THIRD IDYLLIUM OF THEOCRITUS,
To Amaryllis love compels my way,
My browzing goats upon the mountains fray :
O Tityrus, tend them well, and fee them fed)
In paftures fresh, and to their watering led;
And 'ware the ridgling with his budding
Ah, beauteous nymph! can you forget your
The confcious grottos, and the fhady grove; Where ftretch'd at eafe your tender limbs were laid,
Your nameless beauties nakedly display'd?
Then I was call'd your darling, your defire, 10
With kiffes fuch as fet my foul on fire:
But you are chang'd, yet I am still the fame;
My heart maintains for both a double flame;
Griev'd, but unmov'd, and patient of your
fcorn:
So faithful I, and you fo much forfworn! 15
I die, and death will finish all my pain;
Yet, ere I die, behold me once again :
Am I fo much deform'd, fo chang'd of late?
What partial judges are our love and hate!
Ten wildings have I gather'd for my dear; 20
How ruddy like your lips their streaks appear!
Far-off view'd them with a longing eye
Upon the topmost branch (the tree was high ):
Yet nimbly up, from bough to bough I swerv'd,
And for to-morrow have ten more referv'd. 25
Look on me kindly, and fome pity shew,
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 shade.
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
His brother whelps and he ran wild about the
Ah nymph, train'd up in his tyrannic court,
To make the fufferings of
Unheeded ruin! treacherous delight!
O polish'd hardness, soften'd to the fight! 40
Whose radiant eyes your ebon brows adorn, Like midnight thofe, and these like break of
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 sweetly kifs my foul away.
Ab, why am I from empty joys debarr'd?
For kiffes are but empty when compar'd.
I rave, and in my raging fit shall tear
The garland, which I wove for you to wear, 50
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 muft die, why is my fate deferr❜d!
I ftrip my body of my fhepherd's frock:
Behold that dreadful downfal of a rock,
Where yon old fisher views the waves from
high!
"Tis that convenient leap I mean to try.
You 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 the infallible prophetic way,
A poppy-leaf upon my palm to lay:
and thefe like break of morn!] "And those eyes the break of day." Shakspeare. JOHN WARTON.
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