Amaryllis
A PASTORAL MASQUE ,
IN ONE ACT.
SCENE.
Enter M ERSEY , in an azure robe, crowned with reeds .
This is the spot I seek; for as I lay,
Basking at ease upon my sunny shore,
A rumour reach'd mine ear of distant play,
Of dance and festive sport,
Quainter than ever shepherd held before
To grace his rustic lady's holiday;
And to this grove, it said, there would resort,
Bevies of damsels, fairer far than those
Who sport at eve upon my level tide,
Naiads and nymphs, or in my coral bowers
Sleep on the soft sea flowers,
Or thro' the wave on rapid dolphins glide.
This when I heard, I rose
And bade my tritons fill my flowing urn,
Till I should home return,
For I would forth to see those pageant shows.
But, first, from out their haunts in sea or spring,
Came Amphitrite's train, and on the edge
Of my smooth stream, wove from the rushy sedge
And fresh pluck'd reeds, a chaplet green and gay,
For me, the brother of their ocean king;
Then did I hither bend my way,
Painfully toiling up yon slow ascent,
Thro' meadows, lanes, and fields of ripening corn,
More than one long and unaccustomed mile;
And now, with labour worn,
Here will I rest my limbs, already spent,
With mickle age and care — be this my seat awhile.
I know these woods and yonder mansion well,
For, from my silver stream that winds along
In you broad ring, oft have I view'd this shade,
Where now they tell me doth a shepherd dwell,
Aged, in sooth, yet blythe withal and strong,
Gentle of mood, and unsurpass'd in song:
Such was the tale, told by a Naiad maid.
She, when the summer sun had travell'd high,
(Some short way westward from this green retreat),
Slumber'd awhile, oppress'd with summer heat;
And waking, found her silver urn was dry.
Then while she wept, there chanc'd to wander by
This aged shepherd, jolly, then, and young;
He saw her grief, and sooth'd her with a song,
So sweet, the Naiad check'd her sobs to hear,
And ever since she holds his music dear,
And tells the story to her sister throng.
I heard it too, and heard the shepherd's name,
Menalcas, not unknown to me before;
For on my silent shore,
The stripling lov'd to try his early reed,
And sung so deftly, that Jove's daughters came,
The immortal Muses, from their heavenly court,
Who ever since upon my banks disport,
Singing my praises with no vulgar fame.
Then did I bless him for the pious deed,
And vow'd by this same trident which I hold,
Long as he dwelt within my watery fence,
To feed his pastures and protecThis fold,
And do his age some special reverence —
In virtue of my vow I come to day,
With the best means I can to grace this frolic play.
Fair signs and omens fortunate I bring;
For as last night I sat upon a steep,
Marking the reflux of my murmuring stream,
At the dark hour when weary mortals sleep,
A sudden glory seem'd on high to beam,
Likest some meteor, or the break of morn;
I look'd upon the skies
And saw a galaxy of happy stars
In such sweet conversation commercing,
As never met before my wondering eyes;
" Oh! happy one, " I cried,
" The mortal under that sweet influence born! "
Then straightway to the Prophet God I hied,
Old Proteus, shrewdest dweller of the main,
Whom tending on his sea-calves soon I found,
And brib'd him that strange portent to expound,
With pearls as rich in worth as any set
Round the broad rim of Neptune's coronet.
" Dost thou not know, " the ancient seer replied,
" That nineteen times that sign has now been seen
" Marking the birth-day of Menalcas' pride,
" Young Amaryllis, our Arcadian queen.
" Who, in this happy region, has not heard.
" Of Amaryllis? — woods and valleys ring
" With Amaryllis' name, and shepherds sing
" Her favorite praises to their fleecy herd.
" Well do they know the bright auspicious sign
" That ushers in the feast-day of her birth;
" And, in their pastoral mirth,
" Salute with songs the gracious harbinger,
" Wreathing the fragrant myrtle and the vine,
" Mixed with the laurel's sacred leaf, for her;
" And sprinkle flowers, and in their uncouth phrase,
" Bespeak her happy thoughts and length of days. "
So spoke the hoary sire — but, hark! I hear
The sound of merry steps approaching near;
I will betake me to yon shady green,
Where I may see their pranks, myself unseen.
Enter, on one side , M ENALCAS attended by a chorus of six shepherds; on the other side , Amaryllis attended by a chorus of six shepherdesses . — M ENALCAS and Amaryllis seat themselves on a rustic throne .
Amaryllis .
Posies such as summer yields,
Gather'd in Arcadian fields;
Honied sweets and painted blossom,
Not unworthy Flora's bosom;
Lady, to thy throne we bring,
Take our humble offering.
Summer fruitage, ripe and sound,
In Hesperian gardens found,
Brightest hue and richest flavour,
Good Pomona's earliest favour,
To thy rustic throne we bring,
Shepherd, take our offering.
MENALCAS .
Thanks, courteous neighbours! shepherdesses fair,
And gentle youths, much thanks. My daughter too,
In honour of whose natal day you come
With these rare fancies, shall return you thanks
As heart-warm as my own.
AMARYLLIS .
Indeed I do,
Great thanks for great deservings! may our gods,
Sylvan and Pan, reward you!
MENALCAS .
Listen, friends,
For I have tidings of no common sort,
Such as will stir the youth of Arcady
To jealous strife and rivalship of song,
Beyond all former measure. — You must know,
That, walking lately in this very grove,
(The sun had sunk beneath yon western hills,
And in his place the modest star of eve
Held his appointed watch) I wandered on,
Intent to read the elemental signs,
As I am wont to do, of foul and fair,
Stormy or calm, and musing on the course
Of household cares, of cattle or of herb,
As thrifty shepherds use. These were my thoughts,
When I was startled with the neighbouring sound
Of music, like those notes we sometimes hear
Amongst the mountains, which, our old men say,
None but great Pan can utter. — Fill'd with awe,
I follow'd where the music seem'd to lead,
And found the god reclin'd beneath a tree
Breathing into a pipe of simple reeds
That heavenly cadence: mute I stood awhile
To hear his harmony; but when I turn'd,
Fearing to mar his pastime, he arose,
And call'd me by my name, " Receive this pipe, "
So spoke the godhead, " for thy pious care
And daily worship of my sylvan altar,
A well earned gift. " — This was the pipe he gave:
Not sweeter his who, on the fruitful plains
Of Sicily, first tuned his Doric lay;
Nor his, the Mantuan, when Hesperia's hills
Hail'd his chaste wood-notes; nor that mournful swain,
Who, with forc'd fingers pluck'd the berries crude,
And wept young Lycid on his watery bier.
Now call our shepherds to the vocal strife,
Bid each prepare his song of choicest phrase
To win the prize, this pipe, a pipe divine;
And, more to grace it, taken from the hand
Of Amaryllis, Lady of the day.
Call, gentle youths, till hill and dale resound,
Your tuneful challenge, that our absent swains,
(If any yet be absent), may resort
To try this day their untaught minstrelsy.
CHORUS .
Hear, shepherds, hear!
From grove or dusky dingle,
Where light and shadow mingle;
On lofty down or mountain,
Or by the side of fountain,
Hear, shepherds, hear!
By forest or by fallow,
Deep lake or streamlet shallow;
On meadows, moors, and commons,
Hear and obey our summons,
Hear, shepherds, hear!
Thus before the throne of beauty,
Bending low in humble duty,
Lady, your devoted Thyrsis
Brings the tribute of his verses.
Hail to thee too, old Menalcas,
Sager than the prophet Calchas,
Who, as says the ancient story,
Harp'd by that blind bard of glory,
Had so beautiful a daughter,
Grecian chiefs in battle sought her:
Yet that far-fam'd, fair Briseis,
Was not so fam'd, and fair as she is.
Foolish swains, why bring ye posies,
Lilies twin'd with blushing roses,
When your roses, and your lilies,
Lose their charms near Amaryllis;
Nor can heaps of yellow amber
Hoarded in old Neptune's chamber,
Vie in fragrance with the tresses,
Which that crown of roses presses.
Cease, fond swains, your vain adorning —
Eyelids that disclose the morning,
Beaming blessings in its brightness;
Teeth that shame the pearl in whiteness;
Cheeks upon whose soft suffusion,
Beauty lavish'd large profusion,
Winning sweetness, graceful stature,
Every charm of bounteous nature,
In heavenly union blending ever,
Laugh to scorn your vain endeavour.
With form so fair, with charms so sainted,
Was never elder age acquainted;
Less beauteous she, the hapless maiden,
Who on the lilied banks of Ladon,
And thro' Ida's shady cover,
Mourn'd her faithless Phrygian lover;
When thro' many a toil and danger,
He sought and found the fatal stranger;
Nor they so fair who erst descended,
And before that swain contended,
Three bright denizens of heaven,
To whom that rich fruit should be given,
Snatch'd from the devouring warden,
Of the fam'd Hesperian garden.
Lady! may these playful greetings,
Oft be sung at future meetings!
Oft as the gay years returning
Usher in thy natal morning.
Then, as now, may frolic pleasures
Round thee flit in airy measures;
Mirth that every care effaces,
Leading on the laughing graces,
With youth that near thee loves to linger;
While the Nine with linked finger,
Threading light their mystic mazes,
Sing for aye thy chosen praises.
MENALCAS .
Young swain, if pert conceits, a flippant tongue,
And gaudy trappings of external pride,
Might claim the prize, then were it justly thine.
Hence! and disrobe thee of that rich attire,
That specious gilding, and those pompous plumes,
And in a humble herdsman's coarser weeds,
Learn to indite a less conceited song;
Till then, an exile from these quiet shades,
Wander elsewhere. — Shall this be so, my friends?
CHORUS .
Hence! from this quiet shade,
Nor think that sprightly phrase and glittering hues
May win the timid Muse,
To crown thee with her flowers that never fade.
She shuns the rude offence,
The ready challenge, and obtrusive mien;
In cities seldom seen,
And only charm'd from her obscure recess
By truth and tenderness;
If these thou canst not boast — vain shepherd, hence!
Hail! old Menalcas, and our lady fair,
Queen Amaryllis, maid of beauty rare;
See Corydon has donn'd his Sunday coats
Leaving for you the herding of his goats;
And now begins his ditty, quaint and trim,
In hopes you mean to give the pipe to him.
Ask any shepherd in this buxom ring,
They all will tell you Corydon can sing;
And more than that, when on my pipe I play,
Both birds and beasts will answer to my lay;
For as in yonder wood I strain'd my throat,
An owl enchanted hooted to the note;
And when one night I caroll'd to the moon,
My sheep-dog, Hector, howl'd the very tune;
Then give the pipe to me, the only man
Worthy to play upon the pipe of Pan.
Hold me not cheap for this my uncouth gear:
What plumage hath the thrush, who sings so clear?
One colour only of unseemly dusk,
And tender filberts have an homely husk —
Of sheep and goats I have a goodly fold,
And live like shepherds in the age of gold;
Sometimes into the woods I drive my swine,
To feed upon the mast of beech and pine,
Whilst I pursue the squirrels in the trees,
Or search the grass for nests of humble bees.
No goatherd in our village better knows,
Where grow the choicest crabs, the blackest sloes,
Pignuts and filberts, dainty haws and hips,
And blackberries that stain the eater's lips;
Curds too, and cheese, are no bad fare I think,
Nor buttermilk and whey unsavoury drink.
I know all sylvan pastimes — who can spin,
Neater than me, cockchaffers on a pin?
Then give the pipe to me, the only man
Worthy to play upon the pipe of Pan.
What swain, but me, will Amaryllis choose?
What kindness, then, will Corydon refuse?
Then will I milk the cows, and press the cheese,
And when she wants the honey kill the bees;
And make her crowns of daffodils and daisies,
And in my bravest sonnets sing her praises.
No nymph is like my Amaryllis fair,
Nor can the heifer's eye with hers compare;
Red are her lips as cherries, and her cheeks,
As ruddy as the apple's sun-burnt streaks;
Fragrant as thyme, as honey-suckles sweet,
Light as young fawns, as timid lev'rets fleet;
Grateful as tansy, sage, or peppermint,
But cold as snow, and hard of heart as flint!
Thus will I sing with each returning year,
Hailing thy birth-day, born without a peer,
And trill thy praise with such surpassing arts,
That swains shall break their pipes and maids their hearts:
Then give the pipe to me, the only man
Worthy to play upon the pipe of Pan.
MENALCAS .
O blind and doting vanity of men,
That hath such power to hide us from ourselves;
And where our knowledge should be most at home,
Makes most a stranger of it. — Foolish swain,
Is there no pipe to suit thy rugged lip
Save this which Pan bestows? Go search the field,
And from some hollow stem of herb or tree,
Hemlock or wither'd elder, frame a pipe
Whereon to jar thy rustic ribaldry;
And for that thy presumption loudly calls
For due correction — hear what we decree!
Hence to the rocky frontiers of our land,
Where thou shalt sojourn for a year and day,
Herding thy goats in painful solitude.
Speak, gentle shepherds, if this penance please ye?
CHORUS .
Banish hence the rash intruder,
Harsh of speech and bold of mien;
Homelier swain, or accent ruder,
All Arcadia hath not seen.
So reward his heedless daring,
Who profanes the sacred song;
Gods and men, with hand unsparing,
Punish the presumptuous wrong.
Witness him, whose haughty vaunting,
Challeng'd Phaebus to the strife,
Dryads saw him bound and panting,
Bleed beneath his rival's knife.
Banish hence the rash intruder,
Harsh of speech and bold of mien;
Homelier swain, or accent ruder,
All Arcadia hath not seen.
Fresh from the forest, with a hunter's speed,
Let Silvio bow before that heavenly look,
No shepherd he to tune a whistling reed,
Or idly twine with flowers a harmless crook;
Nor suits it him beside some purling brook,
His silly sheep, a sillier swain, to tend,
Who with his horn the mountain echoes shook,
And every sylvan shade from end to end.
Against the flying deer my bow I bend,
Or loose my rapid greyhounds to the course,
With breathless speed the toilsome hill ascend,
Swim the broad stream or track it to its source;
Or wage a worthier war with brutal force,
The wolf ferocious, and the surly boar;
Oft on this spear they writhe with howlings hoarse,
And breathe their felon lives in floods of gore.
Such be my daily sports; yet not the more
Fear I our lovely lady's dread reproving,
For not to me the muse denies her lore,
Nor scorns to meet me in my lonely roving;
Full oft in huntress garb, with smile approving,
She joins my pastime at the break of day,
And oft with whisper'd notes and ditties moving,
Beguiles my lone and melancholy way.
Then while along our homeward path we stray,
My wayward temper will she fondly charm,
To drop a tear of pity o'er my prey,
And half repent me of the ruthless harm;
And more my yielding spirit to disarm,
Her airy spells upon my fancy flinging,
A thousand happy visions round me swarm,
Of Amaryllis, and of beauty singing.
Where scented woodbine round yon bowers is clinging,
She bade me fashion some harmonious line,
Which to the lady of our worship bringing,
Might please with worthy verse her ear divine.
Peace and contentment (by the tuneful Nine,
So was I taught to weave the busy measure,)
And years of long prosperity be thine,
And happier birth-days of increasing pleasure!
May Flora crown thee with her flowery treasure,
And Ceres bless thee with her golden sheaf,
And Pan protect thee in Arcadian leisure,
From every canker'd care and noisome grief!
More did I learn — but let my song be brief —
I hear my bloodhounds in the forest bay;
Let others wait for pipe or laurel leaf,
I pant for other sports — away, away!
MENALCAS .
Light and discourteous youth! no pipe he claims,
Nor pipe, indeed, deserves — timely he fled,
Else had I chid him with no slight rebuke,
Who dares with savage games and violent,
To desolate our plains — yet, gentle friends,
Some admonition he may chance to hear,
If loudly chaunted in your moral lay.
CHORUS .
Hark! whence arise
That deep drawn sob and piteous sighing?
The stricken victim faint and dying
For pity cries;
Faster now his life-blood gushes,
Now his feebler groans he hushes,
And now he dies!
Ah! who can know
What feelings throb, what sorrows languish,
In that unutterable anguish,
And speechless woe?
If this be so,
Go, and mourn thy rash misdoing,
The wounds thou mad'st, with tears bedewing,
Go, Hunter, go!
Nurs'd in the woodland solitude,
How shall a shepherd swain intrude,
Where Mersey's fairest nymphs resort,
And beauty holds her lavish court?
With humble hand yet may he bring
The native flowers that gem the spring,
All the sweets this land discloses,
Bound in wreaths of weeping roses.
Here shall the purple hyacinth shed,
Perfumes from her drooping head;
And violets breathe upon the air,
Floating fragrance rich and rare;
The summer rose, and eglantine
Shall their striving sweets combine
Harebells from the mountain's brow,
Lilies from the vale below,
Lady, o'er thy youthful head
Shall their choicest odours shed.
Here shall no luckless herb be found,
Ravish'd from the Colchian ground,
By witching spells and magic rite
Whisper'd in the ear of night;
Nor that sad flower whose deadly bloom
Brought Amaranthus to the tomb;
But such as chaste Ianthis loves,
And Hesperus, vestal-rob'd, approves;
These shall their choicest sweets display
To crown thee on thy natal day.
On thee may blue-ey'd Health attend,
And all her favorite blessings lend;
Oft be it thine at early dawn
To meet her on the dewy lawn;
To eastern hills the goddess leads,
And the morn-enchanted meads,
Where the lark on hovering wings
His pealing notes at heaven's-gate sings;
And as thou tread'st the blooming ground,
Ever at thy side be found
Fair Content of sweetest mien,
Smiling at each changing scene:
As fleet the hours of life away,
Ever cheerful, ever gay,
Of power the suffering heart to bless,
And shed unsullied happiness.
Nor yet despise our humble lot,
Nor scorn the shepherd's homely cot,
Nor yet that sweeter task forego,
To soothe the pangs of human woe;
To wipe Affliction's silent tear,
And bid a brighter world appear!
So Joy shall crown thy natal day,
And Friendship all her charms display;
Light revels lead the rosy hours,
And music fill the echoing bowers,
Until it reach the silver sphere,
And fond Urania bend to hear.
Then weave the dance and pour the song,
These summer-blossom'd woods among,
And catch the young joys as they spring
Ere time shall shake his ruffled wing!
Soon shall another race appear,
To revel thro' the blooming year,
With fairy feet to beat the ground,
And wake the laughing echoes round:
Yet shall they see no brighter time,
Tho' bounding full in youthful prime,
Than this our passing hours display
While love and friendship crown the day.
MANALCAS .
Sweet is thy song, young swain, and on the ear
Rests with a cadence softer than the sound
Of distant waterfalls: next to our Pan,
Thine were the first reward. If he should win
A bearded goat, the ewe were surely thine;
And were the ewe his prize, her playful lamb
Would be thy well-earn'd lot. Then take the pipe,
And may our Pan, who loves thee, bless the gift,
Teaching thee strains as musical as those
Which thou ere-while hast caroll'd on thy reed
Of mortal fabric. Amaryllis, smile,
And grace the guerdon with some courteous word.
Swain, from me receive the reed,
Poor the hand, tho' rich the meed;
Rich in sooth, yet such as merit
Bright as thine, may well inherit:
Thee, if fame aright reports,
The Dryads, in their sylvan sports
Found, and in a grotto nursed,
Where, to quench thine infant thirst,
Mnemosyne's immortal daughters
Fed thee with delicious waters,
Brought from Aganippe's spring;
While around on busy wing
With murmured sounds thine ear to please,
Old Hymettus senThis bees.
There, ere yet thy youth was ended,
Two celestial powers contended,
Phaebus, and the blue-eyed Maid,
To teach thee in that sacred shade;
Them alike with smiles caressing,
Thou from each an equal blessing,
Favour'd shepherd, didst attain:
She, if legends do not feign,
Thy stern preceptress, Attic Pallas,
Led thee to that awful palace,
Far surpassing human wits,
In which divine Astraea sits
Balancing those perfect scales
Where Justice evermore prevails.
Next the god, supreme Apollo,
Smiled, and beckoned thee to follow
To those pleasant laurel walks
Where Harmony with Science talks,
And bade thee climb the forked hill,
Whence streams of melody distil;
By whose cool and shady brinks
Meditation sits and thinks.
Such the lore the Gods have taught thee,
Then take the prize that lore has brought thee;
Rich indeed, but such as merit,
Bright as thine, may well inherit;
Now in more prevailing verse,
Gentle swains, his praise rehearse.
CHORUS .
Happiest he of happy mortals,
Number'd of the Muse's train,
Who, within her sacred portals,
Vows, nor ever vows in vain.
Lovely shadows flit before him,
Notes of rapture hover o'er him,
Thro' his charmed soul diffusing,
Blissful visions, holy musing,
Dreams and unexpressive trances,
Seldom known to human fancies.
Happiest he of happy mortals,
Number'd of the Muse's train,
Who, within her sacred portals,
Vows, nor ever vows in vain.
MENALCAS .
Well have you sung his praise. But now enough
Of human merits, Swains! and human praise,
Your friendly verse has told; now tune your reeds,
And pitch your music to some higher tone,
That we may close this glad solemnity,
With pastoral sacrifice and pious rites
Meet for Arcadian worship. At yon altar,
Present your offerings to propitious Peace,
And with some sweet hymn invocate her name.
O gentle Peace, of heavenly birth,
Once more return to bless the earth,
Thy smile shall raise our drooping flowers,
Thy breath revive our wasted bowers,
And where thy footsteps print the ground,
A paradise shall bloom around.
Yet once more from before the throne of Jove,
Where long a mourning supplicant I stood,
A ministrant spirit to the wise and good,
I come and join on earth your rites of love.
For tho' to realms above
By guilty rage and direful passion driven,
Yet from that brightest heaven,
Did these green fields, these fair expanded skies,
With all their aspects of ten thousand dyes,
My ceaseless thoughts, my fond affections move.
Now, with delighted eyes,
I see the storms are fled, and all the scene,
Glows with a livelier hue, a brighter green;
Like thunder heard afar,
At distance rolls the horrid peal of war,
And following in the rear,
Bursts the mild blaze of day, and renovates the year.
Joy, joy to Earth, thro' all her peopled shores,
Thro' valleys, fields, and floods,
By mountains, lakes, and woods,
And cheerful hamlets bosom'd deep in shade,
Cities throng-spir'd, and busy haunts of trade;
For now no more she with sad sobs deplores
Her ripening vineyards on the plain,
That trail'd their tendril shoots in vain,
Nor anxious sees her golden harvests wave,
Doubtful, if human hand the precious boon receive.
By Seine's green banks, by Arno's line,
By Thames's tower'd and crested side,
By Danube's flood, by rapid Rhine,
So oft with blood and slaughter dyed;
Now cheerful throngs, and bevies gay,
Enjoy the long, long holiday;
Nor longer fear the fiend of war,
That calls her chosen youth afar,
And dooms the victim, in his hour of prime,
Thro' Moloch-fires to pass, and die without a crime.
Joy, joy to Earth, and joy to these,
Who round my favour'd altar stand,
With chosen rites my presence grace,
And form for me the chosen band;
For well I know full many a sigh
From these green shades ascended high,
That once again on earthly ground,
My guiltless footsteps might be found.
And lo! I come the world to bless
With lengthened years of happiness;
Nor shall my partial love disdain,
For thee, fair Nymph, to raise the strain;
But ever o'er thy favour'd head,
My wings of guardian power I'll spread,
And, pleased from thee no more to part,
Will place my altar in thy heart.
A PASTORAL MASQUE ,
IN ONE ACT.
SCENE.
Enter M ERSEY , in an azure robe, crowned with reeds .
This is the spot I seek; for as I lay,
Basking at ease upon my sunny shore,
A rumour reach'd mine ear of distant play,
Of dance and festive sport,
Quainter than ever shepherd held before
To grace his rustic lady's holiday;
And to this grove, it said, there would resort,
Bevies of damsels, fairer far than those
Who sport at eve upon my level tide,
Naiads and nymphs, or in my coral bowers
Sleep on the soft sea flowers,
Or thro' the wave on rapid dolphins glide.
This when I heard, I rose
And bade my tritons fill my flowing urn,
Till I should home return,
For I would forth to see those pageant shows.
But, first, from out their haunts in sea or spring,
Came Amphitrite's train, and on the edge
Of my smooth stream, wove from the rushy sedge
And fresh pluck'd reeds, a chaplet green and gay,
For me, the brother of their ocean king;
Then did I hither bend my way,
Painfully toiling up yon slow ascent,
Thro' meadows, lanes, and fields of ripening corn,
More than one long and unaccustomed mile;
And now, with labour worn,
Here will I rest my limbs, already spent,
With mickle age and care — be this my seat awhile.
I know these woods and yonder mansion well,
For, from my silver stream that winds along
In you broad ring, oft have I view'd this shade,
Where now they tell me doth a shepherd dwell,
Aged, in sooth, yet blythe withal and strong,
Gentle of mood, and unsurpass'd in song:
Such was the tale, told by a Naiad maid.
She, when the summer sun had travell'd high,
(Some short way westward from this green retreat),
Slumber'd awhile, oppress'd with summer heat;
And waking, found her silver urn was dry.
Then while she wept, there chanc'd to wander by
This aged shepherd, jolly, then, and young;
He saw her grief, and sooth'd her with a song,
So sweet, the Naiad check'd her sobs to hear,
And ever since she holds his music dear,
And tells the story to her sister throng.
I heard it too, and heard the shepherd's name,
Menalcas, not unknown to me before;
For on my silent shore,
The stripling lov'd to try his early reed,
And sung so deftly, that Jove's daughters came,
The immortal Muses, from their heavenly court,
Who ever since upon my banks disport,
Singing my praises with no vulgar fame.
Then did I bless him for the pious deed,
And vow'd by this same trident which I hold,
Long as he dwelt within my watery fence,
To feed his pastures and protecThis fold,
And do his age some special reverence —
In virtue of my vow I come to day,
With the best means I can to grace this frolic play.
Fair signs and omens fortunate I bring;
For as last night I sat upon a steep,
Marking the reflux of my murmuring stream,
At the dark hour when weary mortals sleep,
A sudden glory seem'd on high to beam,
Likest some meteor, or the break of morn;
I look'd upon the skies
And saw a galaxy of happy stars
In such sweet conversation commercing,
As never met before my wondering eyes;
" Oh! happy one, " I cried,
" The mortal under that sweet influence born! "
Then straightway to the Prophet God I hied,
Old Proteus, shrewdest dweller of the main,
Whom tending on his sea-calves soon I found,
And brib'd him that strange portent to expound,
With pearls as rich in worth as any set
Round the broad rim of Neptune's coronet.
" Dost thou not know, " the ancient seer replied,
" That nineteen times that sign has now been seen
" Marking the birth-day of Menalcas' pride,
" Young Amaryllis, our Arcadian queen.
" Who, in this happy region, has not heard.
" Of Amaryllis? — woods and valleys ring
" With Amaryllis' name, and shepherds sing
" Her favorite praises to their fleecy herd.
" Well do they know the bright auspicious sign
" That ushers in the feast-day of her birth;
" And, in their pastoral mirth,
" Salute with songs the gracious harbinger,
" Wreathing the fragrant myrtle and the vine,
" Mixed with the laurel's sacred leaf, for her;
" And sprinkle flowers, and in their uncouth phrase,
" Bespeak her happy thoughts and length of days. "
So spoke the hoary sire — but, hark! I hear
The sound of merry steps approaching near;
I will betake me to yon shady green,
Where I may see their pranks, myself unseen.
Enter, on one side , M ENALCAS attended by a chorus of six shepherds; on the other side , Amaryllis attended by a chorus of six shepherdesses . — M ENALCAS and Amaryllis seat themselves on a rustic throne .
Amaryllis .
Posies such as summer yields,
Gather'd in Arcadian fields;
Honied sweets and painted blossom,
Not unworthy Flora's bosom;
Lady, to thy throne we bring,
Take our humble offering.
Summer fruitage, ripe and sound,
In Hesperian gardens found,
Brightest hue and richest flavour,
Good Pomona's earliest favour,
To thy rustic throne we bring,
Shepherd, take our offering.
MENALCAS .
Thanks, courteous neighbours! shepherdesses fair,
And gentle youths, much thanks. My daughter too,
In honour of whose natal day you come
With these rare fancies, shall return you thanks
As heart-warm as my own.
AMARYLLIS .
Indeed I do,
Great thanks for great deservings! may our gods,
Sylvan and Pan, reward you!
MENALCAS .
Listen, friends,
For I have tidings of no common sort,
Such as will stir the youth of Arcady
To jealous strife and rivalship of song,
Beyond all former measure. — You must know,
That, walking lately in this very grove,
(The sun had sunk beneath yon western hills,
And in his place the modest star of eve
Held his appointed watch) I wandered on,
Intent to read the elemental signs,
As I am wont to do, of foul and fair,
Stormy or calm, and musing on the course
Of household cares, of cattle or of herb,
As thrifty shepherds use. These were my thoughts,
When I was startled with the neighbouring sound
Of music, like those notes we sometimes hear
Amongst the mountains, which, our old men say,
None but great Pan can utter. — Fill'd with awe,
I follow'd where the music seem'd to lead,
And found the god reclin'd beneath a tree
Breathing into a pipe of simple reeds
That heavenly cadence: mute I stood awhile
To hear his harmony; but when I turn'd,
Fearing to mar his pastime, he arose,
And call'd me by my name, " Receive this pipe, "
So spoke the godhead, " for thy pious care
And daily worship of my sylvan altar,
A well earned gift. " — This was the pipe he gave:
Not sweeter his who, on the fruitful plains
Of Sicily, first tuned his Doric lay;
Nor his, the Mantuan, when Hesperia's hills
Hail'd his chaste wood-notes; nor that mournful swain,
Who, with forc'd fingers pluck'd the berries crude,
And wept young Lycid on his watery bier.
Now call our shepherds to the vocal strife,
Bid each prepare his song of choicest phrase
To win the prize, this pipe, a pipe divine;
And, more to grace it, taken from the hand
Of Amaryllis, Lady of the day.
Call, gentle youths, till hill and dale resound,
Your tuneful challenge, that our absent swains,
(If any yet be absent), may resort
To try this day their untaught minstrelsy.
CHORUS .
Hear, shepherds, hear!
From grove or dusky dingle,
Where light and shadow mingle;
On lofty down or mountain,
Or by the side of fountain,
Hear, shepherds, hear!
By forest or by fallow,
Deep lake or streamlet shallow;
On meadows, moors, and commons,
Hear and obey our summons,
Hear, shepherds, hear!
Thus before the throne of beauty,
Bending low in humble duty,
Lady, your devoted Thyrsis
Brings the tribute of his verses.
Hail to thee too, old Menalcas,
Sager than the prophet Calchas,
Who, as says the ancient story,
Harp'd by that blind bard of glory,
Had so beautiful a daughter,
Grecian chiefs in battle sought her:
Yet that far-fam'd, fair Briseis,
Was not so fam'd, and fair as she is.
Foolish swains, why bring ye posies,
Lilies twin'd with blushing roses,
When your roses, and your lilies,
Lose their charms near Amaryllis;
Nor can heaps of yellow amber
Hoarded in old Neptune's chamber,
Vie in fragrance with the tresses,
Which that crown of roses presses.
Cease, fond swains, your vain adorning —
Eyelids that disclose the morning,
Beaming blessings in its brightness;
Teeth that shame the pearl in whiteness;
Cheeks upon whose soft suffusion,
Beauty lavish'd large profusion,
Winning sweetness, graceful stature,
Every charm of bounteous nature,
In heavenly union blending ever,
Laugh to scorn your vain endeavour.
With form so fair, with charms so sainted,
Was never elder age acquainted;
Less beauteous she, the hapless maiden,
Who on the lilied banks of Ladon,
And thro' Ida's shady cover,
Mourn'd her faithless Phrygian lover;
When thro' many a toil and danger,
He sought and found the fatal stranger;
Nor they so fair who erst descended,
And before that swain contended,
Three bright denizens of heaven,
To whom that rich fruit should be given,
Snatch'd from the devouring warden,
Of the fam'd Hesperian garden.
Lady! may these playful greetings,
Oft be sung at future meetings!
Oft as the gay years returning
Usher in thy natal morning.
Then, as now, may frolic pleasures
Round thee flit in airy measures;
Mirth that every care effaces,
Leading on the laughing graces,
With youth that near thee loves to linger;
While the Nine with linked finger,
Threading light their mystic mazes,
Sing for aye thy chosen praises.
MENALCAS .
Young swain, if pert conceits, a flippant tongue,
And gaudy trappings of external pride,
Might claim the prize, then were it justly thine.
Hence! and disrobe thee of that rich attire,
That specious gilding, and those pompous plumes,
And in a humble herdsman's coarser weeds,
Learn to indite a less conceited song;
Till then, an exile from these quiet shades,
Wander elsewhere. — Shall this be so, my friends?
CHORUS .
Hence! from this quiet shade,
Nor think that sprightly phrase and glittering hues
May win the timid Muse,
To crown thee with her flowers that never fade.
She shuns the rude offence,
The ready challenge, and obtrusive mien;
In cities seldom seen,
And only charm'd from her obscure recess
By truth and tenderness;
If these thou canst not boast — vain shepherd, hence!
Hail! old Menalcas, and our lady fair,
Queen Amaryllis, maid of beauty rare;
See Corydon has donn'd his Sunday coats
Leaving for you the herding of his goats;
And now begins his ditty, quaint and trim,
In hopes you mean to give the pipe to him.
Ask any shepherd in this buxom ring,
They all will tell you Corydon can sing;
And more than that, when on my pipe I play,
Both birds and beasts will answer to my lay;
For as in yonder wood I strain'd my throat,
An owl enchanted hooted to the note;
And when one night I caroll'd to the moon,
My sheep-dog, Hector, howl'd the very tune;
Then give the pipe to me, the only man
Worthy to play upon the pipe of Pan.
Hold me not cheap for this my uncouth gear:
What plumage hath the thrush, who sings so clear?
One colour only of unseemly dusk,
And tender filberts have an homely husk —
Of sheep and goats I have a goodly fold,
And live like shepherds in the age of gold;
Sometimes into the woods I drive my swine,
To feed upon the mast of beech and pine,
Whilst I pursue the squirrels in the trees,
Or search the grass for nests of humble bees.
No goatherd in our village better knows,
Where grow the choicest crabs, the blackest sloes,
Pignuts and filberts, dainty haws and hips,
And blackberries that stain the eater's lips;
Curds too, and cheese, are no bad fare I think,
Nor buttermilk and whey unsavoury drink.
I know all sylvan pastimes — who can spin,
Neater than me, cockchaffers on a pin?
Then give the pipe to me, the only man
Worthy to play upon the pipe of Pan.
What swain, but me, will Amaryllis choose?
What kindness, then, will Corydon refuse?
Then will I milk the cows, and press the cheese,
And when she wants the honey kill the bees;
And make her crowns of daffodils and daisies,
And in my bravest sonnets sing her praises.
No nymph is like my Amaryllis fair,
Nor can the heifer's eye with hers compare;
Red are her lips as cherries, and her cheeks,
As ruddy as the apple's sun-burnt streaks;
Fragrant as thyme, as honey-suckles sweet,
Light as young fawns, as timid lev'rets fleet;
Grateful as tansy, sage, or peppermint,
But cold as snow, and hard of heart as flint!
Thus will I sing with each returning year,
Hailing thy birth-day, born without a peer,
And trill thy praise with such surpassing arts,
That swains shall break their pipes and maids their hearts:
Then give the pipe to me, the only man
Worthy to play upon the pipe of Pan.
MENALCAS .
O blind and doting vanity of men,
That hath such power to hide us from ourselves;
And where our knowledge should be most at home,
Makes most a stranger of it. — Foolish swain,
Is there no pipe to suit thy rugged lip
Save this which Pan bestows? Go search the field,
And from some hollow stem of herb or tree,
Hemlock or wither'd elder, frame a pipe
Whereon to jar thy rustic ribaldry;
And for that thy presumption loudly calls
For due correction — hear what we decree!
Hence to the rocky frontiers of our land,
Where thou shalt sojourn for a year and day,
Herding thy goats in painful solitude.
Speak, gentle shepherds, if this penance please ye?
CHORUS .
Banish hence the rash intruder,
Harsh of speech and bold of mien;
Homelier swain, or accent ruder,
All Arcadia hath not seen.
So reward his heedless daring,
Who profanes the sacred song;
Gods and men, with hand unsparing,
Punish the presumptuous wrong.
Witness him, whose haughty vaunting,
Challeng'd Phaebus to the strife,
Dryads saw him bound and panting,
Bleed beneath his rival's knife.
Banish hence the rash intruder,
Harsh of speech and bold of mien;
Homelier swain, or accent ruder,
All Arcadia hath not seen.
Fresh from the forest, with a hunter's speed,
Let Silvio bow before that heavenly look,
No shepherd he to tune a whistling reed,
Or idly twine with flowers a harmless crook;
Nor suits it him beside some purling brook,
His silly sheep, a sillier swain, to tend,
Who with his horn the mountain echoes shook,
And every sylvan shade from end to end.
Against the flying deer my bow I bend,
Or loose my rapid greyhounds to the course,
With breathless speed the toilsome hill ascend,
Swim the broad stream or track it to its source;
Or wage a worthier war with brutal force,
The wolf ferocious, and the surly boar;
Oft on this spear they writhe with howlings hoarse,
And breathe their felon lives in floods of gore.
Such be my daily sports; yet not the more
Fear I our lovely lady's dread reproving,
For not to me the muse denies her lore,
Nor scorns to meet me in my lonely roving;
Full oft in huntress garb, with smile approving,
She joins my pastime at the break of day,
And oft with whisper'd notes and ditties moving,
Beguiles my lone and melancholy way.
Then while along our homeward path we stray,
My wayward temper will she fondly charm,
To drop a tear of pity o'er my prey,
And half repent me of the ruthless harm;
And more my yielding spirit to disarm,
Her airy spells upon my fancy flinging,
A thousand happy visions round me swarm,
Of Amaryllis, and of beauty singing.
Where scented woodbine round yon bowers is clinging,
She bade me fashion some harmonious line,
Which to the lady of our worship bringing,
Might please with worthy verse her ear divine.
Peace and contentment (by the tuneful Nine,
So was I taught to weave the busy measure,)
And years of long prosperity be thine,
And happier birth-days of increasing pleasure!
May Flora crown thee with her flowery treasure,
And Ceres bless thee with her golden sheaf,
And Pan protect thee in Arcadian leisure,
From every canker'd care and noisome grief!
More did I learn — but let my song be brief —
I hear my bloodhounds in the forest bay;
Let others wait for pipe or laurel leaf,
I pant for other sports — away, away!
MENALCAS .
Light and discourteous youth! no pipe he claims,
Nor pipe, indeed, deserves — timely he fled,
Else had I chid him with no slight rebuke,
Who dares with savage games and violent,
To desolate our plains — yet, gentle friends,
Some admonition he may chance to hear,
If loudly chaunted in your moral lay.
CHORUS .
Hark! whence arise
That deep drawn sob and piteous sighing?
The stricken victim faint and dying
For pity cries;
Faster now his life-blood gushes,
Now his feebler groans he hushes,
And now he dies!
Ah! who can know
What feelings throb, what sorrows languish,
In that unutterable anguish,
And speechless woe?
If this be so,
Go, and mourn thy rash misdoing,
The wounds thou mad'st, with tears bedewing,
Go, Hunter, go!
Nurs'd in the woodland solitude,
How shall a shepherd swain intrude,
Where Mersey's fairest nymphs resort,
And beauty holds her lavish court?
With humble hand yet may he bring
The native flowers that gem the spring,
All the sweets this land discloses,
Bound in wreaths of weeping roses.
Here shall the purple hyacinth shed,
Perfumes from her drooping head;
And violets breathe upon the air,
Floating fragrance rich and rare;
The summer rose, and eglantine
Shall their striving sweets combine
Harebells from the mountain's brow,
Lilies from the vale below,
Lady, o'er thy youthful head
Shall their choicest odours shed.
Here shall no luckless herb be found,
Ravish'd from the Colchian ground,
By witching spells and magic rite
Whisper'd in the ear of night;
Nor that sad flower whose deadly bloom
Brought Amaranthus to the tomb;
But such as chaste Ianthis loves,
And Hesperus, vestal-rob'd, approves;
These shall their choicest sweets display
To crown thee on thy natal day.
On thee may blue-ey'd Health attend,
And all her favorite blessings lend;
Oft be it thine at early dawn
To meet her on the dewy lawn;
To eastern hills the goddess leads,
And the morn-enchanted meads,
Where the lark on hovering wings
His pealing notes at heaven's-gate sings;
And as thou tread'st the blooming ground,
Ever at thy side be found
Fair Content of sweetest mien,
Smiling at each changing scene:
As fleet the hours of life away,
Ever cheerful, ever gay,
Of power the suffering heart to bless,
And shed unsullied happiness.
Nor yet despise our humble lot,
Nor scorn the shepherd's homely cot,
Nor yet that sweeter task forego,
To soothe the pangs of human woe;
To wipe Affliction's silent tear,
And bid a brighter world appear!
So Joy shall crown thy natal day,
And Friendship all her charms display;
Light revels lead the rosy hours,
And music fill the echoing bowers,
Until it reach the silver sphere,
And fond Urania bend to hear.
Then weave the dance and pour the song,
These summer-blossom'd woods among,
And catch the young joys as they spring
Ere time shall shake his ruffled wing!
Soon shall another race appear,
To revel thro' the blooming year,
With fairy feet to beat the ground,
And wake the laughing echoes round:
Yet shall they see no brighter time,
Tho' bounding full in youthful prime,
Than this our passing hours display
While love and friendship crown the day.
MANALCAS .
Sweet is thy song, young swain, and on the ear
Rests with a cadence softer than the sound
Of distant waterfalls: next to our Pan,
Thine were the first reward. If he should win
A bearded goat, the ewe were surely thine;
And were the ewe his prize, her playful lamb
Would be thy well-earn'd lot. Then take the pipe,
And may our Pan, who loves thee, bless the gift,
Teaching thee strains as musical as those
Which thou ere-while hast caroll'd on thy reed
Of mortal fabric. Amaryllis, smile,
And grace the guerdon with some courteous word.
Swain, from me receive the reed,
Poor the hand, tho' rich the meed;
Rich in sooth, yet such as merit
Bright as thine, may well inherit:
Thee, if fame aright reports,
The Dryads, in their sylvan sports
Found, and in a grotto nursed,
Where, to quench thine infant thirst,
Mnemosyne's immortal daughters
Fed thee with delicious waters,
Brought from Aganippe's spring;
While around on busy wing
With murmured sounds thine ear to please,
Old Hymettus senThis bees.
There, ere yet thy youth was ended,
Two celestial powers contended,
Phaebus, and the blue-eyed Maid,
To teach thee in that sacred shade;
Them alike with smiles caressing,
Thou from each an equal blessing,
Favour'd shepherd, didst attain:
She, if legends do not feign,
Thy stern preceptress, Attic Pallas,
Led thee to that awful palace,
Far surpassing human wits,
In which divine Astraea sits
Balancing those perfect scales
Where Justice evermore prevails.
Next the god, supreme Apollo,
Smiled, and beckoned thee to follow
To those pleasant laurel walks
Where Harmony with Science talks,
And bade thee climb the forked hill,
Whence streams of melody distil;
By whose cool and shady brinks
Meditation sits and thinks.
Such the lore the Gods have taught thee,
Then take the prize that lore has brought thee;
Rich indeed, but such as merit,
Bright as thine, may well inherit;
Now in more prevailing verse,
Gentle swains, his praise rehearse.
CHORUS .
Happiest he of happy mortals,
Number'd of the Muse's train,
Who, within her sacred portals,
Vows, nor ever vows in vain.
Lovely shadows flit before him,
Notes of rapture hover o'er him,
Thro' his charmed soul diffusing,
Blissful visions, holy musing,
Dreams and unexpressive trances,
Seldom known to human fancies.
Happiest he of happy mortals,
Number'd of the Muse's train,
Who, within her sacred portals,
Vows, nor ever vows in vain.
MENALCAS .
Well have you sung his praise. But now enough
Of human merits, Swains! and human praise,
Your friendly verse has told; now tune your reeds,
And pitch your music to some higher tone,
That we may close this glad solemnity,
With pastoral sacrifice and pious rites
Meet for Arcadian worship. At yon altar,
Present your offerings to propitious Peace,
And with some sweet hymn invocate her name.
O gentle Peace, of heavenly birth,
Once more return to bless the earth,
Thy smile shall raise our drooping flowers,
Thy breath revive our wasted bowers,
And where thy footsteps print the ground,
A paradise shall bloom around.
Yet once more from before the throne of Jove,
Where long a mourning supplicant I stood,
A ministrant spirit to the wise and good,
I come and join on earth your rites of love.
For tho' to realms above
By guilty rage and direful passion driven,
Yet from that brightest heaven,
Did these green fields, these fair expanded skies,
With all their aspects of ten thousand dyes,
My ceaseless thoughts, my fond affections move.
Now, with delighted eyes,
I see the storms are fled, and all the scene,
Glows with a livelier hue, a brighter green;
Like thunder heard afar,
At distance rolls the horrid peal of war,
And following in the rear,
Bursts the mild blaze of day, and renovates the year.
Joy, joy to Earth, thro' all her peopled shores,
Thro' valleys, fields, and floods,
By mountains, lakes, and woods,
And cheerful hamlets bosom'd deep in shade,
Cities throng-spir'd, and busy haunts of trade;
For now no more she with sad sobs deplores
Her ripening vineyards on the plain,
That trail'd their tendril shoots in vain,
Nor anxious sees her golden harvests wave,
Doubtful, if human hand the precious boon receive.
By Seine's green banks, by Arno's line,
By Thames's tower'd and crested side,
By Danube's flood, by rapid Rhine,
So oft with blood and slaughter dyed;
Now cheerful throngs, and bevies gay,
Enjoy the long, long holiday;
Nor longer fear the fiend of war,
That calls her chosen youth afar,
And dooms the victim, in his hour of prime,
Thro' Moloch-fires to pass, and die without a crime.
Joy, joy to Earth, and joy to these,
Who round my favour'd altar stand,
With chosen rites my presence grace,
And form for me the chosen band;
For well I know full many a sigh
From these green shades ascended high,
That once again on earthly ground,
My guiltless footsteps might be found.
And lo! I come the world to bless
With lengthened years of happiness;
Nor shall my partial love disdain,
For thee, fair Nymph, to raise the strain;
But ever o'er thy favour'd head,
My wings of guardian power I'll spread,
And, pleased from thee no more to part,
Will place my altar in thy heart.
IN ONE ACT.
SCENE.
Enter M ERSEY , in an azure robe, crowned with reeds .
This is the spot I seek; for as I lay,
Basking at ease upon my sunny shore,
A rumour reach'd mine ear of distant play,
Of dance and festive sport,
Quainter than ever shepherd held before
To grace his rustic lady's holiday;
And to this grove, it said, there would resort,
Bevies of damsels, fairer far than those
Who sport at eve upon my level tide,
Naiads and nymphs, or in my coral bowers
Sleep on the soft sea flowers,
Or thro' the wave on rapid dolphins glide.
This when I heard, I rose
And bade my tritons fill my flowing urn,
Till I should home return,
For I would forth to see those pageant shows.
But, first, from out their haunts in sea or spring,
Came Amphitrite's train, and on the edge
Of my smooth stream, wove from the rushy sedge
And fresh pluck'd reeds, a chaplet green and gay,
For me, the brother of their ocean king;
Then did I hither bend my way,
Painfully toiling up yon slow ascent,
Thro' meadows, lanes, and fields of ripening corn,
More than one long and unaccustomed mile;
And now, with labour worn,
Here will I rest my limbs, already spent,
With mickle age and care — be this my seat awhile.
I know these woods and yonder mansion well,
For, from my silver stream that winds along
In you broad ring, oft have I view'd this shade,
Where now they tell me doth a shepherd dwell,
Aged, in sooth, yet blythe withal and strong,
Gentle of mood, and unsurpass'd in song:
Such was the tale, told by a Naiad maid.
She, when the summer sun had travell'd high,
(Some short way westward from this green retreat),
Slumber'd awhile, oppress'd with summer heat;
And waking, found her silver urn was dry.
Then while she wept, there chanc'd to wander by
This aged shepherd, jolly, then, and young;
He saw her grief, and sooth'd her with a song,
So sweet, the Naiad check'd her sobs to hear,
And ever since she holds his music dear,
And tells the story to her sister throng.
I heard it too, and heard the shepherd's name,
Menalcas, not unknown to me before;
For on my silent shore,
The stripling lov'd to try his early reed,
And sung so deftly, that Jove's daughters came,
The immortal Muses, from their heavenly court,
Who ever since upon my banks disport,
Singing my praises with no vulgar fame.
Then did I bless him for the pious deed,
And vow'd by this same trident which I hold,
Long as he dwelt within my watery fence,
To feed his pastures and protecThis fold,
And do his age some special reverence —
In virtue of my vow I come to day,
With the best means I can to grace this frolic play.
Fair signs and omens fortunate I bring;
For as last night I sat upon a steep,
Marking the reflux of my murmuring stream,
At the dark hour when weary mortals sleep,
A sudden glory seem'd on high to beam,
Likest some meteor, or the break of morn;
I look'd upon the skies
And saw a galaxy of happy stars
In such sweet conversation commercing,
As never met before my wondering eyes;
" Oh! happy one, " I cried,
" The mortal under that sweet influence born! "
Then straightway to the Prophet God I hied,
Old Proteus, shrewdest dweller of the main,
Whom tending on his sea-calves soon I found,
And brib'd him that strange portent to expound,
With pearls as rich in worth as any set
Round the broad rim of Neptune's coronet.
" Dost thou not know, " the ancient seer replied,
" That nineteen times that sign has now been seen
" Marking the birth-day of Menalcas' pride,
" Young Amaryllis, our Arcadian queen.
" Who, in this happy region, has not heard.
" Of Amaryllis? — woods and valleys ring
" With Amaryllis' name, and shepherds sing
" Her favorite praises to their fleecy herd.
" Well do they know the bright auspicious sign
" That ushers in the feast-day of her birth;
" And, in their pastoral mirth,
" Salute with songs the gracious harbinger,
" Wreathing the fragrant myrtle and the vine,
" Mixed with the laurel's sacred leaf, for her;
" And sprinkle flowers, and in their uncouth phrase,
" Bespeak her happy thoughts and length of days. "
So spoke the hoary sire — but, hark! I hear
The sound of merry steps approaching near;
I will betake me to yon shady green,
Where I may see their pranks, myself unseen.
Enter, on one side , M ENALCAS attended by a chorus of six shepherds; on the other side , Amaryllis attended by a chorus of six shepherdesses . — M ENALCAS and Amaryllis seat themselves on a rustic throne .
Amaryllis .
Posies such as summer yields,
Gather'd in Arcadian fields;
Honied sweets and painted blossom,
Not unworthy Flora's bosom;
Lady, to thy throne we bring,
Take our humble offering.
Summer fruitage, ripe and sound,
In Hesperian gardens found,
Brightest hue and richest flavour,
Good Pomona's earliest favour,
To thy rustic throne we bring,
Shepherd, take our offering.
MENALCAS .
Thanks, courteous neighbours! shepherdesses fair,
And gentle youths, much thanks. My daughter too,
In honour of whose natal day you come
With these rare fancies, shall return you thanks
As heart-warm as my own.
AMARYLLIS .
Indeed I do,
Great thanks for great deservings! may our gods,
Sylvan and Pan, reward you!
MENALCAS .
Listen, friends,
For I have tidings of no common sort,
Such as will stir the youth of Arcady
To jealous strife and rivalship of song,
Beyond all former measure. — You must know,
That, walking lately in this very grove,
(The sun had sunk beneath yon western hills,
And in his place the modest star of eve
Held his appointed watch) I wandered on,
Intent to read the elemental signs,
As I am wont to do, of foul and fair,
Stormy or calm, and musing on the course
Of household cares, of cattle or of herb,
As thrifty shepherds use. These were my thoughts,
When I was startled with the neighbouring sound
Of music, like those notes we sometimes hear
Amongst the mountains, which, our old men say,
None but great Pan can utter. — Fill'd with awe,
I follow'd where the music seem'd to lead,
And found the god reclin'd beneath a tree
Breathing into a pipe of simple reeds
That heavenly cadence: mute I stood awhile
To hear his harmony; but when I turn'd,
Fearing to mar his pastime, he arose,
And call'd me by my name, " Receive this pipe, "
So spoke the godhead, " for thy pious care
And daily worship of my sylvan altar,
A well earned gift. " — This was the pipe he gave:
Not sweeter his who, on the fruitful plains
Of Sicily, first tuned his Doric lay;
Nor his, the Mantuan, when Hesperia's hills
Hail'd his chaste wood-notes; nor that mournful swain,
Who, with forc'd fingers pluck'd the berries crude,
And wept young Lycid on his watery bier.
Now call our shepherds to the vocal strife,
Bid each prepare his song of choicest phrase
To win the prize, this pipe, a pipe divine;
And, more to grace it, taken from the hand
Of Amaryllis, Lady of the day.
Call, gentle youths, till hill and dale resound,
Your tuneful challenge, that our absent swains,
(If any yet be absent), may resort
To try this day their untaught minstrelsy.
CHORUS .
Hear, shepherds, hear!
From grove or dusky dingle,
Where light and shadow mingle;
On lofty down or mountain,
Or by the side of fountain,
Hear, shepherds, hear!
By forest or by fallow,
Deep lake or streamlet shallow;
On meadows, moors, and commons,
Hear and obey our summons,
Hear, shepherds, hear!
Thus before the throne of beauty,
Bending low in humble duty,
Lady, your devoted Thyrsis
Brings the tribute of his verses.
Hail to thee too, old Menalcas,
Sager than the prophet Calchas,
Who, as says the ancient story,
Harp'd by that blind bard of glory,
Had so beautiful a daughter,
Grecian chiefs in battle sought her:
Yet that far-fam'd, fair Briseis,
Was not so fam'd, and fair as she is.
Foolish swains, why bring ye posies,
Lilies twin'd with blushing roses,
When your roses, and your lilies,
Lose their charms near Amaryllis;
Nor can heaps of yellow amber
Hoarded in old Neptune's chamber,
Vie in fragrance with the tresses,
Which that crown of roses presses.
Cease, fond swains, your vain adorning —
Eyelids that disclose the morning,
Beaming blessings in its brightness;
Teeth that shame the pearl in whiteness;
Cheeks upon whose soft suffusion,
Beauty lavish'd large profusion,
Winning sweetness, graceful stature,
Every charm of bounteous nature,
In heavenly union blending ever,
Laugh to scorn your vain endeavour.
With form so fair, with charms so sainted,
Was never elder age acquainted;
Less beauteous she, the hapless maiden,
Who on the lilied banks of Ladon,
And thro' Ida's shady cover,
Mourn'd her faithless Phrygian lover;
When thro' many a toil and danger,
He sought and found the fatal stranger;
Nor they so fair who erst descended,
And before that swain contended,
Three bright denizens of heaven,
To whom that rich fruit should be given,
Snatch'd from the devouring warden,
Of the fam'd Hesperian garden.
Lady! may these playful greetings,
Oft be sung at future meetings!
Oft as the gay years returning
Usher in thy natal morning.
Then, as now, may frolic pleasures
Round thee flit in airy measures;
Mirth that every care effaces,
Leading on the laughing graces,
With youth that near thee loves to linger;
While the Nine with linked finger,
Threading light their mystic mazes,
Sing for aye thy chosen praises.
MENALCAS .
Young swain, if pert conceits, a flippant tongue,
And gaudy trappings of external pride,
Might claim the prize, then were it justly thine.
Hence! and disrobe thee of that rich attire,
That specious gilding, and those pompous plumes,
And in a humble herdsman's coarser weeds,
Learn to indite a less conceited song;
Till then, an exile from these quiet shades,
Wander elsewhere. — Shall this be so, my friends?
CHORUS .
Hence! from this quiet shade,
Nor think that sprightly phrase and glittering hues
May win the timid Muse,
To crown thee with her flowers that never fade.
She shuns the rude offence,
The ready challenge, and obtrusive mien;
In cities seldom seen,
And only charm'd from her obscure recess
By truth and tenderness;
If these thou canst not boast — vain shepherd, hence!
Hail! old Menalcas, and our lady fair,
Queen Amaryllis, maid of beauty rare;
See Corydon has donn'd his Sunday coats
Leaving for you the herding of his goats;
And now begins his ditty, quaint and trim,
In hopes you mean to give the pipe to him.
Ask any shepherd in this buxom ring,
They all will tell you Corydon can sing;
And more than that, when on my pipe I play,
Both birds and beasts will answer to my lay;
For as in yonder wood I strain'd my throat,
An owl enchanted hooted to the note;
And when one night I caroll'd to the moon,
My sheep-dog, Hector, howl'd the very tune;
Then give the pipe to me, the only man
Worthy to play upon the pipe of Pan.
Hold me not cheap for this my uncouth gear:
What plumage hath the thrush, who sings so clear?
One colour only of unseemly dusk,
And tender filberts have an homely husk —
Of sheep and goats I have a goodly fold,
And live like shepherds in the age of gold;
Sometimes into the woods I drive my swine,
To feed upon the mast of beech and pine,
Whilst I pursue the squirrels in the trees,
Or search the grass for nests of humble bees.
No goatherd in our village better knows,
Where grow the choicest crabs, the blackest sloes,
Pignuts and filberts, dainty haws and hips,
And blackberries that stain the eater's lips;
Curds too, and cheese, are no bad fare I think,
Nor buttermilk and whey unsavoury drink.
I know all sylvan pastimes — who can spin,
Neater than me, cockchaffers on a pin?
Then give the pipe to me, the only man
Worthy to play upon the pipe of Pan.
What swain, but me, will Amaryllis choose?
What kindness, then, will Corydon refuse?
Then will I milk the cows, and press the cheese,
And when she wants the honey kill the bees;
And make her crowns of daffodils and daisies,
And in my bravest sonnets sing her praises.
No nymph is like my Amaryllis fair,
Nor can the heifer's eye with hers compare;
Red are her lips as cherries, and her cheeks,
As ruddy as the apple's sun-burnt streaks;
Fragrant as thyme, as honey-suckles sweet,
Light as young fawns, as timid lev'rets fleet;
Grateful as tansy, sage, or peppermint,
But cold as snow, and hard of heart as flint!
Thus will I sing with each returning year,
Hailing thy birth-day, born without a peer,
And trill thy praise with such surpassing arts,
That swains shall break their pipes and maids their hearts:
Then give the pipe to me, the only man
Worthy to play upon the pipe of Pan.
MENALCAS .
O blind and doting vanity of men,
That hath such power to hide us from ourselves;
And where our knowledge should be most at home,
Makes most a stranger of it. — Foolish swain,
Is there no pipe to suit thy rugged lip
Save this which Pan bestows? Go search the field,
And from some hollow stem of herb or tree,
Hemlock or wither'd elder, frame a pipe
Whereon to jar thy rustic ribaldry;
And for that thy presumption loudly calls
For due correction — hear what we decree!
Hence to the rocky frontiers of our land,
Where thou shalt sojourn for a year and day,
Herding thy goats in painful solitude.
Speak, gentle shepherds, if this penance please ye?
CHORUS .
Banish hence the rash intruder,
Harsh of speech and bold of mien;
Homelier swain, or accent ruder,
All Arcadia hath not seen.
So reward his heedless daring,
Who profanes the sacred song;
Gods and men, with hand unsparing,
Punish the presumptuous wrong.
Witness him, whose haughty vaunting,
Challeng'd Phaebus to the strife,
Dryads saw him bound and panting,
Bleed beneath his rival's knife.
Banish hence the rash intruder,
Harsh of speech and bold of mien;
Homelier swain, or accent ruder,
All Arcadia hath not seen.
Fresh from the forest, with a hunter's speed,
Let Silvio bow before that heavenly look,
No shepherd he to tune a whistling reed,
Or idly twine with flowers a harmless crook;
Nor suits it him beside some purling brook,
His silly sheep, a sillier swain, to tend,
Who with his horn the mountain echoes shook,
And every sylvan shade from end to end.
Against the flying deer my bow I bend,
Or loose my rapid greyhounds to the course,
With breathless speed the toilsome hill ascend,
Swim the broad stream or track it to its source;
Or wage a worthier war with brutal force,
The wolf ferocious, and the surly boar;
Oft on this spear they writhe with howlings hoarse,
And breathe their felon lives in floods of gore.
Such be my daily sports; yet not the more
Fear I our lovely lady's dread reproving,
For not to me the muse denies her lore,
Nor scorns to meet me in my lonely roving;
Full oft in huntress garb, with smile approving,
She joins my pastime at the break of day,
And oft with whisper'd notes and ditties moving,
Beguiles my lone and melancholy way.
Then while along our homeward path we stray,
My wayward temper will she fondly charm,
To drop a tear of pity o'er my prey,
And half repent me of the ruthless harm;
And more my yielding spirit to disarm,
Her airy spells upon my fancy flinging,
A thousand happy visions round me swarm,
Of Amaryllis, and of beauty singing.
Where scented woodbine round yon bowers is clinging,
She bade me fashion some harmonious line,
Which to the lady of our worship bringing,
Might please with worthy verse her ear divine.
Peace and contentment (by the tuneful Nine,
So was I taught to weave the busy measure,)
And years of long prosperity be thine,
And happier birth-days of increasing pleasure!
May Flora crown thee with her flowery treasure,
And Ceres bless thee with her golden sheaf,
And Pan protect thee in Arcadian leisure,
From every canker'd care and noisome grief!
More did I learn — but let my song be brief —
I hear my bloodhounds in the forest bay;
Let others wait for pipe or laurel leaf,
I pant for other sports — away, away!
MENALCAS .
Light and discourteous youth! no pipe he claims,
Nor pipe, indeed, deserves — timely he fled,
Else had I chid him with no slight rebuke,
Who dares with savage games and violent,
To desolate our plains — yet, gentle friends,
Some admonition he may chance to hear,
If loudly chaunted in your moral lay.
CHORUS .
Hark! whence arise
That deep drawn sob and piteous sighing?
The stricken victim faint and dying
For pity cries;
Faster now his life-blood gushes,
Now his feebler groans he hushes,
And now he dies!
Ah! who can know
What feelings throb, what sorrows languish,
In that unutterable anguish,
And speechless woe?
If this be so,
Go, and mourn thy rash misdoing,
The wounds thou mad'st, with tears bedewing,
Go, Hunter, go!
Nurs'd in the woodland solitude,
How shall a shepherd swain intrude,
Where Mersey's fairest nymphs resort,
And beauty holds her lavish court?
With humble hand yet may he bring
The native flowers that gem the spring,
All the sweets this land discloses,
Bound in wreaths of weeping roses.
Here shall the purple hyacinth shed,
Perfumes from her drooping head;
And violets breathe upon the air,
Floating fragrance rich and rare;
The summer rose, and eglantine
Shall their striving sweets combine
Harebells from the mountain's brow,
Lilies from the vale below,
Lady, o'er thy youthful head
Shall their choicest odours shed.
Here shall no luckless herb be found,
Ravish'd from the Colchian ground,
By witching spells and magic rite
Whisper'd in the ear of night;
Nor that sad flower whose deadly bloom
Brought Amaranthus to the tomb;
But such as chaste Ianthis loves,
And Hesperus, vestal-rob'd, approves;
These shall their choicest sweets display
To crown thee on thy natal day.
On thee may blue-ey'd Health attend,
And all her favorite blessings lend;
Oft be it thine at early dawn
To meet her on the dewy lawn;
To eastern hills the goddess leads,
And the morn-enchanted meads,
Where the lark on hovering wings
His pealing notes at heaven's-gate sings;
And as thou tread'st the blooming ground,
Ever at thy side be found
Fair Content of sweetest mien,
Smiling at each changing scene:
As fleet the hours of life away,
Ever cheerful, ever gay,
Of power the suffering heart to bless,
And shed unsullied happiness.
Nor yet despise our humble lot,
Nor scorn the shepherd's homely cot,
Nor yet that sweeter task forego,
To soothe the pangs of human woe;
To wipe Affliction's silent tear,
And bid a brighter world appear!
So Joy shall crown thy natal day,
And Friendship all her charms display;
Light revels lead the rosy hours,
And music fill the echoing bowers,
Until it reach the silver sphere,
And fond Urania bend to hear.
Then weave the dance and pour the song,
These summer-blossom'd woods among,
And catch the young joys as they spring
Ere time shall shake his ruffled wing!
Soon shall another race appear,
To revel thro' the blooming year,
With fairy feet to beat the ground,
And wake the laughing echoes round:
Yet shall they see no brighter time,
Tho' bounding full in youthful prime,
Than this our passing hours display
While love and friendship crown the day.
MANALCAS .
Sweet is thy song, young swain, and on the ear
Rests with a cadence softer than the sound
Of distant waterfalls: next to our Pan,
Thine were the first reward. If he should win
A bearded goat, the ewe were surely thine;
And were the ewe his prize, her playful lamb
Would be thy well-earn'd lot. Then take the pipe,
And may our Pan, who loves thee, bless the gift,
Teaching thee strains as musical as those
Which thou ere-while hast caroll'd on thy reed
Of mortal fabric. Amaryllis, smile,
And grace the guerdon with some courteous word.
Swain, from me receive the reed,
Poor the hand, tho' rich the meed;
Rich in sooth, yet such as merit
Bright as thine, may well inherit:
Thee, if fame aright reports,
The Dryads, in their sylvan sports
Found, and in a grotto nursed,
Where, to quench thine infant thirst,
Mnemosyne's immortal daughters
Fed thee with delicious waters,
Brought from Aganippe's spring;
While around on busy wing
With murmured sounds thine ear to please,
Old Hymettus senThis bees.
There, ere yet thy youth was ended,
Two celestial powers contended,
Phaebus, and the blue-eyed Maid,
To teach thee in that sacred shade;
Them alike with smiles caressing,
Thou from each an equal blessing,
Favour'd shepherd, didst attain:
She, if legends do not feign,
Thy stern preceptress, Attic Pallas,
Led thee to that awful palace,
Far surpassing human wits,
In which divine Astraea sits
Balancing those perfect scales
Where Justice evermore prevails.
Next the god, supreme Apollo,
Smiled, and beckoned thee to follow
To those pleasant laurel walks
Where Harmony with Science talks,
And bade thee climb the forked hill,
Whence streams of melody distil;
By whose cool and shady brinks
Meditation sits and thinks.
Such the lore the Gods have taught thee,
Then take the prize that lore has brought thee;
Rich indeed, but such as merit,
Bright as thine, may well inherit;
Now in more prevailing verse,
Gentle swains, his praise rehearse.
CHORUS .
Happiest he of happy mortals,
Number'd of the Muse's train,
Who, within her sacred portals,
Vows, nor ever vows in vain.
Lovely shadows flit before him,
Notes of rapture hover o'er him,
Thro' his charmed soul diffusing,
Blissful visions, holy musing,
Dreams and unexpressive trances,
Seldom known to human fancies.
Happiest he of happy mortals,
Number'd of the Muse's train,
Who, within her sacred portals,
Vows, nor ever vows in vain.
MENALCAS .
Well have you sung his praise. But now enough
Of human merits, Swains! and human praise,
Your friendly verse has told; now tune your reeds,
And pitch your music to some higher tone,
That we may close this glad solemnity,
With pastoral sacrifice and pious rites
Meet for Arcadian worship. At yon altar,
Present your offerings to propitious Peace,
And with some sweet hymn invocate her name.
O gentle Peace, of heavenly birth,
Once more return to bless the earth,
Thy smile shall raise our drooping flowers,
Thy breath revive our wasted bowers,
And where thy footsteps print the ground,
A paradise shall bloom around.
Yet once more from before the throne of Jove,
Where long a mourning supplicant I stood,
A ministrant spirit to the wise and good,
I come and join on earth your rites of love.
For tho' to realms above
By guilty rage and direful passion driven,
Yet from that brightest heaven,
Did these green fields, these fair expanded skies,
With all their aspects of ten thousand dyes,
My ceaseless thoughts, my fond affections move.
Now, with delighted eyes,
I see the storms are fled, and all the scene,
Glows with a livelier hue, a brighter green;
Like thunder heard afar,
At distance rolls the horrid peal of war,
And following in the rear,
Bursts the mild blaze of day, and renovates the year.
Joy, joy to Earth, thro' all her peopled shores,
Thro' valleys, fields, and floods,
By mountains, lakes, and woods,
And cheerful hamlets bosom'd deep in shade,
Cities throng-spir'd, and busy haunts of trade;
For now no more she with sad sobs deplores
Her ripening vineyards on the plain,
That trail'd their tendril shoots in vain,
Nor anxious sees her golden harvests wave,
Doubtful, if human hand the precious boon receive.
By Seine's green banks, by Arno's line,
By Thames's tower'd and crested side,
By Danube's flood, by rapid Rhine,
So oft with blood and slaughter dyed;
Now cheerful throngs, and bevies gay,
Enjoy the long, long holiday;
Nor longer fear the fiend of war,
That calls her chosen youth afar,
And dooms the victim, in his hour of prime,
Thro' Moloch-fires to pass, and die without a crime.
Joy, joy to Earth, and joy to these,
Who round my favour'd altar stand,
With chosen rites my presence grace,
And form for me the chosen band;
For well I know full many a sigh
From these green shades ascended high,
That once again on earthly ground,
My guiltless footsteps might be found.
And lo! I come the world to bless
With lengthened years of happiness;
Nor shall my partial love disdain,
For thee, fair Nymph, to raise the strain;
But ever o'er thy favour'd head,
My wings of guardian power I'll spread,
And, pleased from thee no more to part,
Will place my altar in thy heart.
A PASTORAL MASQUE ,
IN ONE ACT.
SCENE.
Enter M ERSEY , in an azure robe, crowned with reeds .
This is the spot I seek; for as I lay,
Basking at ease upon my sunny shore,
A rumour reach'd mine ear of distant play,
Of dance and festive sport,
Quainter than ever shepherd held before
To grace his rustic lady's holiday;
And to this grove, it said, there would resort,
Bevies of damsels, fairer far than those
Who sport at eve upon my level tide,
Naiads and nymphs, or in my coral bowers
Sleep on the soft sea flowers,
Or thro' the wave on rapid dolphins glide.
This when I heard, I rose
And bade my tritons fill my flowing urn,
Till I should home return,
For I would forth to see those pageant shows.
But, first, from out their haunts in sea or spring,
Came Amphitrite's train, and on the edge
Of my smooth stream, wove from the rushy sedge
And fresh pluck'd reeds, a chaplet green and gay,
For me, the brother of their ocean king;
Then did I hither bend my way,
Painfully toiling up yon slow ascent,
Thro' meadows, lanes, and fields of ripening corn,
More than one long and unaccustomed mile;
And now, with labour worn,
Here will I rest my limbs, already spent,
With mickle age and care — be this my seat awhile.
I know these woods and yonder mansion well,
For, from my silver stream that winds along
In you broad ring, oft have I view'd this shade,
Where now they tell me doth a shepherd dwell,
Aged, in sooth, yet blythe withal and strong,
Gentle of mood, and unsurpass'd in song:
Such was the tale, told by a Naiad maid.
She, when the summer sun had travell'd high,
(Some short way westward from this green retreat),
Slumber'd awhile, oppress'd with summer heat;
And waking, found her silver urn was dry.
Then while she wept, there chanc'd to wander by
This aged shepherd, jolly, then, and young;
He saw her grief, and sooth'd her with a song,
So sweet, the Naiad check'd her sobs to hear,
And ever since she holds his music dear,
And tells the story to her sister throng.
I heard it too, and heard the shepherd's name,
Menalcas, not unknown to me before;
For on my silent shore,
The stripling lov'd to try his early reed,
And sung so deftly, that Jove's daughters came,
The immortal Muses, from their heavenly court,
Who ever since upon my banks disport,
Singing my praises with no vulgar fame.
Then did I bless him for the pious deed,
And vow'd by this same trident which I hold,
Long as he dwelt within my watery fence,
To feed his pastures and protecThis fold,
And do his age some special reverence —
In virtue of my vow I come to day,
With the best means I can to grace this frolic play.
Fair signs and omens fortunate I bring;
For as last night I sat upon a steep,
Marking the reflux of my murmuring stream,
At the dark hour when weary mortals sleep,
A sudden glory seem'd on high to beam,
Likest some meteor, or the break of morn;
I look'd upon the skies
And saw a galaxy of happy stars
In such sweet conversation commercing,
As never met before my wondering eyes;
" Oh! happy one, " I cried,
" The mortal under that sweet influence born! "
Then straightway to the Prophet God I hied,
Old Proteus, shrewdest dweller of the main,
Whom tending on his sea-calves soon I found,
And brib'd him that strange portent to expound,
With pearls as rich in worth as any set
Round the broad rim of Neptune's coronet.
" Dost thou not know, " the ancient seer replied,
" That nineteen times that sign has now been seen
" Marking the birth-day of Menalcas' pride,
" Young Amaryllis, our Arcadian queen.
" Who, in this happy region, has not heard.
" Of Amaryllis? — woods and valleys ring
" With Amaryllis' name, and shepherds sing
" Her favorite praises to their fleecy herd.
" Well do they know the bright auspicious sign
" That ushers in the feast-day of her birth;
" And, in their pastoral mirth,
" Salute with songs the gracious harbinger,
" Wreathing the fragrant myrtle and the vine,
" Mixed with the laurel's sacred leaf, for her;
" And sprinkle flowers, and in their uncouth phrase,
" Bespeak her happy thoughts and length of days. "
So spoke the hoary sire — but, hark! I hear
The sound of merry steps approaching near;
I will betake me to yon shady green,
Where I may see their pranks, myself unseen.
Enter, on one side , M ENALCAS attended by a chorus of six shepherds; on the other side , Amaryllis attended by a chorus of six shepherdesses . — M ENALCAS and Amaryllis seat themselves on a rustic throne .
Amaryllis .
Posies such as summer yields,
Gather'd in Arcadian fields;
Honied sweets and painted blossom,
Not unworthy Flora's bosom;
Lady, to thy throne we bring,
Take our humble offering.
Summer fruitage, ripe and sound,
In Hesperian gardens found,
Brightest hue and richest flavour,
Good Pomona's earliest favour,
To thy rustic throne we bring,
Shepherd, take our offering.
MENALCAS .
Thanks, courteous neighbours! shepherdesses fair,
And gentle youths, much thanks. My daughter too,
In honour of whose natal day you come
With these rare fancies, shall return you thanks
As heart-warm as my own.
AMARYLLIS .
Indeed I do,
Great thanks for great deservings! may our gods,
Sylvan and Pan, reward you!
MENALCAS .
Listen, friends,
For I have tidings of no common sort,
Such as will stir the youth of Arcady
To jealous strife and rivalship of song,
Beyond all former measure. — You must know,
That, walking lately in this very grove,
(The sun had sunk beneath yon western hills,
And in his place the modest star of eve
Held his appointed watch) I wandered on,
Intent to read the elemental signs,
As I am wont to do, of foul and fair,
Stormy or calm, and musing on the course
Of household cares, of cattle or of herb,
As thrifty shepherds use. These were my thoughts,
When I was startled with the neighbouring sound
Of music, like those notes we sometimes hear
Amongst the mountains, which, our old men say,
None but great Pan can utter. — Fill'd with awe,
I follow'd where the music seem'd to lead,
And found the god reclin'd beneath a tree
Breathing into a pipe of simple reeds
That heavenly cadence: mute I stood awhile
To hear his harmony; but when I turn'd,
Fearing to mar his pastime, he arose,
And call'd me by my name, " Receive this pipe, "
So spoke the godhead, " for thy pious care
And daily worship of my sylvan altar,
A well earned gift. " — This was the pipe he gave:
Not sweeter his who, on the fruitful plains
Of Sicily, first tuned his Doric lay;
Nor his, the Mantuan, when Hesperia's hills
Hail'd his chaste wood-notes; nor that mournful swain,
Who, with forc'd fingers pluck'd the berries crude,
And wept young Lycid on his watery bier.
Now call our shepherds to the vocal strife,
Bid each prepare his song of choicest phrase
To win the prize, this pipe, a pipe divine;
And, more to grace it, taken from the hand
Of Amaryllis, Lady of the day.
Call, gentle youths, till hill and dale resound,
Your tuneful challenge, that our absent swains,
(If any yet be absent), may resort
To try this day their untaught minstrelsy.
CHORUS .
Hear, shepherds, hear!
From grove or dusky dingle,
Where light and shadow mingle;
On lofty down or mountain,
Or by the side of fountain,
Hear, shepherds, hear!
By forest or by fallow,
Deep lake or streamlet shallow;
On meadows, moors, and commons,
Hear and obey our summons,
Hear, shepherds, hear!
Thus before the throne of beauty,
Bending low in humble duty,
Lady, your devoted Thyrsis
Brings the tribute of his verses.
Hail to thee too, old Menalcas,
Sager than the prophet Calchas,
Who, as says the ancient story,
Harp'd by that blind bard of glory,
Had so beautiful a daughter,
Grecian chiefs in battle sought her:
Yet that far-fam'd, fair Briseis,
Was not so fam'd, and fair as she is.
Foolish swains, why bring ye posies,
Lilies twin'd with blushing roses,
When your roses, and your lilies,
Lose their charms near Amaryllis;
Nor can heaps of yellow amber
Hoarded in old Neptune's chamber,
Vie in fragrance with the tresses,
Which that crown of roses presses.
Cease, fond swains, your vain adorning —
Eyelids that disclose the morning,
Beaming blessings in its brightness;
Teeth that shame the pearl in whiteness;
Cheeks upon whose soft suffusion,
Beauty lavish'd large profusion,
Winning sweetness, graceful stature,
Every charm of bounteous nature,
In heavenly union blending ever,
Laugh to scorn your vain endeavour.
With form so fair, with charms so sainted,
Was never elder age acquainted;
Less beauteous she, the hapless maiden,
Who on the lilied banks of Ladon,
And thro' Ida's shady cover,
Mourn'd her faithless Phrygian lover;
When thro' many a toil and danger,
He sought and found the fatal stranger;
Nor they so fair who erst descended,
And before that swain contended,
Three bright denizens of heaven,
To whom that rich fruit should be given,
Snatch'd from the devouring warden,
Of the fam'd Hesperian garden.
Lady! may these playful greetings,
Oft be sung at future meetings!
Oft as the gay years returning
Usher in thy natal morning.
Then, as now, may frolic pleasures
Round thee flit in airy measures;
Mirth that every care effaces,
Leading on the laughing graces,
With youth that near thee loves to linger;
While the Nine with linked finger,
Threading light their mystic mazes,
Sing for aye thy chosen praises.
MENALCAS .
Young swain, if pert conceits, a flippant tongue,
And gaudy trappings of external pride,
Might claim the prize, then were it justly thine.
Hence! and disrobe thee of that rich attire,
That specious gilding, and those pompous plumes,
And in a humble herdsman's coarser weeds,
Learn to indite a less conceited song;
Till then, an exile from these quiet shades,
Wander elsewhere. — Shall this be so, my friends?
CHORUS .
Hence! from this quiet shade,
Nor think that sprightly phrase and glittering hues
May win the timid Muse,
To crown thee with her flowers that never fade.
She shuns the rude offence,
The ready challenge, and obtrusive mien;
In cities seldom seen,
And only charm'd from her obscure recess
By truth and tenderness;
If these thou canst not boast — vain shepherd, hence!
Hail! old Menalcas, and our lady fair,
Queen Amaryllis, maid of beauty rare;
See Corydon has donn'd his Sunday coats
Leaving for you the herding of his goats;
And now begins his ditty, quaint and trim,
In hopes you mean to give the pipe to him.
Ask any shepherd in this buxom ring,
They all will tell you Corydon can sing;
And more than that, when on my pipe I play,
Both birds and beasts will answer to my lay;
For as in yonder wood I strain'd my throat,
An owl enchanted hooted to the note;
And when one night I caroll'd to the moon,
My sheep-dog, Hector, howl'd the very tune;
Then give the pipe to me, the only man
Worthy to play upon the pipe of Pan.
Hold me not cheap for this my uncouth gear:
What plumage hath the thrush, who sings so clear?
One colour only of unseemly dusk,
And tender filberts have an homely husk —
Of sheep and goats I have a goodly fold,
And live like shepherds in the age of gold;
Sometimes into the woods I drive my swine,
To feed upon the mast of beech and pine,
Whilst I pursue the squirrels in the trees,
Or search the grass for nests of humble bees.
No goatherd in our village better knows,
Where grow the choicest crabs, the blackest sloes,
Pignuts and filberts, dainty haws and hips,
And blackberries that stain the eater's lips;
Curds too, and cheese, are no bad fare I think,
Nor buttermilk and whey unsavoury drink.
I know all sylvan pastimes — who can spin,
Neater than me, cockchaffers on a pin?
Then give the pipe to me, the only man
Worthy to play upon the pipe of Pan.
What swain, but me, will Amaryllis choose?
What kindness, then, will Corydon refuse?
Then will I milk the cows, and press the cheese,
And when she wants the honey kill the bees;
And make her crowns of daffodils and daisies,
And in my bravest sonnets sing her praises.
No nymph is like my Amaryllis fair,
Nor can the heifer's eye with hers compare;
Red are her lips as cherries, and her cheeks,
As ruddy as the apple's sun-burnt streaks;
Fragrant as thyme, as honey-suckles sweet,
Light as young fawns, as timid lev'rets fleet;
Grateful as tansy, sage, or peppermint,
But cold as snow, and hard of heart as flint!
Thus will I sing with each returning year,
Hailing thy birth-day, born without a peer,
And trill thy praise with such surpassing arts,
That swains shall break their pipes and maids their hearts:
Then give the pipe to me, the only man
Worthy to play upon the pipe of Pan.
MENALCAS .
O blind and doting vanity of men,
That hath such power to hide us from ourselves;
And where our knowledge should be most at home,
Makes most a stranger of it. — Foolish swain,
Is there no pipe to suit thy rugged lip
Save this which Pan bestows? Go search the field,
And from some hollow stem of herb or tree,
Hemlock or wither'd elder, frame a pipe
Whereon to jar thy rustic ribaldry;
And for that thy presumption loudly calls
For due correction — hear what we decree!
Hence to the rocky frontiers of our land,
Where thou shalt sojourn for a year and day,
Herding thy goats in painful solitude.
Speak, gentle shepherds, if this penance please ye?
CHORUS .
Banish hence the rash intruder,
Harsh of speech and bold of mien;
Homelier swain, or accent ruder,
All Arcadia hath not seen.
So reward his heedless daring,
Who profanes the sacred song;
Gods and men, with hand unsparing,
Punish the presumptuous wrong.
Witness him, whose haughty vaunting,
Challeng'd Phaebus to the strife,
Dryads saw him bound and panting,
Bleed beneath his rival's knife.
Banish hence the rash intruder,
Harsh of speech and bold of mien;
Homelier swain, or accent ruder,
All Arcadia hath not seen.
Fresh from the forest, with a hunter's speed,
Let Silvio bow before that heavenly look,
No shepherd he to tune a whistling reed,
Or idly twine with flowers a harmless crook;
Nor suits it him beside some purling brook,
His silly sheep, a sillier swain, to tend,
Who with his horn the mountain echoes shook,
And every sylvan shade from end to end.
Against the flying deer my bow I bend,
Or loose my rapid greyhounds to the course,
With breathless speed the toilsome hill ascend,
Swim the broad stream or track it to its source;
Or wage a worthier war with brutal force,
The wolf ferocious, and the surly boar;
Oft on this spear they writhe with howlings hoarse,
And breathe their felon lives in floods of gore.
Such be my daily sports; yet not the more
Fear I our lovely lady's dread reproving,
For not to me the muse denies her lore,
Nor scorns to meet me in my lonely roving;
Full oft in huntress garb, with smile approving,
She joins my pastime at the break of day,
And oft with whisper'd notes and ditties moving,
Beguiles my lone and melancholy way.
Then while along our homeward path we stray,
My wayward temper will she fondly charm,
To drop a tear of pity o'er my prey,
And half repent me of the ruthless harm;
And more my yielding spirit to disarm,
Her airy spells upon my fancy flinging,
A thousand happy visions round me swarm,
Of Amaryllis, and of beauty singing.
Where scented woodbine round yon bowers is clinging,
She bade me fashion some harmonious line,
Which to the lady of our worship bringing,
Might please with worthy verse her ear divine.
Peace and contentment (by the tuneful Nine,
So was I taught to weave the busy measure,)
And years of long prosperity be thine,
And happier birth-days of increasing pleasure!
May Flora crown thee with her flowery treasure,
And Ceres bless thee with her golden sheaf,
And Pan protect thee in Arcadian leisure,
From every canker'd care and noisome grief!
More did I learn — but let my song be brief —
I hear my bloodhounds in the forest bay;
Let others wait for pipe or laurel leaf,
I pant for other sports — away, away!
MENALCAS .
Light and discourteous youth! no pipe he claims,
Nor pipe, indeed, deserves — timely he fled,
Else had I chid him with no slight rebuke,
Who dares with savage games and violent,
To desolate our plains — yet, gentle friends,
Some admonition he may chance to hear,
If loudly chaunted in your moral lay.
CHORUS .
Hark! whence arise
That deep drawn sob and piteous sighing?
The stricken victim faint and dying
For pity cries;
Faster now his life-blood gushes,
Now his feebler groans he hushes,
And now he dies!
Ah! who can know
What feelings throb, what sorrows languish,
In that unutterable anguish,
And speechless woe?
If this be so,
Go, and mourn thy rash misdoing,
The wounds thou mad'st, with tears bedewing,
Go, Hunter, go!
Nurs'd in the woodland solitude,
How shall a shepherd swain intrude,
Where Mersey's fairest nymphs resort,
And beauty holds her lavish court?
With humble hand yet may he bring
The native flowers that gem the spring,
All the sweets this land discloses,
Bound in wreaths of weeping roses.
Here shall the purple hyacinth shed,
Perfumes from her drooping head;
And violets breathe upon the air,
Floating fragrance rich and rare;
The summer rose, and eglantine
Shall their striving sweets combine
Harebells from the mountain's brow,
Lilies from the vale below,
Lady, o'er thy youthful head
Shall their choicest odours shed.
Here shall no luckless herb be found,
Ravish'd from the Colchian ground,
By witching spells and magic rite
Whisper'd in the ear of night;
Nor that sad flower whose deadly bloom
Brought Amaranthus to the tomb;
But such as chaste Ianthis loves,
And Hesperus, vestal-rob'd, approves;
These shall their choicest sweets display
To crown thee on thy natal day.
On thee may blue-ey'd Health attend,
And all her favorite blessings lend;
Oft be it thine at early dawn
To meet her on the dewy lawn;
To eastern hills the goddess leads,
And the morn-enchanted meads,
Where the lark on hovering wings
His pealing notes at heaven's-gate sings;
And as thou tread'st the blooming ground,
Ever at thy side be found
Fair Content of sweetest mien,
Smiling at each changing scene:
As fleet the hours of life away,
Ever cheerful, ever gay,
Of power the suffering heart to bless,
And shed unsullied happiness.
Nor yet despise our humble lot,
Nor scorn the shepherd's homely cot,
Nor yet that sweeter task forego,
To soothe the pangs of human woe;
To wipe Affliction's silent tear,
And bid a brighter world appear!
So Joy shall crown thy natal day,
And Friendship all her charms display;
Light revels lead the rosy hours,
And music fill the echoing bowers,
Until it reach the silver sphere,
And fond Urania bend to hear.
Then weave the dance and pour the song,
These summer-blossom'd woods among,
And catch the young joys as they spring
Ere time shall shake his ruffled wing!
Soon shall another race appear,
To revel thro' the blooming year,
With fairy feet to beat the ground,
And wake the laughing echoes round:
Yet shall they see no brighter time,
Tho' bounding full in youthful prime,
Than this our passing hours display
While love and friendship crown the day.
MANALCAS .
Sweet is thy song, young swain, and on the ear
Rests with a cadence softer than the sound
Of distant waterfalls: next to our Pan,
Thine were the first reward. If he should win
A bearded goat, the ewe were surely thine;
And were the ewe his prize, her playful lamb
Would be thy well-earn'd lot. Then take the pipe,
And may our Pan, who loves thee, bless the gift,
Teaching thee strains as musical as those
Which thou ere-while hast caroll'd on thy reed
Of mortal fabric. Amaryllis, smile,
And grace the guerdon with some courteous word.
Swain, from me receive the reed,
Poor the hand, tho' rich the meed;
Rich in sooth, yet such as merit
Bright as thine, may well inherit:
Thee, if fame aright reports,
The Dryads, in their sylvan sports
Found, and in a grotto nursed,
Where, to quench thine infant thirst,
Mnemosyne's immortal daughters
Fed thee with delicious waters,
Brought from Aganippe's spring;
While around on busy wing
With murmured sounds thine ear to please,
Old Hymettus senThis bees.
There, ere yet thy youth was ended,
Two celestial powers contended,
Phaebus, and the blue-eyed Maid,
To teach thee in that sacred shade;
Them alike with smiles caressing,
Thou from each an equal blessing,
Favour'd shepherd, didst attain:
She, if legends do not feign,
Thy stern preceptress, Attic Pallas,
Led thee to that awful palace,
Far surpassing human wits,
In which divine Astraea sits
Balancing those perfect scales
Where Justice evermore prevails.
Next the god, supreme Apollo,
Smiled, and beckoned thee to follow
To those pleasant laurel walks
Where Harmony with Science talks,
And bade thee climb the forked hill,
Whence streams of melody distil;
By whose cool and shady brinks
Meditation sits and thinks.
Such the lore the Gods have taught thee,
Then take the prize that lore has brought thee;
Rich indeed, but such as merit,
Bright as thine, may well inherit;
Now in more prevailing verse,
Gentle swains, his praise rehearse.
CHORUS .
Happiest he of happy mortals,
Number'd of the Muse's train,
Who, within her sacred portals,
Vows, nor ever vows in vain.
Lovely shadows flit before him,
Notes of rapture hover o'er him,
Thro' his charmed soul diffusing,
Blissful visions, holy musing,
Dreams and unexpressive trances,
Seldom known to human fancies.
Happiest he of happy mortals,
Number'd of the Muse's train,
Who, within her sacred portals,
Vows, nor ever vows in vain.
MENALCAS .
Well have you sung his praise. But now enough
Of human merits, Swains! and human praise,
Your friendly verse has told; now tune your reeds,
And pitch your music to some higher tone,
That we may close this glad solemnity,
With pastoral sacrifice and pious rites
Meet for Arcadian worship. At yon altar,
Present your offerings to propitious Peace,
And with some sweet hymn invocate her name.
O gentle Peace, of heavenly birth,
Once more return to bless the earth,
Thy smile shall raise our drooping flowers,
Thy breath revive our wasted bowers,
And where thy footsteps print the ground,
A paradise shall bloom around.
Yet once more from before the throne of Jove,
Where long a mourning supplicant I stood,
A ministrant spirit to the wise and good,
I come and join on earth your rites of love.
For tho' to realms above
By guilty rage and direful passion driven,
Yet from that brightest heaven,
Did these green fields, these fair expanded skies,
With all their aspects of ten thousand dyes,
My ceaseless thoughts, my fond affections move.
Now, with delighted eyes,
I see the storms are fled, and all the scene,
Glows with a livelier hue, a brighter green;
Like thunder heard afar,
At distance rolls the horrid peal of war,
And following in the rear,
Bursts the mild blaze of day, and renovates the year.
Joy, joy to Earth, thro' all her peopled shores,
Thro' valleys, fields, and floods,
By mountains, lakes, and woods,
And cheerful hamlets bosom'd deep in shade,
Cities throng-spir'd, and busy haunts of trade;
For now no more she with sad sobs deplores
Her ripening vineyards on the plain,
That trail'd their tendril shoots in vain,
Nor anxious sees her golden harvests wave,
Doubtful, if human hand the precious boon receive.
By Seine's green banks, by Arno's line,
By Thames's tower'd and crested side,
By Danube's flood, by rapid Rhine,
So oft with blood and slaughter dyed;
Now cheerful throngs, and bevies gay,
Enjoy the long, long holiday;
Nor longer fear the fiend of war,
That calls her chosen youth afar,
And dooms the victim, in his hour of prime,
Thro' Moloch-fires to pass, and die without a crime.
Joy, joy to Earth, and joy to these,
Who round my favour'd altar stand,
With chosen rites my presence grace,
And form for me the chosen band;
For well I know full many a sigh
From these green shades ascended high,
That once again on earthly ground,
My guiltless footsteps might be found.
And lo! I come the world to bless
With lengthened years of happiness;
Nor shall my partial love disdain,
For thee, fair Nymph, to raise the strain;
But ever o'er thy favour'd head,
My wings of guardian power I'll spread,
And, pleased from thee no more to part,
Will place my altar in thy heart.
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