O Fons Blandusiæ——
Blandusia! more than crystal clear!
 Whose soothing murmurs charm the ear!
 Whose margin soft with flowerets crown'd
 Invites the festive band around,
 Their careless limbs diffus'd supine,
 To quaff the soul-enlivening wine.
 To thee a tender kid I vow,
 That aims for fight his budding brow;
 In thought, the wrathful combat proves,
 Or wantons with his little loves:
 But vain are all his purpos'd schemes,
 Delusive all his flattering dreams,
 To-morrow shall his fervent blood
 Stain the pure silver of thy flood.
 When fiery Sirius blasts the plain,
 Untouch'd thy gelid streams remain.
 To thee the fainting flocks repair,
 To taste thy cool reviving air;
 To thee the ox with toil opprest,
 And lays his languid limbs to rest.
 As springs of old renown'd, thy name,
 Blest fountain! I devote to fame;
 Thus while I sing in deathless lays
 The verdant holm, whose waving sprays,
 Thy sweet retirement to defend,
 High o'er the moss-grown rock impend,
 Whence prattling in loquacious play
 Thy sprightly waters leap away.

THE PASTORALS OF VIRGIL.

Non ita certandi cupidus, quam propter amorem
 Quod te imitari aveo——                 Lucret. lib. iii.

PASTORAL I.[1]

MELIBŒUS, TITYRUS.

MELIBŒUS.
Where the broad beech an ample shade displays,
 Your slender reed resounds the sylvan lays,
 O happy Tityrus! while we, forlorn,
 Driven from our lands, to distant climes are borne,
 Stretch'd careless in the peaceful shade you sing,
 And all the groves with Amaryllis ring.
TITYRUS.
This peace to a propitious God I owe;
 None else, my friend, such blessings could bestow.
 Him will I celebrate with rites divine,
 And frequent lambs shall stain his sacred shrine.
 By him, these feeding herds in safety stray;
 By him, in peace I pipe the rural lay.
MELIBŒUS.
I envy not, but wonder at your fate,
 That no alarms invade this blest retreat;
 While neighbouring fields the voice of woe resound,
 And desolation rages all around.
 Worn with fatigue I slowly onward bend,
 And scarce my feeble fainting goats attend.
 My hand this sickly dam can hardly bear,
 Whose young new-yean'd (ah once an hopeful pair!)
 Amid the tangling hazels as they lay,
 On the sharp flint were left to pine away.
 These ills I had foreseen, but that my mind
 To all portents and prodigies was blind.
 Oft have the blasted oaks foretold my woe;
 And often has the inauspicious crow,
 Perch'd on the wither'd holm, with fateful cries
 Scream'd in my ear her dismal prophecies.
 But say, O Tityrus, what god bestows
 This blissful life of undisturb'd repose?
TITYRUS.
Imperial Rome, while yet to me unknown,
 I vainly liken'd to our country-town,
 Our little Mantua, at which is sold
 The yearly offspring of our fruitful fold:
 As in the whelp the father's shape appears,
 And as the kid its mother's semblance bears.
 Thus greater things my inexperienc'd mind
 Rated by others of inferior kind.
 But she, midst other cities, rears her head
 High, as the cypress overtops the reed.
MELIBŒUS.
And why to visit Rome was you inclin'd?
TITYRUS.
'Twas there I hoped my liberty to find.
 And there my liberty I found at last,
 Though long with listless indolence opprest;
 Yet not till Time had silver'd o'er my hairs,
 And I had told a tedious length of years;
 Nor till the gentle Amaryllis charm'd,[2]
 And Galatea's love no longer warm'd.
 For (to my friend I will confess the whole)
 While Galatea captive held my soul,
 Languid and lifeless all I dragg'd the chain,
 Neglected liberty, neglected gain.
 Though from my fold the frequent victim bled,
 Though my fat cheese th' ungrateful city fed,
 For this I ne'er perceiv'd my wealth increase:
 I lavish'd all her haughty heart to please.
MELIBŒUS.
Why Amaryllis pin'd, and pass'd away,
 In lonely shades the melancholy day;
 Why to the gods she breath'd incessant vows;
 For whom her mellow apples press'd the boughs
 So late, I wonder'd—Tityrus was gone,
 And she (ah luckless maid!) was left alone.
 Your absence every warbling fountain mourn'd,
 And woods and wilds the wailing strains return'd.
TITYRUS.
What could I do? to break th' enslaving chain
 All other efforts had (alas!) been vain;
 Nor durst my hopes presume, but there, to find
 The gods so condescending and so kind.
 'Twas there these eyes the Heaven-born youth beheld,[3]
 To whom our altars monthly incense yield:
 My suit he even prevented, while he spoke,
 "Manure your ancient farm, and feed your former flock."
MELIBŒUS.
Happy old man! then shall your lands remain,
 Extent sufficient for th' industrious swain!
 Though bleak and bare yon ridgy rocks arise,
 And lost in lakes the neighbouring pasture lies.
 Your herds on wonted grounds shall safely range,
 And never feel the dire effects of change.
 No foreign flock shall spread infecting bane
 To hurt your pregnant dams, thrice happy swain!
 You by known streams and sacred fountains laid
 Shall taste the coolness of the fragrant shade.
 Beneath yon fence, where willow-boughs unite,
 And to their flowers the swarming bees invite,
 Oft shall the lulling hum persuade to rest,
 And balmy slumbers steal into your breast;
 While warbled from this rock the pruner's lay
 In deep repose dissolves your soul away;
 High on yon elm the turtle wails alone,
 And your lov'd ringdoves breathe a hoarser moan.
TITYRUS.
The nimble harts shall graze in empty air,
 And seas retreating leave their fishes bare,
 The German dwell where rapid Tigris flows,
 The Parthian banish'd by invading foes
 Shall drink the Gallic Arar, from my breast
 Ere his majestic image be effac'd.
MELIBŒUS.
But we must travel o'er a length of lands,
 O'er Scythian snows, or Afric's burning sands;
 Some wander where remote Oäxes laves
 The Cretan meadows with his rapid waves:
 In Britain some, from every comfort torn,
 From all the world remov'd, are doom'd to mourn.
 When long long years have tedious roll'd away,
 Ah! shall I yet at last, at last, survey
 My dear paternal lands, and dear abode,
 Where once I reign'd in walls of humble sod!
 These lands, these harvests must the soldier share!
 For rude barbarians lavish we our care!
 How are our fields become the spoil of wars!
 How are we ruin'd by intestine jars!
 Now, Melibœus, now ingraff the pear,
 Now teach the vine its tender sprays to rear!—
 Go, then, my goats!—go, once an happy store!
 Once happy!—happy now (alas!) no more!
 No more shall I, beneath the bowery shade
 In rural quiet indolently laid,
 Behold you from afar the cliffs ascend,
 And from the shrubby precipice depend;
 No more to music wake my melting flute,
 While on the thyme you feed, and willow's wholesome shoot.
TITYRUS.
This night at least with me you may repose
 On the green foliage, and forget your woes.
 Apples and nuts mature our boughs afford,
 And curdled milk in plenty crowns my board.
 Now from yon hamlets clouds of smoke arise,
 And slowly roll along the evening skies;
 And see projected from the mountain's brow
 A lengthen'd shade obscures the plain below.

[1] It has been observed by some critics, who have treated of pastoral poetry, that, in every poem of this kind, it is proper, that the scene or landscape, connected with the little plot or fable on which the poem is founded, be delineated with at least as much accuracy, as is sufficient to render the description particular and picturesque. How far Virgil has thought fit to attend to such a rule may appear from the remarks which the translator has subjoined to every Pastoral.

The scene of the first pastoral is pictured out with great accuracy. The shepherds Melibœus and Tityrus are represented as conversing together beneath a spreading beech tree. Flocks and herds are feeding hard by. At a little distance we behold, on the one hand a great rock, and on the other a fence of flowering willows. The prospect as it widens is diversified with groves, and streams, and some tall trees, particularly elms. Beyond all these appear marshy grounds, and rocky hills. The ragged and drooping flock of the unfortunate shepherd, particularly the she goat which he leads along, are no inconsiderable figures in this picture.—The time is the evening of a summer day, a little before sunset. See the Original, v. 1, 5, 9, 52, 54, 67, 69, 81, &c.

This Pastoral is said to have been written on the following occasion. Augustus, in order to reward the services of his veterans, by means of whom he had established himself in the Roman empire, distributed among them the lands that lay contiguous to Mantua and Cremona. To make way for these intruders, the rightful owners, of whom Virgil was one, were turned out. But our poet, by the intercession of Mecænas, was reinstated in his possessions. Melibœus here personates one of the unhappy exiles, and Virgil is represented under the character of Tityrus.

[2] The refinements of Taubmannus, De La Cerda, and others, who will have Amaryllis to signify Rome, and Galatea to signify Mantua, have perplexed this passage not a little: if the literal meaning be admitted, the whole becomes obvious and natural.

[3] Augustus Cæsar.

PASTORAL II.[1]

ALEXIS.

Young Corydon for fair Alexis pin'd,
 But hope ne'er gladden'd his desponding mind;
 Nor vows nor tears the scornful boy could move,
 Distinguish'd by his wealthier master's love.
 Oft to the beech's deep embowering shade
 Pensive and sad this hapless shepherd stray'd;
 There told in artless verse his tender pain
 To echoing hills and groves, but all in vain.
 In vain the flute's complaining lays I try;
 But am I doom'd, unpitying boy, to die?
 Now to faint flocks the grove a shade supplies,
 And in the thorny brake the lizard lies;
 Now Thestylis with herbs of savoury taste
 Prepares the weary harvest-man's repast;
 And all is still, save where the buzzing sound
 Of chirping grasshoppers is heard around;
 While I expos'd to all the rage of heat
 Wander the wilds in search of thy retreat.
 Was it not easier to support the pain
 I felt from Amaryllis' fierce disdain?
 Easier Menalcas' cold neglect to bear,
 Black though he was, though thou art blooming fair?
 Yet be relenting, nor too much presume,
 O beauteous boy, on thy celestial bloom;
 The sable violet[2] yields a precious dye,
 While useless on the field the withering lilies lie.
 Ah, cruel boy! my love is all in vain,
 No thoughts of thine regard thy wretched swain.
 How rich my flock thou carest not to know,
 Nor how my pails with generous milk o'erflow.
 With bleat of thousand lambs my hills resound,
 And all the year my milky stores abound.
 Not Amphion's lays were sweeter than my song,
 Those lays that led the listening herds along.
 And if the face be true I lately view'd,
 Where calm and clear th' uncurling ocean stood,
 I lack not beauty, nor could'st thou deny,
 That even with Daphnis I may dare to vie.
 O deign at last amid these lonely fields
 To taste the pleasures which the country yields;
 With me to dwell in cottages resign'd,
 To roam the woods, to shoot the bounding hind;
 With me the weanling kids from home to guide
 To the green mallows on the mountain side;
 With me in echoing groves the song to raise,
 And emulate even Pan's celestial lays.
 Pan taught the jointed reed its tuneful strain,
 Pan guards the tender flock, and shepherd swain.
 Nor grudge, Alexis, that the rural pipe
 So oft has stain'd the roses of thy lip:
 How did Amyntas strive thy skill to gain!
 How grieve at last to find his labour vain!
 Of seven unequal reeds a pipe I have,
 The precious gift which good Damœtas gave;
 "Take this," the dying shepherd said, "for none
 Inherits all my skill but thou alone."
 He said; Amyntas murmurs at my praise,
 And with an envious eye the gift surveys.
 Besides, as presents for my soul's delight,
 Two beauteous kids I keep bestreak'd with white,
 Nourish'd with care, nor purchas'd without pain;
 An ewe's full udder twice a day they drain.
 These to obtain oft Thestylis hath tried
 Each winning art, while I her suit denied;
 But I at last shall yield what she requests,
 Since thy relentless pride my gifts detests.
 Come, beauteous boy, and bless my rural bowers,
 For thee the nymphs collect the choicest flowers;
 Fair Nais culls amid the bloomy dale
 The drooping poppy, and the violet pale,
 To marygolds the hyacinth applies,
 Shading the glossy with the tawny dyes:
 Narcissus' flower with daffodil entwin'd,
 And cassia's breathing sweets to these are join'd.
 With every bloom that paints the vernal grove,
 And all to form a garland for my love.
 Myself with sweetest fruits will crown thy feast;
 The luscious peach shall gratify thy taste,
 And, chestnut brown (once high in my regard,
 For Amaryllis this to all preferr'd;
 But if the blushing plum thy choice thou make,
 The plum shall more be valued for thy sake.)
 The myrtle wreath'd with laurel shall exhale
 A blended fragrance to delight thy smell.
 Ah Corydon! thou rustic, simple swain!
 Thyself, thy prayers, thy offers all are vain.
 How few, compar'd with rich Iolas' store,
 Thy boasted gifts, and all thy wealth how poor!
 Wretch that I am! while thus I pine forlorn,
 And all the livelong day inactive mourn,
 The boars have laid my silver fountains waste,
 My flowers are fading in the southern blast.—
 Fly'st thou, ah foolish boy, the lonesome grove?
 Yet gods for this have left the realms above.
 Paris with scorn the pomp of Troy survey'd,
 And sought th' Idæan bowers and peaceful shade,
 In her proud palaces let Pallas shine;
 The lowly woods, and rural life be mine.
 The lioness all dreadful in her course
 Pursues the wolf, and he with headlong force
 Flies at the wanton goat, that loves to climb
 The cliff's steep side, and crop the flowering thyme;
 Thee Corydon pursues, O beauteous boy:
 Thus each is drawn along by some peculiar joy.
 Now evening soft comes on; and homeward now
 From field the weary oxen bear the plough.
 The setting Sun now beams more mildly bright,
 The shadows lengthening with the level light.
 While with love's flame my restless bosom glows.
 For love no interval of ease allows.
 Ah Corydon! to weak complaints a prey!
 What madness thus to waste the fleeting day!
 Be rous'd at length; thy half-prun'd vines demand
 The needful culture of thy curbing hand.
 Haste, lingering swain, the flexile willows weave,
 And with thy wonted care thy wants relieve.
 Forget Alexis' unrelenting scorn,
 Another love thy passion will return.

[1] The chief excellency of this poem consists in its delicacy and simplicity. Corydon addresses his favourite in such a purity of sentiment as one would think might effectually discountenance the prepossessions which generally prevail against the subject of this eclogue. The nature of his affection may easily be ascertained from his ideas of the happiness which he hopes to enjoy in the company of his beloved Alexis.

O tantum libeat libeat———
 O deign at last amid these lonely fields, &c.

It appears to have been no other than that friendship, which was encouraged by the wisest legislators of ancient Greece, as a noble incentive to virtue, and recommended by the example even of Agesilaus, Pericles, and Socrates: an affection wholly distinct from the infamous attachments that prevailed among the licentious. The reader will find a full and satisfying account of this generous passion in Dr. Potter's Antiquities of Greece, B. iv. chap. 9. Mons. Bayle, in his Dictionary at the article Virgile, has at great length vindicated our poet from the charge of immorality which the critics have grounded upon this pastoral.

The scene of this pastoral is a grove interspersed with beech-trees; the season, harvest.

[2] Vaccinium (here translated violet) yielded a purple colour used in dying the garments of slaves, according to Plin. 1. xvi. c. 28.

PASTORAL III.

MENALCAS, DAMŒTAS, PALÆMON.[1]

MENALCAS.
To whom belongs this flock, Damœtas, pray:
 To Melibœus?
DAMŒTAS.
No; the other day
 The shepherd Ægon gave it me to keep.
MENALCAS.
Ah still neglected, still unhappy sheep![2]
 He plies Neæra with assiduous love,
 And fears lest she my happier flame approve;
 Meanwhile this hireling wretch (disgrace to swains!)
 Defrauds his master, and purloins his gains,
 Milks twice an hour, and drains the famish'd dams,
 Whose empty dugs in vain attract the lambs.
DAMŒTAS.
Forbear on men such language to bestow.
 Thee, stain of manhood! thee full well I know.
 I know, with whom—and where—[3] (their grove defil'd
 The nymphs reveng'd not, but indulgent smil'd)
 And how the goats beheld, then browsing near,
 The shameful sight with a lascivious leer.
MENALCAS.
No doubt, when Mycon's tender trees I broke,
 And gash'd his young vines with a blunted hook.
DAMŒTAS.
Or when conceal'd behind this ancient row
 Of beech, you broke young Daphnis' shafts and bow,
 With sharpest pangs of rancorous anguish stung
 To see the gift conferr'd on one so young;
 And had you not thus wreak'd your sordid spite,
 Of very envy you had died outright.
MENALCAS.
Gods! what may masters dare, when such a pitch
 Of impudence their thievish hirelings reach:
 Did I not, wretch (deny it if you dare),
 Did I not see you Damon's goat ensnare?
 Lycisca bark'd; then I the felon spy'd,
 And "Whither slinks yon sneaking thief?" I cried.
 The thief discover'd straight his prey forsook,
 And skulk'd amid the sedges of the brook.
DAMŒTAS.
That goat my pipe from Damon fairly gain'd;
 A match was set, and I the prize obtain'd.
 He own'd it due to my superior skill,
 And yet refus'd his bargain to fulfil.
MENALCAS.
By your superior skill—the goat was won!
 Have you a jointed pipe, indecent clown!
 Whose whizzing straws with harshest discord jarr'd,
 As in the streets your wretched rhymes you marr'd.
DAMŒTAS.
Boasts are but vain. I'm ready, when you will,
 To make a solemn trial of our skill.
 I stake this heifer, no ignoble prize;
 Two calves from her full udder she supplies,
 And twice a day her milk the pail o'erflows;
 What pledge of equal worth will you expose?
MENALCAS.
Ought from the flock I dare not risk; I fear
 A cruel stepdame, and a sire severe,
 Who of their store so strict a reckoning keep,
 That twice a day they count the kids and sheep.
 But, since you purpose to be mad to-day,
 Two beechen cups I scruple not to lay,
 (Whose far superior worth yourself will own)
 The labour'd work of fam'd Alcimedon.
 Rais'd round the brims by the engraver's care
 The flaunting vine unfolds its foliage fair;
 Entwin'd the ivy's tendrils seem to grow,
 Half-hid in leaves its mimic berries glow;
 Two figures rise below, of curious frame,
 Conon, and—what's that other sage's name,
 Who with his rod describ'd the world's vast round,
 Taught when to reap, and when to till the ground?
 At home I have reserv'd them unprofan'd,
 No lip has e'er their glossy polish stain'd.
DAMŒTAS.
Two cups for me that skilful artist made;
 Their handles with acanthus are array'd;
 Orpheus is in the midst, whose magic song
 Leads in tumultuous dance the lofty groves along.
 At home I have reserv'd them unprofan'd,
 No lip has e'er their glossy polish stain'd.
 But my pledg'd heifer if aright you prize,
 The cups so much extoll'd you will despise.
MENALCAS.
These arts, proud boaster, all are lost on me;
 To any terms I readily agree.
 You shall not boast your victory to-day,
 Let him be judge who passes first this way:
 And see the good Palæmon! trust me, swain,
 You'll be more cautious how you brag again.
DAMŒTAS.
Delays I brook not; if you dare, proceed;
 At singing no antagonist I dread.
 Palæmon, listen to th' important songs,
 To such debates attention strict belongs.
PALÆMON.
Sing, then. A couch the flowery herbage yields;
 Now blossom all the trees, and all the fields;
 And all the woods their pomp of foliage wear,
 And Nature's fairest robe adorns the blooming year.
 Damœtas first th' alternate lay shall raise:
 Th' inspiring Muses love alternate lays.
DAMŒTAS.
Jove first I sing; ye Muses, aid my lay;
 All Nature owns his energy and sway;
 The Earth and Heavens his sovereign bounty share,
 And to my verses he vouchsafes his care.
MENALCAS.
With great Apollo I begin the strain,
 For I am great Apollo's favourite swain:
 For him the purple hyacinth I wear,
 And sacred bay to Phœbus ever dear.
DAMŒTAS.
The sprightly Galatea at my head
 An apple flung, and to the willows fled;
 But as along the level lawn she flew,
 The wanton wish'd not to escape my view.
MENALCAS.
I languish'd long for fair Amyntas' charms,
 But now he comes unbidden to my arms,
 And with my dogs is so familiar grown,
 That my own Delia is no better known.
DAMŒTAS.
I lately mark'd where midst the verdant shade
 Two parent-doves had built their leafy bed;
 I from the nest the young will shortly take,
 And to my love an handsome present make.
MENALCAS.
Ten ruddy wildings, from a lofty bough,
 That through the green leaves beam'd with yellow glow
 I brought away, and to Amyntas bore;
 To-morrow I shall send as many more.
DAMŒTAS.
Ah the keen raptures! when my yielding fair
 Breath'd her kind whispers to my ravish'd ear!
 Waft, gentle gales, her accents to the skies,
 That gods themselves may hear with sweet surprise.
MENALCAS.
What though I am not wretched by your scorn?
 Say, beauteous boy, say can I cease to mourn,
 If, while I hold the nets, the boar you face,
 And rashly brave the dangers of the chase.
DAMŒTAS.
Send Phyllis home, Iolas, for to-day
 I celebrate my birth, and all is gay;
 When for my crop the victim I prepare,
 Iolas in our festival may share.
MENALCAS.
Phyllis I love; she more than all can charm,
 And mutual fires her gentle bosom warm:
 Tears, when I leave her, bathe her beauteous eyes,
 "A long, a long adieu, my love!" she cries.
DAMŒTAS.
The wolf is dreadful to the woolly train,
 Fatal to harvests is the crushing rain,
 To the green woods the winds destructive prove,
 To me the rage of mine offended love.
MENALCAS.
The willow's grateful to the pregnant ewes,
 Showers to the corns, to kids the mountain-brows;
 More grateful far to me my lovely boy,
 In sweet Amyntas centres all my joy.
DAMŒTAS.
Even Pollio deigns to hear my rural lays;
 And cheers the bashful Muse with generous praise;
 Ye sacred Nine, for your great patron feed
 A beauteous heifer of the noblest breed.
MENALCAS.
Pollio, the art of heavenly song adorns;
 Then let a bull be bred with butting horns,
 And ample front, that bellowing spurns the ground,
 Tears up the turf, and throws the sands around.
DAMŒTAS.
Him whom my Pollio loves may nought annoy.
 May he like Pollio every wish enjoy.
 O may his happy lands with honey flow,
 And on his thorns Assyrian roses blow!
MENALCAS.
Who hates not foolish Bavius, let him love
 Thee, Mævius, and thy tasteless rhymes approve!
 Nor needs it thy admirer's reason shock
 To milk the he-goats, and the foxes yoke.
DAMŒTAS.
Ye boys, on garlands who employ your care,
 And pull the creeping strawberries, beware,
 Fly for your lives, and leave that fatal place,
 A deadly snake lies lurking in the grass.
MENALCAS.
Forbear, my flocks, and warily proceed,
 Nor on that faithless bank securely tread;
 The heedless ram late plung'd amid the pool,
 And in the sun now dries his reeking wool.
DAMŒTAS.
Ho, Tityrus! lead back the browsing flock,
 And let them feed at distance from the brook;
 At bathing-time I to the shade will bring
 My goats, and wash them in the cooling spring.
MENALCAS.
Haste, from the sultry lawn the flocks remove
 To the cool shelter of the shady grove;
 When burning noon the curdling udder dries,
 Th' ungrateful teats in vain the shepherd plies.
DAMŒTAS.
How lean my bull in yonder mead appears,
 Though the fat soil the richest pasture bears;
 Ah Love! thou reign'st supreme in every heart,
 Both flocks and shepherds languish with thy dart.
MENALCAS.
Love has not injur'd my consumptive flocks,
 Yet bare their bones, and faded are their looks:
 What envious eye hath squinted on my dams,
 And sent its poison to my tender lambs!
DAMŒTAS.
Say in what distant land the eye descries
 But three short ells of all th' expanded skies;
 Tell this, and great Apollo be your name;
 Your skill is equal, equal be your fame.
MENALCAS.
Say in what soil a wondrous flower is born,
 Whose leaves the sacred names of kings adorn:
 Tell this, and take my Phyllis to your arms,
 And reign the unrivall'd sovereign of her charms.
PALÆMON.
'Tis not for me these high disputes to end;
 Each to the heifer justly may pretend.
 Such be their fortune, who so well can sing,
 From love what painful joys, what pleasing torments spring.
 Now, boys, obstruct the course of yonder rill,
 The meadows have already drunk their fill.

[1] The contending shepherds, Menalcas and Damœtas, together with their umpire Palæmon, are seated on the grass, not far from a row of beech-trees. Flocks are seen feeding hard by. The time of the day seems to be noon, the season between Spring and Summer.

[2] Throughout the whole of this altercation, notwithstanding the untoward subject, the reader will find in the original such a happy union of simplicity and force of expression and harmony of verse, as it is vain to look for in an English translation.

[3] The abruptness and obscurity of the original is here imitated.

PASTORAL IV.[1]

POLLIO.

Sicilian Muse, sublimer strains inspire,
 And warm my bosom with diviner fire!
 All take not pleasure in the rural scene,
 In lowly tamarisks, and forests green.
 If sylvan themes we sing, then let our lays
 Deserve a consul's ear, a consul's praise.
 The age comes on, that future age of gold
 In Cuma's mystic prophecies foretold.
 The years begin their mighty course again,
 The Virgin now returns, and the Saturnian reign.
 Now from the lofty mansions of the sky
 To Earth descends an heaven-born progeny.
 Thy Phœbus reigns, Lucina, lend thine aid,
 Nor be his birth, his glorious birth delay'd!
 An iron race shall then no longer rage,
 But all the world regain the golden age.
 This child, the joy of nations, shall be born
 Thy consulship, O Pollio, to adorn:
 Thy consulship these happy times shall prove,
 And see the mighty months begin to move:
 Then all our former guilt shall be forgiven,
 And man shall dread no more th' avenging doom of Heaven.
 The son with heroes and with gods shall shine,
 And lead, enroll'd with them, the life divine.
 He o'er the peaceful nations shall preside,
 And his sire's virtues shall his sceptre guide.
 To thee, auspicious babe, th' unbidden earth
 Shall bring the earliest of her flowery birth;
 Acanthus soft in smiling beauty gay,
 The blossom'd bean, and ivy's flaunting spray.
 Th' untended goats shall to their homes repair,
 And to the milker's hand the loaded udder bear.
 The mighty lion shall no more be fear'd,
 But graze innoxious with the friendly herd.
 Sprung from thy cradle fragrant flowers shall spread,
 And, fanning bland, shall wave around thy head.
 Then shall the serpent die, with all his race:
 No deadly herb the happy soil disgrace:
 Assyrian balm on every bush shall bloom,
 And breathe in every gale its rich perfume.
 But when thy father's deeds thy youth shall fire,
 And to great actions all thy soul inspire,
 When thou shalt read of heroes and of kings,
 And mark the glory that from virtue springs;
 Then boundless o'er the far-extended plain,
 Shall wave luxuriant crops of golden grain,
 With purple grapes the loaded thorn shall bend,
 And streaming honey from the oak descend:
 Nor yet old fraud shall wholly be effac'd;
 Navies for wealth shall roam the watery waste;
 Proud cities fenc'd with towery walls appear,
 And cruel shares shall earth's soft bosom tear:
 Another Tiphys o'er the swelling tide
 With steady skill the bounding ship shall guide:
 Another Argo with the flower of Greece
 From Colchos' shore shall waft the golden fleece;
 Again the world shall hear war's loud alarms,
 And great Achilles shine again in arms.
 When riper years thy strengthen'd nerves shall brace,
 And o'er thy limbs diffuse a manly grace,
 The mariner no more shall plough the deep,
 Nor load with foreign wares the trading ship,
 Each country shall abound in every store,
 Nor need the products of another shore.
 Henceforth no plough shall cleave the fertile ground,
 No pruning-hook the tender vine shall wound;
 The husbandman, with toil no longer broke,
 Shall loose his ox for ever from the yoke.
 No more the wool a foreign dye shall feign,
 But purple flocks shall graze the flowery plain,
 Glittering in native gold the ram shall tread,
 And scarlet lambs shall wanton on the mead.
 In concord join'd with fate's unalter'd law
 The Destinies these happy times foresaw,
 They bade the sacred spindle swiftly run,
 And hasten the auspicious ages on.
 O dear to all thy kindred gods above!
 O thou, the offspring of eternal Jove!
 Receive thy dignities, begin thy reign,
 And o'er the world extend thy wide domain.
 See nature's mighty frame exulting round
 Ocean, and earth, and heaven's immense profound!
 See nations yet unborn with joy behold
 Thy glad approach, and hail the age of gold!
 O would th' immortals lend a length of days,
 And give a soul sublime to sound thy praise;
 Would Heaven this breast, this labouring breast inflame
 With ardour equal to the mighty theme;
 Not Orpheus with diviner transports glow'd,
 When all her fire his mother-muse bestow'd;
 Nor loftier numbers flow'd from Linus' tongue,
 Although his sire Apollo gave the song;
 Even Pan, in presence of Arcadian swains
 Would vainly strive to emulate my strains.
 Repay a parent's care, O beauteous boy,
 And greet thy mother with a smile of joy:
 For thee, to loathing languors all resign'd,
 Ten slow-revolving months thy mother pin'd.
 If cruel fate thy parents bliss denies,[2]
 If no fond joy sits smiling in thine eyes,
 No nymph of heavenly birth shall crown thy love,
 Nor shalt thou share th' immortal feasts above.