The Poetical Works of James Beattie

HORACE. BOOK II. ODE X

Rectins vives, Licini —Wouldst thou through life securely glide;Nor boundless o'er the ocean ride;Nor ply too near th' insidious shore,Scar'd at the tempest's threat'ning roar.The man, who follows Wisdom's voice,And makes the golden mean his choice,Nor plung'd in antique gloomy cellsMidst hoary desolation dwells;Nor to allure the envious eyeRears his proud palace to the sky.The pine, that all the grove transcends,With every blast the tempest rends;Totters the tower with thund'rous sound,And spreads a mighty ruin round;Jove's bolt with desolating blowStrikes the ethereal mountain's brow.The man, whose steadfast soul can bearFortune indulgent or severe,Hopes when she frowns, and when she smilesWith cautious fear eludes her wiles.Jove with rude winter wastes the plain,Jove decks the rosy spring again.Life's former ills are overpast,Nor will the present always last.Now Phœbus wings his shafts, and nowHe lays aside th' unbended bow,Strikes into life the trembling string,And wakes the silent Muse to sing.With unabating courage, braveAdversity's tumultuous wave;When too propitious breezes rise,And the light vessel swiftly flies,With timid caution catch the gale,And shorten the distended sail.

HORACE. BOOK III. ODE XIII

O Fons Blandusiæ —Blandusia! more than crystal clear!Whose soothing murmurs charm the ear!Whose margin soft with flowerets crown'dInvites the festive band around,Their careless limbs diffus'd supine,To quaff the soul-enlivening wine.To thee a tender kid I vow,That aims for fight his budding brow;In thought, the wrathful combat proves,Or wantons with his little loves:But vain are all his purpos'd schemes,Delusive all his flattering dreams,To-morrow shall his fervent bloodStain the pure silver of thy flood.When fiery Sirius blasts the plain,Untouch'd thy gelid streams remain.To thee the fainting flocks repair,To taste thy cool reviving air;To thee the ox with toil opprest,And lays his languid limbs to rest.As springs of old renown'd, thy name,Blest fountain! I devote to fame;Thus while I sing in deathless laysThe verdant holm, whose waving sprays,Thy sweet retirement to defend,High o'er the moss-grown rock impend,Whence prattling in loquacious playThy sprightly waters leap away.

THE PASTORALS OF VIRGIL

Non ita certandi cupidus, quam propter amoremQuod te imitari aveo —Lucret. lib. iii.

PASTORAL I. 50

MELIBŒUS, TITYRUS

MELIBŒUSWhere the broad beech an ample shade displays,Your slender reed resounds the sylvan lays,O happy Tityrus! while we, forlorn,Driven from our lands, to distant climes are borne,Stretch'd careless in the peaceful shade you sing,And all the groves with Amaryllis ring.TITYRUSThis peace to a propitious God I owe;None else, my friend, such blessings could bestow.Him will I celebrate with rites divine,And frequent lambs shall stain his sacred shrine.By him, these feeding herds in safety stray;By him, in peace I pipe the rural lay.MELIBŒUSI envy not, but wonder at your fate,That no alarms invade this blest retreat;While neighbouring fields the voice of woe resound,And desolation rages all around.Worn with fatigue I slowly onward bend,And scarce my feeble fainting goats attend.My hand this sickly dam can hardly bear,Whose young new-yean'd (ah once an hopeful pair!)Amid the tangling hazels as they lay,On the sharp flint were left to pine away.These ills I had foreseen, but that my mindTo all portents and prodigies was blind.Oft have the blasted oaks foretold my woe;And often has the inauspicious crow,Perch'd on the wither'd holm, with fateful criesScream'd in my ear her dismal prophecies.But say, O Tityrus, what god bestowsThis blissful life of undisturb'd repose?TITYRUSImperial Rome, while yet to me unknown,I vainly liken'd to our country-town,Our little Mantua, at which is soldThe yearly offspring of our fruitful fold:As in the whelp the father's shape appears,And as the kid its mother's semblance bears.Thus greater things my inexperienc'd mindRated by others of inferior kind.But she, midst other cities, rears her headHigh, as the cypress overtops the reed.MELIBŒUSAnd why to visit Rome was you inclin'd?TITYRUS'Twas there I hoped my liberty to find.And there my liberty I found at last,Though long with listless indolence opprest;Yet not till Time had silver'd o'er my hairs,And I had told a tedious length of years;Nor till the gentle Amaryllis charm'd,51And Galatea's love no longer warm'd.For (to my friend I will confess the whole)While Galatea captive held my soul,Languid and lifeless all I dragg'd the chain,Neglected liberty, neglected gain.Though from my fold the frequent victim bled,Though my fat cheese th' ungrateful city fed,For this I ne'er perceiv'd my wealth increase:I lavish'd all her haughty heart to please.MELIBŒUSWhy Amaryllis pin'd, and pass'd away,In lonely shades the melancholy day;Why to the gods she breath'd incessant vows;For whom her mellow apples press'd the boughsSo late, I wonder'd – Tityrus was gone,And she (ah luckless maid!) was left alone.Your absence every warbling fountain mourn'd,And woods and wilds the wailing strains return'd.TITYRUSWhat could I do? to break th' enslaving chainAll other efforts had (alas!) been vain;Nor durst my hopes presume, but there, to findThe gods so condescending and so kind.'Twas there these eyes the Heaven-born youth beheld,52To whom our altars monthly incense yield:My suit he even prevented, while he spoke,"Manure your ancient farm, and feed your former flock."MELIBŒUSHappy old man! then shall your lands remain,Extent sufficient for th' industrious swain!Though bleak and bare yon ridgy rocks arise,And lost in lakes the neighbouring pasture lies.Your herds on wonted grounds shall safely range,And never feel the dire effects of change.No foreign flock shall spread infecting baneTo hurt your pregnant dams, thrice happy swain!You by known streams and sacred fountains laidShall taste the coolness of the fragrant shade.Beneath yon fence, where willow-boughs unite,And to their flowers the swarming bees invite,Oft shall the lulling hum persuade to rest,And balmy slumbers steal into your breast;While warbled from this rock the pruner's layIn deep repose dissolves your soul away;High on yon elm the turtle wails alone,And your lov'd ringdoves breathe a hoarser moan.TITYRUSThe nimble harts shall graze in empty air,And seas retreating leave their fishes bare,The German dwell where rapid Tigris flows,The Parthian banish'd by invading foesShall drink the Gallic Arar, from my breastEre his majestic image be effac'd.MELIBŒUSBut we must travel o'er a length of lands,O'er Scythian snows, or Afric's burning sands;Some wander where remote Oäxes lavesThe Cretan meadows with his rapid waves:In Britain some, from every comfort torn,From all the world remov'd, are doom'd to mourn.When long long years have tedious roll'd away,Ah! shall I yet at last, at last, surveyMy dear paternal lands, and dear abode,Where once I reign'd in walls of humble sod!These lands, these harvests must the soldier share!For rude barbarians lavish we our care!How are our fields become the spoil of wars!How are we ruin'd by intestine jars!Now, Melibœus, now ingraff the pear,Now teach the vine its tender sprays to rear! —Go, then, my goats! – go, once an happy store!Once happy! – happy now (alas!) no more!No more shall I, beneath the bowery shadeIn rural quiet indolently laid,Behold you from afar the cliffs ascend,And from the shrubby precipice depend;No more to music wake my melting flute,While on the thyme you feed, and willow's wholesome shoot.TITYRUSThis night at least with me you may reposeOn the green foliage, and forget your woes.Apples and nuts mature our boughs afford,And curdled milk in plenty crowns my board.Now from yon hamlets clouds of smoke arise,And slowly roll along the evening skies;And see projected from the mountain's browA lengthen'd shade obscures the plain below.

PASTORAL II. 53

ALEXIS

Young Corydon for fair Alexis pin'd,But hope ne'er gladden'd his desponding mind;Nor vows nor tears the scornful boy could move,Distinguish'd by his wealthier master's love.Oft to the beech's deep embowering shadePensive and sad this hapless shepherd stray'd;There told in artless verse his tender painTo echoing hills and groves, but all in vain.In vain the flute's complaining lays I try;But am I doom'd, unpitying boy, to die?Now to faint flocks the grove a shade supplies,And in the thorny brake the lizard lies;Now Thestylis with herbs of savoury tastePrepares the weary harvest-man's repast;And all is still, save where the buzzing soundOf chirping grasshoppers is heard around;While I expos'd to all the rage of heatWander the wilds in search of thy retreat.Was it not easier to support the painI felt from Amaryllis' fierce disdain?Easier Menalcas' cold neglect to bear,Black though he was, though thou art blooming fair?Yet be relenting, nor too much presume,O beauteous boy, on thy celestial bloom;The sable violet54 yields a precious dye,While useless on the field the withering lilies lie.Ah, cruel boy! my love is all in vain,No thoughts of thine regard thy wretched swain.How rich my flock thou carest not to know,Nor how my pails with generous milk o'erflow.With bleat of thousand lambs my hills resound,And all the year my milky stores abound.Not Amphion's lays were sweeter than my song,Those lays that led the listening herds along.And if the face be true I lately view'd,Where calm and clear th' uncurling ocean stood,I lack not beauty, nor could'st thou deny,That even with Daphnis I may dare to vie.O deign at last amid these lonely fieldsTo taste the pleasures which the country yields;With me to dwell in cottages resign'd,To roam the woods, to shoot the bounding hind;With me the weanling kids from home to guideTo the green mallows on the mountain side;With me in echoing groves the song to raise,And emulate even Pan's celestial lays.Pan taught the jointed reed its tuneful strain,Pan guards the tender flock, and shepherd swain.Nor grudge, Alexis, that the rural pipeSo oft has stain'd the roses of thy lip:How did Amyntas strive thy skill to gain!How grieve at last to find his labour vain!Of seven unequal reeds a pipe I have,The precious gift which good Damœtas gave;"Take this," the dying shepherd said, "for noneInherits all my skill but thou alone."He said; Amyntas murmurs at my praise,And with an envious eye the gift surveys.Besides, as presents for my soul's delight,Two beauteous kids I keep bestreak'd with white,Nourish'd with care, nor purchas'd without pain;An ewe's full udder twice a day they drain.These to obtain oft Thestylis hath triedEach winning art, while I her suit denied;But I at last shall yield what she requests,Since thy relentless pride my gifts detests.Come, beauteous boy, and bless my rural bowers,For thee the nymphs collect the choicest flowers;Fair Nais culls amid the bloomy daleThe drooping poppy, and the violet pale,To marygolds the hyacinth applies,Shading the glossy with the tawny dyes:Narcissus' flower with daffodil entwin'd,And cassia's breathing sweets to these are join'd.With every bloom that paints the vernal grove,And all to form a garland for my love.Myself with sweetest fruits will crown thy feast;The luscious peach shall gratify thy taste,And, chestnut brown (once high in my regard,For Amaryllis this to all preferr'd;But if the blushing plum thy choice thou make,The plum shall more be valued for thy sake.)The myrtle wreath'd with laurel shall exhaleA blended fragrance to delight thy smell.Ah Corydon! thou rustic, simple swain!Thyself, thy prayers, thy offers all are vain.How few, compar'd with rich Iolas' store,Thy boasted gifts, and all thy wealth how poor!Wretch that I am! while thus I pine forlorn,And all the livelong day inactive mourn,The boars have laid my silver fountains waste,My flowers are fading in the southern blast. —Fly'st thou, ah foolish boy, the lonesome grove?Yet gods for this have left the realms above.Paris with scorn the pomp of Troy survey'd,And sought th' Idæan bowers and peaceful shade,In her proud palaces let Pallas shine;The lowly woods, and rural life be mine.The lioness all dreadful in her coursePursues the wolf, and he with headlong forceFlies at the wanton goat, that loves to climbThe cliff's steep side, and crop the flowering thyme;Thee Corydon pursues, O beauteous boy:Thus each is drawn along by some peculiar joy.Now evening soft comes on; and homeward nowFrom field the weary oxen bear the plough.The setting Sun now beams more mildly bright,The shadows lengthening with the level light.While with love's flame my restless bosom glows.For love no interval of ease allows.Ah Corydon! to weak complaints a prey!What madness thus to waste the fleeting day!Be rous'd at length; thy half-prun'd vines demandThe needful culture of thy curbing hand.Haste, lingering swain, the flexile willows weave,And with thy wonted care thy wants relieve.Forget Alexis' unrelenting scorn,Another love thy passion will return.

PASTORAL III

MENALCAS, DAMŒTAS, PALÆMON. 55

MENALCASTo whom belongs this flock, Damœtas, pray:To Melibœus?DAMŒTASNo; the other dayThe shepherd Ægon gave it me to keep.MENALCASAh still neglected, still unhappy sheep!56He plies Neæra with assiduous love,And fears lest she my happier flame approve;Meanwhile this hireling wretch (disgrace to swains!)Defrauds his master, and purloins his gains,Milks twice an hour, and drains the famish'd dams,Whose empty dugs in vain attract the lambs.DAMŒTASForbear on men such language to bestow.Thee, stain of manhood! thee full well I know.I know, with whom – and where —57 (their grove defil'dThe nymphs reveng'd not, but indulgent smil'd)And how the goats beheld, then browsing near,The shameful sight with a lascivious leer.MENALCASNo doubt, when Mycon's tender trees I broke,And gash'd his young vines with a blunted hook.DAMŒTASOr when conceal'd behind this ancient rowOf beech, you broke young Daphnis' shafts and bow,With sharpest pangs of rancorous anguish stungTo see the gift conferr'd on one so young;And had you not thus wreak'd your sordid spite,Of very envy you had died outright.MENALCASGods! what may masters dare, when such a pitchOf impudence their thievish hirelings reach:Did I not, wretch (deny it if you dare),Did I not see you Damon's goat ensnare?Lycisca bark'd; then I the felon spy'd,And "Whither slinks yon sneaking thief?" I cried.The thief discover'd straight his prey forsook,And skulk'd amid the sedges of the brook.DAMŒTASThat goat my pipe from Damon fairly gain'd;A match was set, and I the prize obtain'd.He own'd it due to my superior skill,And yet refus'd his bargain to fulfil.MENALCASBy your superior skill – the goat was won!Have you a jointed pipe, indecent clown!Whose whizzing straws with harshest discord jarr'd,As in the streets your wretched rhymes you marr'd.DAMŒTASBoasts are but vain. I'm ready, when you will,To make a solemn trial of our skill.I stake this heifer, no ignoble prize;Two calves from her full udder she supplies,And twice a day her milk the pail o'erflows;What pledge of equal worth will you expose?MENALCASOught from the flock I dare not risk; I fearA cruel stepdame, and a sire severe,Who of their store so strict a reckoning keep,That twice a day they count the kids and sheep.But, since you purpose to be mad to-day,Two beechen cups I scruple not to lay,(Whose far superior worth yourself will own)The labour'd work of fam'd Alcimedon.Rais'd round the brims by the engraver's careThe flaunting vine unfolds its foliage fair;Entwin'd the ivy's tendrils seem to grow,Half-hid in leaves its mimic berries glow;Two figures rise below, of curious frame,Conon, and – what's that other sage's name,Who with his rod describ'd the world's vast round,Taught when to reap, and when to till the ground?At home I have reserv'd them unprofan'd,No lip has e'er their glossy polish stain'd.DAMŒTASTwo cups for me that skilful artist made;Their handles with acanthus are array'd;Orpheus is in the midst, whose magic songLeads in tumultuous dance the lofty groves along.At home I have reserv'd them unprofan'd,No lip has e'er their glossy polish stain'd.But my pledg'd heifer if aright you prize,The cups so much extoll'd you will despise.MENALCASThese arts, proud boaster, all are lost on me;To any terms I readily agree.You shall not boast your victory to-day,Let him be judge who passes first this way:And see the good Palæmon! trust me, swain,You'll be more cautious how you brag again.DAMŒTASDelays I brook not; if you dare, proceed;At singing no antagonist I dread.Palæmon, listen to th' important songs,To such debates attention strict belongs.PALÆMONSing, then. A couch the flowery herbage yields;Now blossom all the trees, and all the fields;And all the woods their pomp of foliage wear,And Nature's fairest robe adorns the blooming year.Damœtas first th' alternate lay shall raise:Th' inspiring Muses love alternate lays.DAMŒTASJove first I sing; ye Muses, aid my lay;All Nature owns his energy and sway;The Earth and Heavens his sovereign bounty share,And to my verses he vouchsafes his care.MENALCASWith great Apollo I begin the strain,For I am great Apollo's favourite swain:For him the purple hyacinth I wear,And sacred bay to Phœbus ever dear.DAMŒTASThe sprightly Galatea at my headAn apple flung, and to the willows fled;But as along the level lawn she flew,The wanton wish'd not to escape my view.MENALCASI languish'd long for fair Amyntas' charms,But now he comes unbidden to my arms,And with my dogs is so familiar grown,That my own Delia is no better known.DAMŒTASI lately mark'd where midst the verdant shadeTwo parent-doves had built their leafy bed;I from the nest the young will shortly take,And to my love an handsome present make.MENALCASTen ruddy wildings, from a lofty bough,That through the green leaves beam'd with yellow glowI brought away, and to Amyntas bore;To-morrow I shall send as many more.DAMŒTASAh the keen raptures! when my yielding fairBreath'd her kind whispers to my ravish'd ear!Waft, gentle gales, her accents to the skies,That gods themselves may hear with sweet surprise.MENALCASWhat though I am not wretched by your scorn?Say, beauteous boy, say can I cease to mourn,If, while I hold the nets, the boar you face,And rashly brave the dangers of the chase.DAMŒTASSend Phyllis home, Iolas, for to-dayI celebrate my birth, and all is gay;When for my crop the victim I prepare,Iolas in our festival may share.MENALCASPhyllis I love; she more than all can charm,And mutual fires her gentle bosom warm:Tears, when I leave her, bathe her beauteous eyes,"A long, a long adieu, my love!" she cries.DAMŒTASThe wolf is dreadful to the woolly train,Fatal to harvests is the crushing rain,To the green woods the winds destructive prove,To me the rage of mine offended love.MENALCASThe willow's grateful to the pregnant ewes,Showers to the corns, to kids the mountain-brows;More grateful far to me my lovely boy,In sweet Amyntas centres all my joy.DAMŒTASEven Pollio deigns to hear my rural lays;And cheers the bashful Muse with generous praise;Ye sacred Nine, for your great patron feedA beauteous heifer of the noblest breed.MENALCASPollio, the art of heavenly song adorns;Then let a bull be bred with butting horns,And ample front, that bellowing spurns the ground,Tears up the turf, and throws the sands around.DAMŒTASHim whom my Pollio loves may nought annoy.May he like Pollio every wish enjoy.O may his happy lands with honey flow,And on his thorns Assyrian roses blow!MENALCASWho hates not foolish Bavius, let him loveThee, Mævius, and thy tasteless rhymes approve!Nor needs it thy admirer's reason shockTo milk the he-goats, and the foxes yoke.DAMŒTASYe boys, on garlands who employ your care,And pull the creeping strawberries, beware,Fly for your lives, and leave that fatal place,A deadly snake lies lurking in the grass.MENALCASForbear, my flocks, and warily proceed,Nor on that faithless bank securely tread;The heedless ram late plung'd amid the pool,And in the sun now dries his reeking wool.DAMŒTASHo, Tityrus! lead back the browsing flock,And let them feed at distance from the brook;At bathing-time I to the shade will bringMy goats, and wash them in the cooling spring.MENALCASHaste, from the sultry lawn the flocks removeTo the cool shelter of the shady grove;When burning noon the curdling udder dries,Th' ungrateful teats in vain the shepherd plies.DAMŒTASHow lean my bull in yonder mead appears,Though the fat soil the richest pasture bears;Ah Love! thou reign'st supreme in every heart,Both flocks and shepherds languish with thy dart.MENALCASLove has not injur'd my consumptive flocks,Yet bare their bones, and faded are their looks:What envious eye hath squinted on my dams,And sent its poison to my tender lambs!DAMŒTASSay in what distant land the eye descriesBut three short ells of all th' expanded skies;Tell this, and great Apollo be your name;Your skill is equal, equal be your fame.MENALCASSay in what soil a wondrous flower is born,Whose leaves the sacred names of kings adorn:Tell this, and take my Phyllis to your arms,And reign the unrivall'd sovereign of her charms.PALÆMON'Tis not for me these high disputes to end;Each to the heifer justly may pretend.Such be their fortune, who so well can sing,From love what painful joys, what pleasing torments spring.Now, boys, obstruct the course of yonder rill,The meadows have already drunk their fill.

PASTORAL IV. 58

POLLIO

Sicilian Muse, sublimer strains inspire,And warm my bosom with diviner fire!All take not pleasure in the rural scene,In lowly tamarisks, and forests green.If sylvan themes we sing, then let our laysDeserve a consul's ear, a consul's praise.The age comes on, that future age of goldIn Cuma's mystic prophecies foretold.The years begin their mighty course again,The Virgin now returns, and the Saturnian reign.Now from the lofty mansions of the skyTo Earth descends an heaven-born progeny.Thy Phœbus reigns, Lucina, lend thine aid,Nor be his birth, his glorious birth delay'd!An iron race shall then no longer rage,But all the world regain the golden age.This child, the joy of nations, shall be bornThy consulship, O Pollio, to adorn:Thy consulship these happy times shall prove,And see the mighty months begin to move:Then all our former guilt shall be forgiven,And man shall dread no more th' avenging doom of Heaven.The son with heroes and with gods shall shine,And lead, enroll'd with them, the life divine.He o'er the peaceful nations shall preside,And his sire's virtues shall his sceptre guide.To thee, auspicious babe, th' unbidden earthShall bring the earliest of her flowery birth;Acanthus soft in smiling beauty gay,The blossom'd bean, and ivy's flaunting spray.Th' untended goats shall to their homes repair,And to the milker's hand the loaded udder bear.The mighty lion shall no more be fear'd,But graze innoxious with the friendly herd.Sprung from thy cradle fragrant flowers shall spread,And, fanning bland, shall wave around thy head.Then shall the serpent die, with all his race:No deadly herb the happy soil disgrace:Assyrian balm on every bush shall bloom,And breathe in every gale its rich perfume.But when thy father's deeds thy youth shall fire,And to great actions all thy soul inspire,When thou shalt read of heroes and of kings,And mark the glory that from virtue springs;Then boundless o'er the far-extended plain,Shall wave luxuriant crops of golden grain,With purple grapes the loaded thorn shall bend,And streaming honey from the oak descend:Nor yet old fraud shall wholly be effac'd;Navies for wealth shall roam the watery waste;Proud cities fenc'd with towery walls appear,And cruel shares shall earth's soft bosom tear:Another Tiphys o'er the swelling tideWith steady skill the bounding ship shall guide:Another Argo with the flower of GreeceFrom Colchos' shore shall waft the golden fleece;Again the world shall hear war's loud alarms,And great Achilles shine again in arms.When riper years thy strengthen'd nerves shall brace,And o'er thy limbs diffuse a manly grace,The mariner no more shall plough the deep,Nor load with foreign wares the trading ship,Each country shall abound in every store,Nor need the products of another shore.Henceforth no plough shall cleave the fertile ground,No pruning-hook the tender vine shall wound;The husbandman, with toil no longer broke,Shall loose his ox for ever from the yoke.No more the wool a foreign dye shall feign,But purple flocks shall graze the flowery plain,Glittering in native gold the ram shall tread,And scarlet lambs shall wanton on the mead.In concord join'd with fate's unalter'd lawThe Destinies these happy times foresaw,They bade the sacred spindle swiftly run,And hasten the auspicious ages on.O dear to all thy kindred gods above!O thou, the offspring of eternal Jove!Receive thy dignities, begin thy reign,And o'er the world extend thy wide domain.See nature's mighty frame exulting roundOcean, and earth, and heaven's immense profound!See nations yet unborn with joy beholdThy glad approach, and hail the age of gold!O would th' immortals lend a length of days,And give a soul sublime to sound thy praise;Would Heaven this breast, this labouring breast inflameWith ardour equal to the mighty theme;Not Orpheus with diviner transports glow'd,When all her fire his mother-muse bestow'd;Nor loftier numbers flow'd from Linus' tongue,Although his sire Apollo gave the song;Even Pan, in presence of Arcadian swainsWould vainly strive to emulate my strains.Repay a parent's care, O beauteous boy,And greet thy mother with a smile of joy:For thee, to loathing languors all resign'd,Ten slow-revolving months thy mother pin'd.If cruel fate thy parents bliss denies,59If no fond joy sits smiling in thine eyes,No nymph of heavenly birth shall crown thy love,Nor shalt thou share th' immortal feasts above.