No fears I feel like Semele to die,

Nor lest thy burning wheels approach too nigh,—
For thou canst govern them; here therefore rest,
And lay thy evening glories on my breast!”

Thus breathes the wanton Earth her amorous flame,
And all her countless offspring feel the same;
For Cupid now through every region strays,
Brightening his faded fires with solar rays;
His new-strung bow sends forth a deadlier sound,
And his new-pointed shafts more deeply wound ;
Nor Dian's self escapes him now untried,
Nor even Vesta at her altar-side;

His mother too repairs her beauty's wane,

And seems sprung newly from the deep again.
Exulting youths the Hymeneal sing,

With Hymen's name roofs, rocks, and valleys ring;
He, new-attired, and by the season drest,
Proceeds, all fragrant, in his saffron vest.
Now, many a golden-cinctured virgin roves
To taste the pleasures of the fields and groves;
All wish, and each alike, some favourite youth
Hers, in the bonds of Hymeneal truth.
Now pipes the shepherd through his reeds again,
Nor Phillis wants a song that suits the strain;
With songs the seaman hails the starry sphere,
And dolphins rise from the abyss to hear;
Jove feels himself the season, sports again
With his fair spouse, and banquets all his train.
Now too the Satyrs, in the dusk of eve,

Their mazy dance through flowery meadows weave,

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And neither god nor goat, but both in kind,

Silvanus, wreathed with cypress, skips behind.
The Dryads leave their hollow sylvan cells
To roam the banks and solitary dells;
Pan riots now, and from his amorous chafe
Ceres and Cybele seem hardly safe;
And Faunus, all on fire to reach the prize,
In chase of some enticing Oread flies;

She bounds before, but fears too swift a bound,

And hidden lies, but wishes to be found.

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Our shades entice the Immortals from above,

And some kind power presides o'er every grove;

And long, ye Powers, o'er every grove preside,
For all is safe and blest, where ye abide!
Return, O Jove! the age of gold restore-

Why choose to dwell where storms and thunder roar?
At least, thou, Phoebus! moderate thy speed!
Let not the vernal hours too swift proceed,
Command rough Winter back, nor yield the pole
Too soon to Night's encroaching, long control!

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ELEGY VI.

TO CHARLES DEODATI,

Who, while he spent his Christmas in the country, sent the Author a poetical Epistle, in which he requested that his verses, if not so good as usual, might be excused on account of the many feasts to which his friends had invited him, and which would not allow him leisure to finish them as he wished.

WITH no rich viands overcharged, I send

Health, which perchance you want, my pampered friend;
But wherefore should thy muse tempt mine away
From what she loves, from darkness into day?
Art thou desirous to be told how well

I love thee, and in verse? verse cannot tell,
For verse has bounds, and must in measure move
But neither bounds nor measure knows my love.
How pleasant, in thy lines described, appear
December's harmless sports, and rural cheer!
French spirits kindling with cærulean fires,
And all such gambols as the time inspires !

Think not that wine against good verse offends;
The Muse and Bacchus have been always friends,
Nor Phoebus blushes sometimes to be found
With ivy, rather than with laurel, crowned.
The Nine themselves ofttimes have joined the song
And revels of the Bacchanalian throng;
Not even Ovid could in Scythian air

Sing sweetly-why? no vine would flourish there,
What in brief numbers sung Anacreon's muse?
Wine, and the rose, that sparkling wine bedews.
Pindar with Bacchus glows-his every line
Breathes the rich fragrance of inspiring wine,
While, with loud crash o'erturned, the chariot lies
And brown with dust the fiery courser flies.
The Roman lyrist steeped in wine his lays,
So sweet in Glycera's and Chloe's praise.
Now too the plenteous feast and mantling bowl
Nourish the vigour of thy sprightly soul;
The flowing goblet makes thy numbers flow,
And casks not wine alone, but verse bestow.
Thus Phoebus favours, and the arts attend,
Whom Bacchus, and whom Ceres, both befriend :
What wonder, then, thy verses are so sweet,
In which these triple powers so kindly meet?
The lute now also sounds, with gold inwrought,
And touched with flying fingers, nicely taught;
In tapestried halls, high-roofed, the sprightly lyre
Directs the dancers of the virgin choir.
If dull repletion fright the muse away,
Sights, gay as these, may more invite her stay:

ΙΟ

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And, trust me, while the ivory keys resound,
Fair damsels sport, and perfumes steam around,
Apollo's influence, like ethereal flame,

Shall animate, at once, thy glowing frame,
And all the Muse shall rush into thy breast,
By love and music's blended powers possest.
For numerous powers light Elegy befriend,
Hear her sweet voice, and at her call attend;
Her Bacchus, Ceres, Venus, all approve,
And, with his blushing mother, gentle Love.
Hence to such bards we grant the copious use
Of banquets, and the vine's delicious juice.
But they, who demi-gods and heroes praise,

And feats performed in Jove's more youthful days,
Who now the counsels of high heaven explore,
Now shades, that echo the Cerberean roar,
Simply let these, like him of Samos, live;
Let herbs to them a bloodless banquet give;
In beechen goblets let their beverage shine,
Cool from the crystal spring, their sober wine!
Their youth should pass in innocence, secure
From stain licentious, and in manners pure,

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Pure as the priest, when robed in white he stands,
The fresh lustration ready in his hands.

Thus Linus lived, and thus, as poets write,
Tiresias, wiser for his loss of sight;

Thus exiled Chalcas, thus the bard of Thrace,
Melodious tamer of the savage race;

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Thus, trained by temperance, Homer led, of yore,

His chief of Ithaca from shore to shore,

Through magic Circe's monster-peopled reign,
And shoals insidious with the Siren train;

And through the realms where grizly spectres dwell,
Whose tribes he fettered in a gory spell:

For these are sacred bards, and, from above,
Drink large infusions from the mind of Jove.

Wouldst thou, (perhaps 'tis hardly worth thine ear)

Wouldst thou be told my occupation here?
The promised King of peace employs my pen,
The eternal covenant made for guilty men,
The new-born Deity with infant cries

Filling the sordid hovel, where he lies;
The hymning Angels, and the herald star,
That led the Wise, who sought him from afar,
And idols on their own unhallowed shore
Dashed, at his birth, to be revered no more!

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This theme on reeds of Albion I rehearse: The dawn of that blest day inspired the verse; Verse that, reserved in secret, shall attend Thy candid voice, my critic, and my friend!

၄၁

ELEGY VII.

COMPOSED IN THE AUTHOR'S NINETEENTH YEAR.

As yet a stranger to the gentle fires
That Amathusia's smiling queen inspires,

Not seldom I derided Cupid's darts,

And scorned his claim to rule all human hearts.
"Go, child," I said, “transfix the timorous dove !
"An easy conquest suits an infant love;
"Enslave the sparrow, for such prize shall be
"Sufficient triumph to a chief like thee!

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Why aim thy idle arms at human kind?

Thy shafts prevail not 'gainst the noble mind."
The Cyprian heard, and, kindling into ire,
(None kindles sooner) burned with double fire.
It was the spring, and newly-risen day
Peeped o'er the hamlets on the first of May;
My eyes, too tender for the blaze of light,
Still sought the shelter of retiring night,

When Love approached: in painted plumes arrayed
The insidious god his rattling darts betrayed,

Nor less his infant features, and the sly

Sweet intimations of his threatening eye.
Such the Sigean boy is seen above,

Filling the goblet for imperial Jove;

Such he, on whom the nymphs bestowed their charms,
Hylas, who perished in a Naiad's arms.

Angry he seemed, yet graceful in his ire,

And added threats, not destitute of fire.

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My power," he said, "by others' pain alone

""Twere best to learn; now learn it by thy own! "With those who feel my power that power attest, "And in thy anguish be my sway confest!

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I vanquished Phoebus, though returning vain "From his new triumph o'er the Python slain, "And when he thinks on Daphne, even he "Will yield the prize of archery to me. "A dart less true the Parthian horseman sped, "Behind him killed, and conquered as he fled: "Less true the expert Cydonian, and less true "The youth whose shaft his latent Procris slew. 66 Vanquished by me see huge Orion bend,

By me Alcides, and Alcides' friend.

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"At me should Jove himself a bolt design,
"His bosom first should bleed transfixt by mine.
"But all thy doubts this shaft will best explain,
"Nor shall it reach thee with a trivial pain.
'Thy muse, vain youth! shall not thy peace ensure,
"Nor Phoebus' serpent yield thy wound a cure.

He spoke, and, waving a bright shaft in air
Sought the warm bosom of the Cyprian fair.
That thus a child should bluster in my ear
Provoked my laughter, more than moved my fear.
I shunned not, therefore, public haunts, but strayed
Careless in city or suburban shade,

And passing, and repassing, nymphs that moved
With grace divine, beheld where'er I roved.
Bright shone the vernal day, with double blaze,
As beauty gave new force to Phoebus' rays.
By no grave scruples checked, I freely eyed
The dangerous show, rash youth my only guide,
And many a look of many a Fair unknown
Met full, unable to control my own.

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But one I marked (then peace forsook my breast) —
One-oh how far superior to the rest!

What lovely features! such the Cyprian queen
Herself might wish, and Juno wish her mien.
The very nymph was she, whom, when I dared
His arrows, Love had even then prepared ;
Nor was himself remote, nor unsupplied
With torch well-trimmed and quiver at his side;
Now to her lips he clung, her eyelids now,
Then settled on her cheeks, or on her brow;
And with a thousand wounds from every part
Pierced, and transpierced, my undefended heart.
A fever, new to me, of fierce desire

Now seized my soul, and I was all on fire;
But she, the while, whom only I adore,
Was gone, and vanished, to appear no more.
In silent sadness I pursue my way;

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I pause, I turn, proceed, yet wish to stay,
And while I follow her in thought, bemoan,

With tears, my soul's delight so quickly flown.

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When Jove had hurled him to the Lemnian coast,
So Vulcan sorrowed for Olympus lost,
And so Eclides, sinking into night,

From the deep gulf looked up to distant light.

Wretch that I am, what hopes for me remain,
Who cannot cease to love, yet love in vain?
Oh could I once, once more behold the Fair,
Speak to her, tell her, of the pangs I bear,
Perhaps she is not adamant, would show
Perhaps some pity at my tale of woe.
O inauspicious flame !-'tis mine to prove
A matchless instance of disastrous love.

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Ah spare me, gentle Power !—If such thou be,
Let not thy deeds and nature disagree.
Spare me, and I will worship at no shrine
With vow and sacrifice, save only thine.
Now I revere thy fires, thy bow, thy darts,
Now own thee sovereign of all human hearts.