And bid fair peace be to my fable shroud. For we were nurft upon the self-same hill, Fed the fame flock by fountain, shade, and rill. Together both, ere the high lawns appear'd 25 Under the opening eye-lids of the morn, We drove a field, and both together heard What time the gray-fly winds her sultry horn, Batt'ning our flocks with the fresh dews of night, ..Oft till the ftar that rose, at evening, bright, Tow'ard Heav'n's descent had flop'd his weft'ring Mean while the rural ditties were not mute, (wheel. Temper'd to th' oaten flute,

30

Rough Satyrs danc'd, and Fauns with cloven heel From the glad found would not be abfent long, 35 And old Damætas lov'd to hear our fong.

But O the heavy change, now thou art gone, Now thou art gone, and never must return! Thee, Shepherd, thee the woods, and desert caves With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'ergrown, And all their echoes mourn.

The willows and the hazel copses green,

Shall now no more be seen,

41

Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays.
As killing as the canker to the rose,

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Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze, Or froft to flow'rs, that their gay wardrobe wear, When firft the white-thorn blows;

Such, Lycidas, thy lofs to fhepherds ear.

Where were ye, Nymphs, when the remorseless deep Clos'd o'er the head of your lov'd Lycidas?

For neither were ye playing on the steep,

Where your old Bards, the famous Druids, lie,
Nor on the fhaggy top of Mona high,

Nor yet where Deva spreads her wisard stream:55
Ay me! I fondly dream

Had ye been there, for what could that have done?
What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore,
The Muse herself for her inchanting fon,
Whom universal nature did lament,

When by the rout that made the hideous roar,
His goary visage down the ftream was fent,
Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore?
Alas! What boots it with inceffant care
To tend the homely flighted fhepherd's trade, 65
And ftrickly meditate the thankless Muse?
Were it not better done as others use,
To sport with Amaryllis in the fhade,

Or with the tangles of Neæra's hair?

Fame is the spur that the clear spi'rit doth raise 70 (That last infirmity of noble mind)

To fcorn delights, and live laborious days;
But the fair guerdon when we hope to find,
And think to burst out into fudden blaze,
Comes the blind Fury with th' abhorred shears, 75
And flits the thin-fpun life. But not the praise,
Phoebus reply'd, and touch'd my trembling ears;

Fame

Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil,
Nor in the glift'ring foil

Set off to th' world, nor in broad rumor lies, 80
But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes,
And perfect witness of all-judging Jove;
As he pronounces laftly on each deed,

Of so much fame in Heav'n expect thy meed.

O fountain Arethuse, and thou honor'd flood, 85 Smooth-fliding Mincius, crown'd with vocal reeds, That strain I heard was of a higher mood:

But now my oat proceeds,

And liftens to the herald of the fea

That came in Neptune's plea ;

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He afk'd the waves, and afk'd the fellon winds,
What hard mishap had doom'd this gentle swain ?
And question'd every guft of rugged wings,
That blows from off each beaked promontory;
They knew not of his story,

And fage Hippotades their answer brings,
That not a blaft was from his dungeon ftray'd,
The air was calm, and on the level brine
Sleek Panope with all her fifters play'd.
It was that fatal and perfidious bark
Built in th' eclipfe, and rigg'd with curses dark,
That funk fo low that facred head of thine.

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Next Camus, reverend fire, went footing flow, His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge, Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge 105

Like to that fanguin flow'r infcrib'd with woe.

Ah! Who hath reft (quoth he) my dearest pledge? Laft came, and laft did go,

The pilot of the Galilean lake,

Two massy keys he bore of metals twain, (The golden opes, the iron fhuts amain)

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He shook his miter'd locks, and stern bespake, How well could I have fpar'd for thee young fwain, Enow of fuch as for their bellies fake

Creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold? 115 Of other care they little reck'ning make,

(hold

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Than how to scramble at the shearers feast,
And shove away the worthy bidden gueft;
Blind mouths! that scarce themselves know how to
A sheep-hook, or have learn'd ought else the least
That to the faithful herdman's art belongs!
What recks it them? What need they? They are fped;
And when they lift, their lean and flashy songs,
Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched ftraw;
The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed;
But fwoln with wind, and the rank mist they draw,
Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread:
Befides what the grim wolf with privy paw
Daily devours apace, and nothing said,
But that two-handed engin at the door
Stands ready to fmite once, and smite no more.
Return Alpheus, the dread voice is past,
That shrunk thy fireams; return Sicilian Muse,

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130

And

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And call the vales, and bid them hither caft
Their bells, and flourets of a thousand hues.
Ye Valleys low, where the mild whispers use
Of shades, and wanton winds, and gufhing brooks,
On whose fresh lap the swart star sparely looks,
Throw hither all your quaint enamel'd eyes,
That on the green turf fuck the honied showers, 140
And purple all the ground with vernal flowers.
Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies,
The tufted crow-toe, and pale jeffamine,
The white pink, and the panfy freakt with jet,
The glowing violet,

The musk-rose, and the well-attir'd woodbine,
With cowflips wan that hang the penfive head,
And every flow'r that fad embroidery wears :
Bid amarantus all his beauty fhed,
And daffadillies fill their cups with tears,
To ftrow the laureat herse where Lycid lies.
For so to interpose a little ease,

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150

Let our frail thoughts dally with false furmife.
Ay me! Whilft thee the fhores, and founding feas
Wash far away, where'er thy bones are hurl'd, 155
Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides,
Where thou perhaps under the whelming tide
Vifit'ft the bottom of the monftrous world;
Or whether thou to our moist vows deny'd,
Sleep'ft by the fable of Bellerus old,
Where the great vifion of the guarded mount

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Looks