'Twas the the parent, to the Latian fhore

Through various dangers Troy's remainder bore.
She won Lavinia for her warlike son,

And winning her, the Latian empire won.
She gave to Mars the maid, whofe honour'd womb
Swell'd with the founder of immortal Rome.
Decoy'd by fhows the Sabin dames fhe led,
And taught our vig'rous youth the means to wed.
Hence sprung the Romans, hence the race divine-
Thro' which great Cæfar draws his Julian line..

Let thofe love now, who never lov'd before,
Let thofe who always lov'd, now love the more..

In rural feats the foul of pleasure reigns;. The life of beauty fills the rural scenes ; Ev'n love (if fame the truth of love declare) Drew first the breathings of a rural air.

Some pleasing meadow pregnant beauty preft, -
She laid her infant on its flow'ry breaft,.
From nature's sweets he fipp'd the fragrant dew,
He smil'd, he kiss'd them, and by kiffing grew..
Let thofe love now, who never lov'd before,
Let thofe who always lov'd, now love the more..

Now,

Ecce, jam fuper geniftas explicant tauri latus.

Quifque tuus quo tenetur conjugali fœdere.

Subter umbras cum maritis ecce balantûm gregem.

Et canoras non tacere Diva juffit alites.

Jam loquaces ore rauco stagna cygni perstrepunt,

Adfonat Terei puella fubter umbram populi,

Ut putas motus amoris ore dici mufico,

Et neges queri fororem de marito barbaro.

Illa

Now bulls o'er stalks of broom extend their fides,
Secure of favours from their lowing brides.
Now stately rams their fleecy conforts lead,
Who bleating follow thro' the wand'ring shade.
And now the Goddess bids the birds appear,
Raise all their music, and falute the year:
Then deep the swan begins, and deep the song

Runs o'er the water where he fails along;
While Philomela tunes a treble strain,

And from the poplar charms the lift'ning plain.
We fancy love exprest at ev'ry note,

It melts, it warbles, in her liquid throat.
Of barb'rous Tereus fhe complains no more,
But fings for pleasure as for grief before.
And ftill her graces rife, her airs extend,

And all is filence till the Syren end.

How

Illa cantat: nos tacemus: quando ver venit

meum ?

Quando faciam ut celidon, ut tacere definam ?

Perdidi musam tacendo, nec me Phoebus refpicit.
Sic Amyclas, cum tacerent, perdidit filentium.

Cras amet, qui numquam amavit; quique amavit,

cras amet.

How long in coming is my lovely spring?
And when shall I, and when the sfwallow fing?
Sweet Philomela cease, Or here I fit,

And filent lofe my rapt'rous hour of wit:
'Tis gone, the fit retires, the flames decay,
My tuneful Phoebus flies averse away.
His own Amycle thus, as ftories run,
But once was filent, and that once undone.
Let thofe love now, who never lov'd before,
Let thofe who always lov'd, now love the more..

HOMER's