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Whilst all thy foul with me was fill❜d,
Nor Lydia did to Chloe yield,
Lydia, the celebrated name,

The only theme of verfe and fame,

I flourish'd more than fhe renown'd,
Whofe godlike fon our Rome did found.


Me Chloe now, whom every Mufe
And every Grace adorns, fubdues;
For whom I'd gladly die, to fave
Her dearer beauties from the grave.


Me lovely Calaïs does fire

With mutual flames of fierce defire;
For whom I twice would die, to fave
His youth more precious from the grave.


What if our former loves return,
And our first fires again fhould burn;
If Chloe's banish'd, to make way
For the forfaken Lydia ?


Though he is fhining as a star,
Conftant and kind as he is fair;

Thou light as cork, rough as the fea,
Yet I would live, would die with thee,



Theocritus, Idyll. XI.


SHORT, no herb, no falve, was ever found
To ease a lover's heart, or heal his wound;

No medicine this prevailing ill fubdues,
None, but the charms of the condoling Mufe :
Sweet to the fense, and easy to the mind,

The cure; but hard, but very hard, to find.
This you well know, and furely none fo well,
Who both in Phyfic's facred art excel,
And in Wit's orb among the brightest shine,
The love of Phoebus, and the tuneful Nine.
Thus fweetly fad of old, the Cyclops strove
To foften his uneafy hours of love.

Then, when hot youth urg'd him to fierce defire,
And Galatea's eyes kindled the raging fire,
His was no common flame, nor could he move
In the old arts and beaten paths of love;
Nor flowers nor fruits fent to oblige the fair,
Nor more to please curl'd his neglected hair;
His was all rage, all madnefs; to his mind
No other cares their wonted entrance find.
Oft from the field his flock return'd alone,
Unheeded, unobferv'd: he on some stone,
Or craggy cliff, to the deaf winds and fea
Aecufing Galatea's cruelty;

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Till night, from the first dawn of opening day,
Confumes with inward heat, and melts away.
Yet then a cure, the only cure, he found,
And thus apply'd it to the bleeding wound;
From a steep rock, from whence he might survey
The flood (the bed where his lov'd fea-nymph lay),
His drooping head with forrow bent he hùng,

And thus his griefs calm'd with his mournful fong. “Fair Galatea, why is all my pain

"Rewarded thus? foft love with fharp difdain?
"Fairer than falling fnow or rifing light,
"Soft to the touch as charming to the fight;


Sprightly as unyok'd heifers, on whofe head "The tender crefcents but begin to spread; "Yet, cruel, you to harshness more incline, "Than unripe grapes pluck'd from the favage vine. "Soon as my heavy eye-lids feal'd with sleep, "Hither you come out from the foaming deep; "But, when fleep leaves me, you together fly, "And vanish swiftly from my opening eye, "Swift as young lambs when the fierce wolf they spy. "I well remember the firft fatal day

"That made my heart your beauty's easy prey, "'Twas when the flood you, with my mother, left, "Of all its brightness, all its pride, bereft, "To gather flowers from the steep mountain's top; "Of the high office proud, I led you up; "To hyacinths and roses did you bring, "And fhew'd you all the treasures of the spring.


"But from that hour my foul has known no reft, "Soft peace is banish'd from my tortur'd breast: "I rage, I burn. Yet ftill regardless you "Not the least sign of melting pity fhew: "No; by the gods that fhall revenge my pain! "No; you, the more I love, the more difdain. "Ah! nymph, by every grace adorn'd, I know "Why you despise and fly the Cyclops fo; "Because a fhaggy brow from fide to fide, "Stretch'd in a line, does my large forehead hide; "And under that one only eye does fhine, "And my flat nofe to my big lips does join. "Such though I am, yet know, a thousand sheep, "The pride of the Sicilian hills, I keep; "With fweetest milk they fill my flowing pails, "And my vaft stock of cheeses never fails; “In fummer's heat, or winter's fharpest cold, "My loaded fhelves groan with the weight they hold. "With fuch foft notes I the fhrill pipe infpire, "That every liftening Cyclops does admire; "While with it often I all night proclaim

"Thy powerful charms, and my fuccefslefs flame. "For thee twelve does, all big with fawn, I feed ; "And four bear-cubs, tame to thy hand, I breed. "Ah! come to me, fair nymph! and you shall find "These are the fmalleft gifts for thee defign'd. "Ah! come, and leave the angry waves to roar, "And break themselves against the founding fhore. "How much more pleasant would thy flumbers be "In the retir'd and peaceful cave with me!

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"There the ftreight cypress and green laurel join, "And creeping ivy clasps the cluster'd vine; "There fresh, cool rills, from Ætna's pureft fnow, "Diffolv'd into ambrofial liquor, flow.

"Who the wild waves and blackish sea could chufe, "And these ftill fhades and these sweet streams refuse? "But if you fear that I, o'er-grown with hair, "Without a fire defy the winter air,

"Know I have mighty ftores of wood, and know 66 Perpetual fires on my bright hearth do glow. "My foul, my life itself fhould burn for thee, "And this one eye, as dear as life to me. "Why was not I with fins, like fishes, made, "That I, like them, might in the deep have play'd? "Then would I dive beneath the yielding tide, "And kifs your hand, if you your lips deny'd. "To thee I'd lilies and red poppies bear, "And flowers that crown each seafon of the year. "But I'm refolv'd I'll learn to fwim and dive "Of the next stranger that does here arrive, "That th' undiscover'd pleasures I may know "Which you enjoy in the deep flood below. "Come forth, O nymph! and coming forth forget, "Like me that on this rock unmindful fit "(Of all things elfe unmindful but of thee), "Home to return forget, and live with me. "With me the sweet and pleasing labour chuse, "To feed the flock, and milk the burthen'd ewes, "To press the cheese, and the sharp runnet to infuse.

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