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None taught the trees a nobler race to bear,
Or more improved the vegetable care.
To her the shady grove, the flowery field,
The streams and fountains, no delights could
yield;

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'Twas all her joy the ripening fruits to tend, And see the boughs with happy burthens bend. The hook she bore instead of Cynthia's spear, To lop the growth of the luxuriant year, To decent form the lawless shoots to bring, And teach the obedient branches where to spring.

Now the cleft rind inserted graffs receives, And yields an offspring more than Nature gives; Now sliding streams the thirsty plants renew, And feed their fibres with reviving dew.

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These cares alone her virgin breast employ, Averse from Venus and the nuptial joy. Her private orchards, walled on every side, To lawless sylvans all access denied. How oft the satyrs and the wanton fauns, Who haunt the forests, or frequent the lawns, The god whose ensign scares the bird of prey, And old Silenus, youthful in decay,

1 In the reign of Procas, a fabulous king of Latium.

2

Priapus.

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Employed their wiles and unavailing care,
To pass the fences, and surprise the fair.
Like these, Vertumnus owned his faithful flame,
Like these, rejected by the scornful dame.
To gain her sight, a thousand forms he wears;
And first a reaper from the field appears;
Sweating he walks, while loads of golden grain
O'ercharge the shoulders of the seeming swain.
Oft o'er his back a crooked scythe is laid,
And wreaths of hay his sunburnt temples
shade:

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Oft in his hardened hand a goad he bears,
Like one who late unyoked the sweating steers.
Sometimes his pruning-hook corrects the vines,
And the loose stragglers to their ranks con-

fines.

Now gathering what the bounteous year allows,

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He pulls ripe apples from the bending boughs.
A soldier now, he with his sword appears;
A fisher next, his trembling angle bears;
Each shape he varies, and each art he tries,
On her bright charms to feast his longing eyes.
A female form at last Vertumnus wears, 45
With all the marks of reverend age appears,
His temples thinly spread with silver hairs;
Propped on his staff, and stooping as he goes,
A painted mitre shades his furrowed brows.
The god in this decrepit form arrayed,
The gardens entered, and the fruit surveyed;
And, "Happy you!" (he thus addressed the

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maid,) "Whose charms as far all other nymphs outshine,

As other gardens are excelled by thine!"

Then kissed the fair; (his kisses warmer grow Than such as women on their sex bestow); 56

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Then placed beside her on the flowery ground,
Beheld the trees with autumn's bounty crowned.
An elm was near, to whose embraces led,
The curling vine her swelling clusters spread :
He viewed her twining branches with delight,
And praised the beauty of the pleasing sight.

"Yet this tall elm, but for his vine (he said)

Had stood neglected, and a barren shade;
And this fair vine, but that her arms surround
Her married elm, had crept along the ground. 66
Ah, beauteous maid! let this example move
Your mind, averse from all the joys of love.
Deign to be loved, and every heart subdue!
What nymph could e'er attract such crowds as
you?

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Not she whose beauty urged the Centaur's

arms,

Ulysses' queen, nor Helen's fatal charms.
Even now, when silent scorn is all thy gain,
A thousand court you, though they court in
vain,

A thousand sylvans, demigods, and gods,

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That haunt our mountains and our Alban

woods.

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But if you'll prosper, mark what I advise,
Whom age and long experience render wise,
And one whose tender care is far above
All that these lovers ever felt of love,
(Far more than e'er can by yourself be guessed)
Fix on Vertumnus, and reject the rest.
For his firm faith I dare engage my own;
Scarce to himself, himself is better known.
To distant lands Vertumnus never roves;
Like you, contented with his native groves;
Nor at first sight, like most, admires the fair;
For you he lives; and you alone shall share

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His last affection, as his early care.
Besides, he's lovely far above the rest,
With youth immortal, and with beauty blessed.
Add, that he varies every shape with ease,
And tries all forms that may Pomona please.
But what should most excite a mutual flame,
Your rural cares and pleasures are the same: 95.
To him your orchard's early fruits are due,
(A pleasing offering when 'tis made by you).
He values these; but yet, alas! complains,
That still the best and dearest gift remains.
Not the fair fruit that on your branches
glows

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With that ripe red the autumnal sun bestows;
Nor tasteful herbs that in these gardens rise,
Which the kind soil with milky sap supplies;
You, only you, can move the god's desire:
Oh crown so constant and so pure a fire!
Let soft compassion touch your gentle mind;
Think, 'tis Vertumnus begs you to be kind!
So may no frost, when early buds appear,
Destroy the promise of the youthful year;
Nor winds, when first your florid orchard

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Shake the light blossoms from their blasted boughs!"

This when the various god had urged in
vain,

He straight assumed his native form again;
Such, and so bright an aspect now he bears,
As when through clouds the emerging sun

appears,

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And thence exerting his refulgent ray,
Dispels the darkness, and reveals the day.
Force he prepared, but checked the rash design;
For when, appearing in a form divine,

The nymph surveys him, and beholds the grace

Of charming features, and a youthful face, 121 In her soft breast consenting passions move, And the warm maid confessed a mutual love.

SAPPHO TO PHAON.

TRANSLATED FROM OVID. (HEROID. XV.)

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AY, lovely youth, that dost my heart command,

Can Phaon's eyes forget his Sappho's
hand?

Must then her name the wretched writer prove
To thy remembrance lost, as to thy love?
Ask not the cause that I new numbers choose, 5
The lute neglected, and the lyric muse;
Love taught my tears in sadder notes to flow,
And tuned my heart to elegies of woe.

I burn, I burn, as when through ripened corn By driving winds the spreading flames are borne !

ΙΟ

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Phaon to Ætna's scorching field retires;
While I consume with more than Etna's fires!
No more my soul a charm in music finds;
Music has charms alone for peaceful minds.
Soft scenes of solitude no more can please,
Love enters there, and I'm my own disease.
No more the Lesbian dames my passion move,
Once the dear objects of my guilty love;
All other loves are lost in only thine,
Ah youth ungrateful to a flame like mine!
Whom would not all those blooming charms

surprise,

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Those heavenly looks, and dear deluding eyes?

E

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