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Her private orchards, walled on ev'ry 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 birds of prey.
And old Silenus, youthful in decay,

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 sun-burnt temples shade:
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 confines.
Now gath'ring what the bounteous year allows,
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,
With all the marks of rev'rend 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 decrepid form arrayed,
The gardens entered, and the fruit surveyed;
And "Happy you!" (he thus addressed the maid)

1 Priapus.

A broad band of cloth worn by women round the head.

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"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');
Then placed beside her on the flow'ry 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.
Ah! beauteous maid, let this example move
Your mind, averse from all the joys of love.
Deign to be loved, and ev'ry heart subdue!
What nymph could e'er attract such crowds as you?
Not she whose beauty urged the Centaur's arms,'
Ulysses' queen, nor Helen's fatal charms.

Ev'n now, when silent scorn is all they gain,

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A thousand court you, though they court in vain,

75

A thousand sylvans, demigods, and gods,

That haunt our mountains and our Alban woods.
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.

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fable, a Centaur carried her off at her marriage feast. This occasioned the battle between the Lapithæ, over whom her husband ruled, and the Centaurs.

To distant lands Vertumnus never roves;
Like yon, contented with his native groves:
Nor at first sight, like most, admires the fair;
For you he lives; and you alone shall share
His last affection, as his early care.
Besides, he's lovely far above the rest,

With youth immortal, and with beauty blest.
Add, that he varies ev'ry 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:
To him your orchards' early fruits are due,
(A pleasing off'ring 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 yon branches glows
With that ripe red th' 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 blows,
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 th' emerging sun appears,
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,

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The nymph surveys him, and beholds the grace
Of charming features, and a youthful face,
In her soft breast consenting passions move,
And the warm maid confessed a mutual love.

120

JANUARY AND MAY:

OR,

THE MERCHANT'S TALE.

VOL. I. POETRY.

FROM CHAUCER.

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