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whom every

I flourish'd richer and more blest
Than the great monarch of the east.

Whilst all thy soul with me was fillid,
Nor Lydia did to Chloe yield,
Lydia, the celebrated name,
The only theme of verse and fame,
I flourish'd more than she renown'd,
Whofe godlike son our Rome did found.

Me Chloe now,

Muse And every

Grace adorns, fubdues ;
For whom I'd gladly die, to save
Her dearer beauties from the grave.,

Me lovely Calais does fire
With mutual flames of fierce desire ;
For whom I twice would die, to save
His youth more precious from the grave.

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

Though he is shining as a star,
Constant and kind as he is fair ;
Thou light as cork, rough as the sea,
Yet I would live, would die with thee,



Theocritus, Idyll. XI.



O SHORT, no herb, no falve, was ever found

To ease a lover's heart, or heal his wound;
No medicine this prevailing ill subdues,
None, but the charms of the condoling Mufe:
Sweet to the sense, and easy to the mind,
The cure; but hard, but very hard, to find.
This well know, and surely none so well,
Who both in Phyfic's sacred art excel,
And in Wit's orb among the brightest shine,
The love of Phoebus, and the tuneful Nine.

Thus sweetly fad of old, the Cyclops strove
To soften his uneafy hours of love.
Then, when hot youth urg'd him to fierce desire,
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 sent to oblige the fair,
Nor more to please curl'd his neglected hair ;
His was all rage, all madness; 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
Arecusing 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 sea-nymph lay), His drooping head with sorrow bent he hung, And thus his griefs calm’d with his mournful fong. “ Fair Galatea, why is all my pain “ Rewarded thus ? foft love with sharp disdain ? “ Fairer than falling snow or rising light, “ Soft to the touch as charming to the fight ; “ Sprightly as unyok'd heifers, on whose head 66 The tender crescents 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 seal'd with sleep, “ Hither you come out from the foaming deep; “ But, when sleep 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 first 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 shew'd you all the treasures of the spring.

- But


« But from that hour my soul has known no rest,
“ Soft peace is banish'd from my tortur'd breast :
“ I rage, I burn. Yet still regardless you
“Not the least sign of melting pity fhew :
“ No; by the gods that shall revenge my pain !
“ No ; you, the more I love, the more disdain.
Ah! nymph, by every grace adorn’d, I know

Why you despise and fly the Cyclops fo;
“ Becaufe a shaggy brow from side to side,
“ Stretch'd in a line, does my large forehead hide;
“ And under that one only eye does shine,
“ And my flat nose to my big lips does join.
“ Such though I am, yet know, a thousand sheep,
“The pride of the Sicilian hills, I keep ;
“ With fiveetest milk they fill my flowing pails,
And my vatt stock of cheeses never fails ;
“ In summer's heat, or winter's sharpest cold,

My loaded shelves groan with the weight they hold. “With fuch soft notes I the shrill pipe inspire, That every liftening Cyclops does admire ; “ While with it often I all night proclaim Thy powerful charms, and my successless 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 smallest gifts for thee design’d. “ Ah! come, and leave the angry waves to roar, “ And break themselves against the founding shore. How much more pleasant would thy flumbers be “ In the retir'd and peaceful cave with me!

66 There

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“ There the streight cypress and green laurel join, “ And creeping ivy clasps the cluster'd vine ; “ There fresh, cool rills, from Ætna's purest fnow, “ Diffolv'd into ambrosial liquor, flow. “ Who'the wild waves and blackish sea could chufe, “ And these still shades 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 stores of wood, and know “ Perpetual fires on my bright hearth do glow. “My soul, my life itself should 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 kiss your hand, if you your lips deny’d. “ To thee I'd lilies and red poppies bear, “And flowers that crown each season of the year. “ But I'm resolv'd I'll learn to swim 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, 0 nymph! and coming forth forget, " Like me that on this rock unmindful fit (Df all things else 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, 46 To press the cheese, and the sharp runnet to infuse.


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