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While you in fongs your happy love proclaim,
And every grove learns Amaryllis' name *.

A God (to me he always shall be so)
O Melibous ! did this grace bestow.
The choicest lamb which in my flock does feed
Shall each new moon upon his altar bleed :
He every blessing on his creatures brings;
By him the herd does graze ; by him the herdsman sings-

I envy not, but I admire your fate,
Which thus exempts you from our wretched state.
Look on my goats that browze, my kids that play,
Driven hence inyself, these I must drive away,



England in the reign of Queen Anne, and recommended the subject of Mr. Pope's “Rape of the Lock” to that author, who on its publication addressed it to him. He was alive in 1717, and at that time must have been a very old

See three of his Letters in “ Additions to Pope," vol. II. p. 114. R.

* The reader may be pleased to observe, that Virgil, under the name of Tityrus, personates himself, newly faved by the favour of Augustus Cæsar, from the general calamity of. his Mantuan neighbours; whose lands were taken from them, and divided amongst the veteran soldiers, for having been dipt (as may be presumed) in the same guilt with their borderers of Cremona; who, in the civil wars, joined with Cassius and Brutus. These Mantuans are likewise personated by Melibeus; as also by Amaryllis the city of Rome, by


And this poor

mother of a new-fall’n pair (The herd's chief hope, alas! but my despair !) Has left them in yon brakes, beside the way, Expos'd to every beast and bird of prey. Had not some angry planet struck me blind, This dire calamity I had divin’d. 'Twas ofc foretold me by heaven's loudest voice, Rending our tallest oaks with dismal noise : Ravens spoke too, though in a lower tone, And long from hollow trees were heard to groan. But say : what God has Tityrus reliev'd ?

T I TYR U S. The place call'd Rome, I foolishly believ'd Was like our Mantua, where, on market-days, We drive our well-fed lambs (the shepherd's praise); Galatea that of Mantua, are represented. The drift of this Eclogue is to celebrate the munificence of Augustus towards Virgil, whom he makes his tutelar God; and the better to fet this off, he brings in Melibæus, viz. his Mantuan neighbours, pathetically relating their own deplorable condition, and at the same time magnifying the felicity of Tityrus. This his exemption from the common calamity of his counirymen, Virgil thadows over with the allegory of a slave recovering his liberty. And because flaves did not commonly use to be infranchised till age had made them useless for labour; to follow the trope, he makes himself an old man, as by the Candidior Barbag, and the Fortunate Senex, fufficiently appears ; though, in reality, Virgil at that time was young, and then first made known to Augustus by the recommendation of his verses, and of his friends Varus and Mäcenas. CARYLL.

So whelps, I knew, fo kids, their dams express,
And so the great I measur'd by the less.
But other towns when you to her compare,
They creeping fhrubs to the tall cypress are.


occasion call'd


hence to Rome?


Freedom, which came at last, though now to come :
She came not till cold Winter did begin,
And age fome snow had sprinkled on my chin,
Nor then, till Galatea I forsook,
For Amaryllis deign’d on me to look.
No hope for liberty, I must confess,
No hope, nor care of wealth, did me poffefs,
Whilft I with Galatea did remain :
For though my flock her altars did maintain,
Though often I had made my cheese-press groang
Largely to furnish our ungrateful town,
Yet still with empty hands I trotted home..

I wonder'd, Galatea! whence should come
Thy fad complaints to heaven, and why so long
Ungather'd on their trees thy apples hung!
Absent was Tityrus! thee every

dale, Mountain and spring, thee every tree did call !

What should I do? I could not here be free,
And only in that place could hope to fce
A God propitious to my liberty.



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There I the heavenly youth did first behold,
Whose monthly feast while solemnly I hold,
My loaded altars never shall be cold.
He heard my prayers ; go home, he cry'd, and feed
In peace your herd, let forth your bulls for breed.



Happy old man ! thy farm untouch'd remains,
And large enough : though it may ask thy pains,
To clear the stones, and rushes cure by drains.
Thy teeming ewes will no strange pastures try,
No murrain fear from tainted company.
Thrice happy fwain! guarded from Syrian beams,
By facred springs, and long-acquainted ftreams,
Look on that bordering fence, whose osier trees
Are fraught with flowers, whose flowers are fraught

with bees : How, with their drowsy tone, the whistling air (Your Neep to tempt) a concert does prepare ! At farther distance, but with stronger lungs, The wood-man joins with these his rustic songs : Stock-doves and murmuring turtles tune their throat, Those in a hoarser, these a softer note.

TITY RU S. Therefore the land and sea shall dwellers change : Fish on dry ground, stags shall on water range : The Parthians shall commute their bounds with Francs, Those shall on Soane, these drink on Tygris' banks, Ere I his god-like image from


heart Suffer with black ingratitude to part.



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But we must roam to parts remote, unknown,
Under the Torrid and the Frigid Zone :
These frozen Scythia, and parch'd Africk those,
Cretan Oaxis others must inclose :
Some 'mongst the utmost Britains are confin’d,
Doom'd to an isle from all the world disjoin’d.
Ah! muft I never more my country see,
But in (trange lands an endless exile be ?
Is my eternal banishment decreed,
From my poor cottage, rear'd with turf and reed?
Must impious soldiers all these grounds possess,
My fields of standing corn, my fertile leyes?
Did I for these barbarians plow and sow ?
What dire effects from civil discord flow!
Graft pears, O Melibeus ! plant the vine !
The fruit shall others be, the labour thine.
Farewell my goats ! a happy herd, when mine!
No more thall I, in the refreshing Made
Of verdant grottoes, by kind nature made,
Behold you climbing on the mountain top,
The flowery thyme and fragrant shrubs to crop.
I part with every joy, parting from you ;
Then farewell all the world ! verses and pipe, adieu !

At least this night with me forget your care ;
Chesnuts and well-prest cheese shall be your fare ;
For now the mountain a long shade extends,
And curling smoke from village tops afcends.



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