Classic Poem

The Ninth Pastoral

LYCIDAS, MOERIS .

LYCIDAS.

G O you to town, my friend? this beaten way
Conducts us thither.

MOERIS.

Ah! the fatal day,
The unexpected day at last is come,
When a rude alien drives us from our home.
Hence, hence, ye clowns, th' usurper thus commands,
To me you must resign your antient lands.
Thus helpless and forlorn we yield to fate;
And our rapacious lord to mitigate
This brace of kids a present I design,
Which load with curses, O ye Powers divine!

LYCIDAS.

'T WAS said, M ENALCAS with his tuneful strains
Had sav'd the grounds of all the neighbouring swains,
From where the hill, that terminates the vale,
In easy rising first begins to swell,
Far as the blasted beeche that mates the sky,
And the clear stream that gently murmurs by.

MOERIS.

S UCH was the voice of fame; but music's charms,
Amid the dreadful clang of warlike arms,
Avail no more, than the Chaonian dove,
When down the sky descends the bird of J OVE .
And had not the prophetic raven spoke
His dire presages from the hollow oak,
And often warn'd me to avoid debate,
And with a patient mind submit to fate,
Ne'er had thy M OERIS seen this fatal hour,
And that melodious swain had been no more.

LYCIDAS.

W HAT horrid breast such impious thoughts could breed!
What barbarous hand could make M ENALCAS bleed!
Could every tender Muse in him destroy,
And from the shepherds ravish all their joy!
For who but he the lovely nymphs could sing,
Or paint the vallies with the purple spring?
Who shade the fountains from the glare of day?
Who but M ENALCAS could compose the lay,
Which, as we journey'd to my love's abode,
I softly sung to chear the lonely road?
" T ITYRUS , while I am absent, feed the flock,
" And having fed conduct them to the brook,
" (The way is short, and I shall soon return)
" But shun the he-goat with the butting horn."

MOERIS.

O R who could finish the imperfect lays
Sung by M ENALCAS to his Varus ' praise?
" If fortune yet shall spare the Mantuan swains,
" And save from plundering hands our peaceful " plains,
" Nor doom us sad Cremona's fate to share,
" (For ah! a neighbour's woe excites our fear)
" Then high as heaven our Varus ' fame shall " rise,
" The warbling swans shall bear it to the skies."

LYCIDAS.

G O on, dear swain, these pleasing songs pursue;
So may thy bees avoid the bitter yew,
So may rich herds thy fruitful fields adorn,
So may thy cows with strutting dugs return.
Even I with poets have obtain'd a name,
The Muse inspires me with poetic flame;
Th' applauding shepherds to my songs attend,
But I suspect my skill, though they commend.
I dare not hope to please a C INNA'S ear,
Or sing what Varus might vouchsafe to hear.
Harsh are the sweetest lays that I can bring,
So screams a goose where swans melodious sing.

MOERIS.

T HIS I am pondering, if I can rehearse
The lofty numbers of that labour'd verse.
" Come, G ALATEA , leave the rolling seas;
" Can rugged rocks and heaving surges please?
" Come, taste the pleasures of our sylvan bowers,
" Our balmy-breathing gales, and fragrant flowers.
" See, how our plains rejoice on every side,
" How crystal streams through blooming vallies " glide:
" O'er the cool grot the whitening poplars bend,
" And clasping vines their grateful umbrage lend.
" Come, beauteous nymph, forsake the briny wave,
" Loud on the beach let the wild billows rave."

LYCIDAS.

O R what you sung one evening on the plain —
The air, but not the words, I yet retain.

MOERIS.

W HY , D APHNIS , dost thou calculate the " skies,
" To know when antient constellations rise?
" Lo, C ÆSAR'S star its radiant light displays,
" And on the nations sheds propitious rays.
" On the glad hills the reddening clusters glow,
" And smiling Plenty decks the plains below.
" Now graff thy pears; the star of C ÆSAR reigns,
" To thy remotest race the fruit remains."
The rest I have forgot, for length of years
Deadens the sense, and memory impairs,
All things in time submit to sad decay;
Oft have we sung whole summer suns away.
These vanish'd joys must M OERIS now deplore,
His voice delights, his numbers charm no more;
Him have the wolves beheld, bewitch'd his song,
Bewitch'd to silence his melodious tongue.
But your desire M ENALCAS can fulfil,
All these, and more, he sings with matchless skill.

LYCIDAS.

T HESE faint excuses which my M OERIS frames
But heighten my desire. — And now the streams
In slumber-soothing murmurs softly flow;
And now the sighing breeze hath ceas'd to blow.
Half of our way is past, for I descry
B IANOR'S tomb just rising to the eye.
Here in this leafy arbour ease your toil,
Lay down your kids, and let us sing the while:
We soon shall reach the town; or, lest a storm
Of sudden rain the evening-sky deform,
Be yours to chear the journey with a song,
Eas'd of your load, which I shall bear along.

MOERIS.

N O more, my friend; your kind entreaties spare,
And let our journey be our present care;
Let fate restore our absent friend again,
Then gladly I resume the tuneful strain.EnglishVirgil