Be cheer'd, my daughter, and, these ills forgot,
Think that the gods a happier doom allot.
And though on grief thy thoughts are all employ'd,
1 no excuse require, with pleasure cloy'd.
Much I lament, that thou so vast a weight
Of woe shouldst share in our disastrous fate.
For, O blest Proserpine and Ceres, know,
(Powers justly dreaded by the perjur'd foe)
That I not more could love thee, if my womb
With thee had teem'd, or had thy virgin-bloom
Alone remain'd a parent's hope to crown:
A truth, Megara, not to thee unknown!
Then think I view thee with no careless eye;
No, though in grief with Niobe I vie :
Grief for a son indulgence sure may gain,
To me endear'd by ten long months of pain;
And, ere I brought him to the realms of day,
My life by pangs was nearly snatch'd away,
Sent on new toils he to a distant shore
Now roams, and I may ne'er behold him more.
Besides, I lately saw, with wild affright,
A direful vision in the dead of night:
Some great impending ill, if right I deem,
Awaits my sons, from this mysterious dream.
In sleep, methought, my Hercules I spy'd,
His garments, like a labourer, thrown aside,
And, spade in hand, employ'd, with arduous toil,
50 To delve a ditch in some well-cultur'd soil.
And, all too weak the wish'd relief to bring,
Twittering her shrill complaints, on feeble wing
At distance hovers, nor will venture near
The fell destroyer, chill'd with conscious fear;
So I, all frantic, the wide mansion o'er,
Unhappy mother! my lost sons deplore,
O blest, Diana, goddess of the chase,
Tyrant confess'd o'er woman's helpless race,
With my dear sons had thy envenom'd dart
Kindly transfix'd their mother's bleeding heart,
Then my sad parents might, with friendly care,
Have seen one pile our breathless bodies bear,
At once, with many a tear, to every shade
The decent rites of sepulture have paid,
And in one golden urn that sacred earth
Our ashes have receiv'd, which gave us birth,
But Thebes they now inhabit, fam'd for steeds,
Or toilsome till Aönia's fruitful meads:
While to my sorrows no relief is given,
At Tiryns, sacred to the queen of Heaven,
In tears unnumber'd wasting life away,
To joy a stranger, to despair a prey.
But soon my lord will bless my eyes again,
For various labours he must yet sustain
By land and sea, like iron or a rock
Unmov'd, and still superior to the shock:
While like a stream thy sorrows ever flow,
By day, by night, alike dissolv'd in woe.
Of all to me by ties of kindred join'd,
Thou only now canst cheer my anxious mind :
Far from this mansion, though in blood ally'd,
Beyond the pine-clad Isthmus they reside.
Not one remains who can console my grief,
Or to a wretched woman give relief,
Except my sister Pyrrha; all the day
She too bewails her husband snatch'd away,
Thy son Iphiclus: wretched all thy line,
Whether their sire be mortal or divine!"
Fast, while she spoke, th' o'erflowing tears dis-
till'd
Adown her cheeks, and her fair bosom fill'd;
Her sons, her parents rising to her view:
In sad society, Alcmena too
Roll'd the big tear; and from her heaving breast,
In accents sage, her daughter thus addrest:
"Why, hapless parent, should thine eyes o'erflow?
Why should remembrance thus renew thy woe?
Why thus afflict us both? or why once more.
Repeat the loss we oft have wept before?
Sure each sad day sufficient sorrows bears;
And none but wretches would recount our cares!
33. Then my sad parents, &c.] Megara was the daughter of Creon, king of Thebes, a city of Boeotia. It may not be improper to remark, that Moschus, contrary to the common opinion, supposes the parents of Megara to have been living
But when his task the wish'd success had crown'd,
And his wide fence bad girt the vineyard round,
He left his spade fix'd deeply in the plain,
And straight prepar'd to clothe his limbs again;
When, quick as thought, above the trench, behold
Destructive flames, which round the hero roll'd!
From these resistless foes alarm'd he flew,
With footsteps swift; as swiftly they pursue:
Thus St. Matthew, chap. 6. ver. 84, "Sufficient
unto the day is the evil thereof."
86. Though in grief with Niobe I vie] For the story of Niobe, see Ovid's Metamorph. book 6. See also the notes on the twentieth ode of Ana
Destructive flames -] These were probably intended to be emblems of those flames in which this hero was afterwards
consumed on Mount Detą. See Ovid's Meta
when Hercules slew his children; whereas Euri-
pides and Seneca assure us, that Lycus, a The-
ban exile, murdered Creon and his sons, to ob-morph. book 9.
tain the crown; and that Hercules did not kill
his children, till he had punished Lycus,
as swiftly they pursue] This circumstance of the flames pursuing Hercules is very similar to a passage in the Iliad, book 42. Tiryns] A city of Peloponnesus near Ar-21, where the rivers Simois and Scamander unite, gos, where Hercules dwelt; and from thence was pursue, and attack Achilles with all their waves:" styled "the Tirynthian hero." Now here, now there, he turns on every side, And winds his course before the following tide; The waves flow after, wheresoe'er he wheels, And gather fast, and murmur at his heels,
59. Thy son Iphiclus] Iphiclus was the son of Amphitryon and Alcmena, and the twin-brother of Hercules.
71. Sure each sad day sufficient sorrow bears]
While, like a shield, the spade now serves to guard
His half-scorch'd body, and the fire to ward. 110
At length Iphiclus, running to his aid,
(Such was my vision) by his feet betray'd,
Before he reach'd him, fell, with headlong force,
And there, unable to resume his course,
Lay stiff and prostrate; like a feeble sage,
Who, falling to the ground through helpless age,
There fix'd remains, till by some stranger rear'd,
Pitying his hoary hairs, and silver beard:
So on the plain was brave Iphiclus thrown.
To see my sons unaided and alone,
Fast flow'd my tears, till morn with roseate ray Dispell'd my slumbers, and restor❜d the day.
"Such were the visions of this night of dread! Far from our house, on curs'd Eurystheus' head These omens turn! be my presages true, And him, O Fate, with vengeance just pursue!"
As when the winds, ascending by degrees,
First move the whitening surface of the seas,
The billows float in order to the shore,
The wave behind rolls on the wave before;
Till, with the growing storm, the deeps arise,
Foam o'er the rocks, and thunder to the skies.
Pope.
8. whistle through the bending trees, &c.] In the original it is, a rug on, the pine-tree sings. Thus Theocritus, Idyll. 1. ver. 1. — à WITUS μελίσδεται.
that pine tree's boughs, by yonder spring, In pleasing murmurs mix, and sweetly sing.
The dancing Faun fair Lyda charms;
As Echo Pan's soft bosom warms,
So for the Faun sweet Echo burns;
Thus all, inconstant in their turns,
Both fondly woo, are fondly woo'd,
Pursue, and are themselves pursued.
As much as all slight those that woo,
So those that slight are slighted too:
Thus rages, by capricious Fate,
Alternate love, alternate hate.
Ye scornful nymphs and swains, I tell
This truth to you; pray, mark it well;
If to your lovers kind you prove,
You'll gain the hearts of those you love,
Tom loves Mary passing well,
But Mary she loves Harry;
While Harry sighs for bonny Bell,
And tinds his love miscarry.
For bonny Bell for Thomas burns,
While Thomas slights her passion :
So very freakish are the turns
Of human inclination!
As much as Mary Thomas grieves,
Proud Hal despises Mary,
And all the flouts that Bell receives
From Tom, she vents on Harry. Thus all by turns are woo'd and woo,
No turtles can be truer ;
Each loves the object they pursue,
But hates the kind pursuer.
Mol gave Hal a wreath of flowers,
Which he, in amorous folly,
Consign'd to Bell, and in few hours
It came again to Molly.
If one of all the four has frown'd,
You ne'er saw people glummer;
But if one smiles, it catches round,
And all are in good humour. Then, lovers, hence this lesson learn, Throughout the British nation, How much 'tis every one's concern
To smile a reformation:
And still through life this rule pursue, Whatever objects strike you,
Be kind to them that fancy you,
That those you love may like you.
Lovers, farewell; revenge has reach'd my scorn; Idyll. VI.The following modern ballad is close-Thus warn'd, be wise, and love for love return.
ly copied from this idyllium.
TO THE EVENING STAR.
HAIL, golden star! of ray serene,
Thou fav'rite of the Cyprian queen,
O Hesper! glory of the night,
Diffusing through the gloom delight;
Whose beams all other stars outshine,
As much as silver Cynthia thine;
O! guide me, speeding o'er the plain,
To him I love, my shepherd-swain;
He keeps the mirthful feast, and soon
Dark shades will cloud the splendid Moon. 10
Of lambs I never robb'd the fold,
Nor the lone traveller of gold:
Love is my crime: O lend thy ray
To guide a lover on her way!
May the bright star of Venus prove
The gentle harbinger of love!
FROM Pisa, where the sea his flood receives, Alpheus, olive-crown'd, the gift of leaves,
Idyll. VII. This idyllium has given occasion to the following ode to Cynthia, by a lady of Huntingdon; which must be allowed to have surpassed the original:
Sister of Phoebus, gentle queen,
Of aspect mild, and ray serene,
Whose friendly beams by night appear,
The lonely traveller to cheer!
Attractive power! whose mighty sway
The ocean's swelling waves obey,
And, mounting upward, seem to raise
A liquid altar to thy praise;
Thee wither'd hags, at midnight hour,
Invoke to their infernal bower:
But I to no such horrid rite,
Sweet queen, implore thy sacred light,
Nor seek, while all but lovers sleep,
To rob the miser's treasur'd heap;
Thy kindly beams alone impart,
To find the youth who stole my heart, And guide me, from thy silver throne, To steal his heart, or find my own! 3. Glory of the night] Thus Homer, Iliad, book 22, speaking of the same star: Οιος δ' αφης, κ. τ. λ.
As radiant Hesper shines with keener light,
Far-beaming o'er the silver host of night.
Pope. Idyll. VIII-The story of Alpheus and Arethusa is related at large by Ovid, in his Metamorph. book 5. Virgil also mentions it in his neid,
Sicanio prætenta sinu jacet insula contra
Plemmyrium undosum; nomen dixere priores
Ortygiam. Alpheum fama est huc, Elidis amnem,
Occultas egisse vias subter mare; qui nunc
Ore, Arethusa, tuo Siculis confunditur nudis.
An isle, once call'd Ortygia, fronts the sides
Of rough Plemmyrium, and Sicanian tides.
EUNICA; OR, the herdSMAN. WHEN lately I offer'd Eunica to kiss, She fleer'd, and she flouted, and took it amiss; "Begone, you great booby, she cry'd with a frown, Do you think that I long for your kisses, you clown?
The sparks of the city my favours esteem-
You never shall kiss me, no, not in a dream.
How pleasing your look! and how gently you play!
How soft is your voice! and what fine things you
say!
So neat is your beard, and so comely your hair!
And your lips, to be sure, are a delicate pair. 10
But on your dear person I never shall doat;
So pray keep your distance-you smell like a
goat."
Thus spoke the proud hussey, and view'd me all
[ground; With an eye of disdain, and thrice spit on the Then mimick'd my voice with satyrical sneer, And sent me away with a flea in my ear. My blood quickly boil'd, in a violent pique, And, red as a rose, passion glow'd on my cheek; For it vex'd me, that thus in derision she jeer'd My looks, and my voice, and my hair, and my beard. 20 But, am I not handsome, ye shepherds, say true? Or has any god alter'd my person anew? For lately, on oaks like the ivy, with grace My hair and my beard added charms to my face; My brows were coal-black, and my forehead milkwhite, [bright;
And my eyes, like Minerva's, were azure and
My lips sweet as cream, and from them would flow
Words sweeter than honey, and softer than snow.
My songs are enchanting; nor aught can exceed
The tunes of my pipe, or the notes of my reed. 30
The girls of the country, if they had their wills,
Would kiss me, and press me to stay on the hillsi
Hither, 'tis said, Alpheus, from his source
In Elis' realms, directs his watry course;
Beneath the main he takes his secret way,
And mounts with Arethusa's streams to day.
Pitt.
sacred dust] Moschus calls the dust sacred, because the Olympic games, which constituted no small part of the religion of the ancients, were celebrated at Elis, from whence Alpheus flowed.
Idyll. IX. This idyllium, though commonly inserted in the works of Theocritus, has, by Daniel Heinsius and other critics, been adjudged to Moschus; and therefore is here translated. There is another idyllium, of which Moschus is supposed to have been the author, containing a dialogue between Daphnis and a shepherdess; but that is thought too loose to be here inserted. The curious reader may see it translated by Dryden,
DISGUIS'D like a ploughman, Love stole from the sky,
His torch, and his bow, and his quiver thrown by;
And, with pouch at his shoulder, and goad in his
hand,
Began with yok'd oxen to furrow the land:
And, "OJove, bc propitious," he cry'd, "or I vow,
That I'll yoke thee, Europa's fam'd bull, to my
plough."
D.
This justly admired epigram makes us regret that Moschus has left us no more. Tibullus, as Broekhusius observes, probably alludes to this epigram in the beginning of his elegy 3, book 2. particularly in this verse.
But Eunica disdains me, nor lists to my vow; Is she better than Cynthia or Venus, I trow? Verbaque aratoris rustica discit amor. May she never find lovers in city or plain, Now Cupid joys to learn the ploughman's phrase, But lie always alone, yet still wishing in vain! 50 And, clad a peasant, o'er the fallows strays.
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