Classic Poem

THE SEVENTH PASTORAL

OR, MELIBoeUS

Beneath a holm repair'd two jolly swains
(Their sheep and goats together graz'd the plains),
Both young Arcadians, both alike inspir'd
To sing, and answer as the song requir'd.
Daphnis, as umpire, took the middle seat,
And fortune thether led my weary feet;
For, while I fenc'd my myrties from the cold,
The father of my flock had wander'd from the fold.
Of Daphnis I enquir'd: he, smiling, said:
" Dismiss your fear; " and pointed where he fed;
" And, if no greater cares disturb your mind,
Sit here with us, in covert of the wind.
Your lowing heifers, of their own accord,
At wat'ring time will seek the neighb'ring ford.
Here wanton Mincius winds along the meads,
And shades his happy banks with bending reeds.
And see, from yon old oak that mates the skies,
How black the clouds of swarming bees arise. "
What should I do! Nor was Alcippe nigh,
Nor absent Phyllis could my care supply,
To house, and feed by hand my weaning lambs,
And drain the strutting udders of their dams.
Great was the strife betwixt the singing swains;
And I preferr'd my pleasure to my gains.
Alternate rhyme the ready champions chose:
These Corydon rehears'd, and Thyrsis those.

C ORYDON

Ye Muses, ever fair, and ever young,
Assist my numbers, and inspire my song.
With all my Codrus, O inspire my breast!
For Codrus, after Phaebus, sings the best.
Or, if my wishes have presum'd too high,
And stretch'd their bounds beyond mortality,
The praise of artful numbers I resign,
And hang my pipe upon the sacred pine.

T HYRSIS

Arcadian swains, your youthful poet crown
With ivy wreaths; tho' surly Codrus frown:
Or, if he blast my Muse with envious praise,
Then fence my brows with amulets of bays,
Lest his ill arts, or his malicious tongue,
Should poison, or bewitch my growing song.

C ORYDON

These branches of a stag, this tusky boar
(The first essay of arms untried before)
Young Micon offers, Delia, to thy shrine:
But speed his hunting with thy pow'r divine;
Thy statue then of Parian stone shall stand;
Thy legs in buskins with a purple band.

T HYRSIS

This bowl of milk, these cakes (our country fare),
For thee, Priapus, yearly we prepare,
Because a little garden is thy care;
But, if the falling lambs increase my fold,
Thy marble statue shall be turn'd to gold.

C ORYDON

Fair Galatea, with thy silver feet,
O, whiter than the swan, and more than Hybla sweet,
Tall as a poplar, taper as the bole,
Come, charm thy shepherd, and restore my soul!
Come, when my lated sheep at night return,
And crown the silent hours, and stop the rosy morn!

T HYRSIS

May I become as abject in thy sight
As seaweed on the shore, and black as night;
Rough as a bur; deform'd like him who chaws
Sardinian herbage to contract his jaws:
Such and so monstrous let thy swain appear,
If one day's absence looks not like a year.
Hence from the field, for shame: the flock deserves
No better feeding while the shepherd starves.

C ORYDON

Ye mossy springs, inviting easy sleep,
Ye trees, whose leafy shades those mossy fountains keep,
Defend my flock! The summer heats are near,
And blossoms on the swelling vines appear.

T HYRSIS

With heapy fires our cheerful hearth is crown'd;
And firs for torches in the woods abound:
We fear not more the winds and wintry cold,
Than streams the banks, or wolves the bleating fold.

C ORYDON

Our woods, with juniper and chestnuts crown'd,
With falling fruits and berries paint the ground;
And lavish Nature laughs, and strows her stores around:
But, if Alexis from our mountains fly,
Ev'n running rivers leave their channels dry.

T HYRSIS

Parch'd are the plains, and frying is the field,
Nor with'ring vines their juicy vintage yield;
But, if returning Phyllis bless the plain,
The grass revives, the woods are green again,
And Jove descends in show'rs of kindly rain.

C ORYDON

The poplar is by great Alcides worn;
The brows of Phaebus his own bays adorn;
The branching vine the jolly Bacchus loves;
The Cyprian queen delights in myrtle groves;
With hazel Phyllis crowns her flowing hair;
And, while she loves that common wreath to wear,
Nor bays, nor myrtle boughs, with hazel shall compare.

T HYRSIS

The tow'ring ash is fairest in the woods;
In gardens pines, and poplars by the floods:
But, if my Lycidas will ease my pains,
And often visit our forsaken plains,
To him the tow'ring ash shall yield in woods,
In gardens pines, and poplars by the floods.

M ELIBoeUS

These rhymes I did to memory commend,
When vanquish'd Thyrsis did in vain contend;
Since when 't is Corydon among the swains,
Young Corydon without a rival reigns.