صور الصفحة
PDF
النشر الإلكتروني

IDYL V.

LIFE TO BE ENJOYED.

IF sweet my songs, or these sufficient be
Which I have sung to give renown to me,
I know not: but it misbeseems to strain

At things we have not learned, and toil in vain.
If sweet these songs are not, what profit more
Have I to labour at them o'er and o'er?

If Saturn's son, and changeful Fate, assigned
A double life-time to our mortal kind,

That one in joys and one in woes be past,

Who had his woes first would have joys at last.

But since Heaven wills one life to man should fall, And this is

brief very

too brief for all

We think to do, why should we fret and moil,

And vex ourselves with never-ending toil?

To what end waste we life, exhaust our health On gainful arts and sigh for greater wealth?

We surely all forget our mortal state

How brief the life allotted us by Fate!

IDYL VI.

CLEODAMUS AND MYRSON.

CLEODAMUS.

WHAT Sweet for you has Summer or the Spring,
What joy does Autumn or the Winter bring?
Which season do you hail with most delight?
Summer whose fulness doth our toils requite?
Or the sweet Autumn when but slight distress
From hunger falls on mortal wretchedness?

Or lazy winter-since but few are loath

To cheer themselves with fire-side ease and sloth? Or the spring blushing with its bloom of flowers? Tell me your choice, since leisure-time is ours,

MYRSON.

For man to judge things heavenly is unmeet,

And all these seasons holy are and sweet.

But I to please you will indulge your ear,
And tell my favourite season of the year.
Not summer-then I feel the scorching sun;
Nor autumn-then their course diseases run;
And hard I find to bear the winter frore,
The chilling snow I fear, and crystal hoar.
Of all the year the spring delights me most,
Free from the scorching sun, and bitter frost.
All life-containing shapes conceive in spring,
And all sweet things are sweetly blossoming;
And in that season of the year's delight
There is for men an equal day and night.

IDYL VII.

ACHILLES AND DEIDAMIA.

MYRSON.

WILL you, my Lycidas, now sing for me
A soothing sweet Sicilian melody

A love-song, such as once the Cyclops young
On the sea-shore to Galatea sung?

LYCIDAS.

I'll pipe or sing for you: what shall it be?

MYRSON.

The song of Scyros dearly pleases me,
Sweet love the pleasant life Pelides led-
His furtive kisses, and the furtive bed.

How he, a boy, put on a virgin's dress,
Assumed a virgin's mien, and seemed no less;

BB

« السابقةمتابعة »