the vernal spray,
Swell'd into fruit beneath the' autumnal ray;
He lofty elms transposed in order placed,
Luxuriant pears at will his alleys graced,
And grafted thorns that blushing plums display'd,
And planes that stretch'd o'er summer feasts their
shade.
FROM THE LATIN OF VIRGIL.
YET, not forgetful of his art, the god,
In wondrous change of monster, fire, and flood,
Strove to elude the' indissoluble yoke,
Then rose in human form, and sternly spoke-
'Rash youth! what frenzy urged thy impious feet
To rush unbidden on my lone retreat?" [returns,
'Proteus, thou know'st, thou know'st, the youth None can deceive thy power that all discerns; Cease the vain strife; by Heaven's high mandate I claim relief from thy prophetic aid.' [sway'd,
He said, and, fill'd with fate, the struggling sire Roll'd his green eyes that flash'd indignant fire; From his pale lip reluctant accents broke, And his teeth clatter'd as the godhead spoke. 'Great is thy guilt; on thy devoted head Indignant gods no common vengeance shed; Sad Orpheus, doom'd, without a crime, to mourn His ravish'd bride that never shall return,
Wild for her loss, calls down the' inflicted woes, And deadlier threatens, if no fate oppose.
When urged by thee along the marshy bed,
The' unhappy nymph in frantic terror fled,
She saw not, doom'd to die, across her way,
Where, couch'd beneath the grass, the serpent lay.
But every Dryad, their companion dead,
O'er the high rocks their echoed clamour spread,
The Rhodopeian mounts with sorrow rung,
Deep wailings burst Pangæa's cliffs among,
Sad Orithyia, and the Getæ wept,
And loud lament down plaintive Hebrus swept.
He, lonely on his harp, 'mid wilds unknown,
Soothed his sad love with melancholy tone:
On thee, sweet bride! still dwelt the' undying lay,
Thee first at dawn deplored,'thee last at close of day;
For thee he dared to pass the jaws of hell,
And gates where death and darkness ever dwell,
Trod with firm foot in horror's gloomy grove,
Approach'd the throne of subterraneous Jove,
Nor fear'd the manes and stern host below,
And hearts that never felt for human woe.
Drawn by his song from Erebus profound
Shades and unbodied phantoms flock around,
Countless as birds that fill the leafy bower
Beneath pale eve, or winter's driving shower.
Matrons and sires and unaffianced maids,
Forms of bold warriors and heroic shades,
Youths and pale infants laid upon the pyre,
While their fond parents saw the' ascending fire :
All whom the squalid reeds and sable mud
Of slow Cocytus' unrejoicing flood,
All whom the Stygian lake's dark confines bounds,
And with nine circles maze in maze surrounds.
On him astonish'd Death and Tartarus gazed,
Their viper hair the wondering Furies raised:
Grim Cerberus stood, his triple jaws half closed, And fix'd in air Ixion's wheel reposed.
'Now every peril o'er, when Orpheus led
His rescued prize in triumph from the dead,
And the fair bride, so Proserpine enjoin'd,
Press'd on his path, and follow'd close behind,
In sweet oblivious trance of amorous thought
The lover err'd, to sudden frenzy wrought.
Ah, venial fault! if hell had ever known
Mercy, or sense of suffering not its own.
He stopp'd, and ah! forgetful, weak of mind,
Cast as she reach'd the light one look behind.
There die his hopes; by love alone betray'd,
He broke the law that hell's stern tyrant made.
Thrice o'er the Stygian lake a hollow sound
Portentous murmur'd from its depth profound;
"Alas! what fates our hapless love divide,
What frenzy, Orpheus, tears thee from thy bride!
Again I sink; a voice resistless calls;
Lo! on my swimming eye cold slumber falls;
Now, now farewell! involved in thickest night,
Borne far away, I vanish from thy sight,
And stretch towards thee, all hope for ever o'er,
These unavailing arms; ah! thine no more."
She spoke, and from his gaze for ever fled,
Swift as dissolving smoke through ether spread;
Nor more beheld him, while he fondly strove
To catch her shade, and pour the plaints of love.
Deaf to his prayer; no more stern Charon gave
To cross the Stygian lake's forbidden wave.
What shall he do? Where dead to hope reside,
Reft of all joy, and doubly lost his bride?
What tears shall soothe the' inexorable god!
Pale swam her spirit to its last abode.
Ah! many a month he wept in lofty caves,
By frozen Strymon's solitary waves,
With melting melodies the beasts subdued, And drew around his harp the listening wood. Thus Philomel beneath the poplar spray
Mourns her lost brood untimely snatch'd away, Whom some rough hind, that watch'd her fostering nest,
Tore yet unfledged from the maternal breast;
She on the bough all night her plaint pursues,
Fills the far woods with woe, and each sad note
No earthly charms had power his soul to move, No second hymeneal lured to love.
'Mid climes where Tanais freezes as it flows,
'Mid deserts hoary with Riphæan snows,
Lone roam'd the bard, his ravish'd wife deplored,
And the vain gift of hell's relenting lord.
Scorn'd of the youth whom grief alone could charm,
Rage and revenge the Thracian matrons arm;
Mid the dark orgies of their god they tore
His mangled limbs, and toss'd along the shore;
Ah! at that time, while roll'd the floating head,
Torn from his neck, down Hebrus' craggy bed,
His last, last voice, his tongue now cold in death,
Still named Eurydice with parting breath.
Ah, poor Eurydice! his spirit sigh'd,
And all the rocks Eurydice replied.'
Thus Proteus spoke, and with impetuous bound Plunged in the circling waves that foam'd around.
FROM THE LATIN OF VIRGIL.
"TWAS now the time when Heaven on labour throws
Sleep's dearest blessing in the first repose:
When in a dream, behold! before my eyes
Hector in gushing sorrow seem'd to rise.
Such he appear'd as when, in battle slain,
The victor's chariot rapt him o'er the plain.
Black bloody dust his lineaments defaced;
And through his wounded feet the cords were
braced.
Ah me! the Hector then that met my sight,
How changed from him who, glorious in the fight,
Blazed in Achilles' spoils; or, arm'd with brands,
Hurl'd flaming ruin on the Grecian bands!
His beard and hair were stiff with clotted gore;
And red the wounds his patriot bosom bore.
While streaming tears my anguish'd heart con-
I thus the melancholy shade address'd: [fess'd,
'O light! O hope of Troy! her surest stay!
Where hast thou linger'd? why this long delay?
When Fate has here been busy to destroy,
What has withheld our Hector from his Troy?
And whence, so many toils and slaughters past,
Comes he to cheer his longing friends at last?
But, ah!-why thus?-say whence the wounds I
trace?
What outrage this that blots thy noble face?"
To these vain questions deigning no replies, With deep-drawn groans the vision'd Sorrow cries: 'Fly, Goddess-born! O fly! and haste 'to save Thy better fates from Ilion's fiery grave.
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