The rude Priapus hastens to your cave-
See on his brows the saffron ivy wave!
But fly them, though the sultry noonday glows,
Fly the wild revellers, and forego repose!
HAPLY through yonder village if thou bend Thy footsteps, turn thee, goatherd, by the grove Of wide o'erarching oaks. There, freshly wrought, A fig tree statue thou wilt find; though rough With bark, three legg'd, and void of ears, yet
prompt [fane For pleasure's pranks: while, near, a hallow'd Low rises; and a sweet perennial spring
Flows tinkling from the living rock, that gleams
Through bowering laurel, myrtles, and the shrub
Of odour'd cypress-where the clustering vine
Diffuses many a tendril. In these shades
The vernal blackbird warbles his clear note
Yet varied; and the yellow nightingale,
Responsive in a sweeter murmur, trills
Her rival minstrelsy. Amid this scene
Repose; and to thy god Priapus pray,
That he will free my bosom from the power
Of cruel Daphne! so the bleeding goat
Shall grace his shrine! yet haply, if I gain
The virgin, these fair victims will I slay—
A goat, a spotless heifer, and a lamb
Fat from the stall! propitious may the god
Attend; and crown my wishes, and thy prayer !
SAY, Swain, hast thou a mind to suit
Some ditty to thy double flute?
For by the woodnymphs, if thou will,
I'll try a tune upon my quill:
The herdsman Daphnis too shall play,
On his wax'd reed, a lively lay;
While at the cave our stand we keep
Near yon hoar oak, and rob of sleep
Arcadia's god-the goatherd Pan-
Rousing the snorer, all we can!
THYRSIS HATH LOST HIS KID.
Ah, Thyrsis! what avails this wasting woe? Thy lost kid wanders through the shades below! The wolf hath torn him on the pasture-plain; He died-And can thy tears bring life again? Thy very dogs exclaim, 'What boots thy moan? When nought of him remains-no-not a bone!'
STATUE OF ESCULAPIUS.
THE Son of Pæon to Miletus came
To meet his Nicias, of illustrious name:
He, in deep reverence of his guest divine,
Deck'd with the daily sacrifice his shrine;
And of the god this cedar statue bought-
A finish'd work, by skill'd Eëton wrought.
The sculptor; with a lavish sum repay'd,
Here all the wonders of his art display'd!
THUS Orthon cries- My fate, ye topers, mark, And travel not, topheavy, in the dark!
Drunk on the road I died! how hard my doom, For heaps of native earth, a foreign tomb!'
O STRANGER, spare thy span of life,
Nor sail through winter's stormy strife!
Poor Cleonicus found his grave
In evil hour, amidst the wave;
What time his ship from Syria bore
Her freight for Thasos' fertile shore:
The Pleiads sinking down the skies—
"Twas then he sunk, no more to rise!
A MONUMENT ERECTED TO THE MUSES.
HERE, Xenocles, to you, ye hallow'd Nine,
A sweet musician raised this marble shrine !
And who, so skill'd, such offerings could refuse?
Who, famed for music, could forget the Muse?
SAY, Swain, hast thou a mind to suit
Some ditty to thy double flute?
For by the woodnymphs, if thou will,
I'll try a tune upon my quill:
The herdsman Daphnis too shall play,
On his wax'd reed, a lively lay;
While at the cave our stand we keep
Near yon hoar oak, and rob of sleep
Arcadia's god-the goatherd Pan-
Rousing the snorer, all we can!
THYRSIS HATH LOST HIS KID.
Ah, Thyrsis! what avails this wasting woe?
Thy lost kid wanders through the shades below!
The wolf hath torn him on the pasture-plain;
He died-And can thy tears bring life again?
Thy very dogs exclaim, 'What boots thy moan?
When nought of him remains-no—not a bone!'
STATUE OF ESCULAPIUS.
THE Son of Pæon to Miletus came
To meet his Nicias, of illustrious name:
He, in deep reverence of his guest divine,
Deck'd with the daily sacrifice his shrine;
And of the god this cedar statue bought-
A finish'd work, by skill'd Eëton wrought.
The sculptor, with a lavish sum repay'd,
Here all the wonders of his art display'd!
THUS Orthon cries- My fate, ye topers, mark, And travel not, topheavy, in the dark!
Drunk on the road I died! how hard my doom, For heaps of native earth, a foreign tomb!'
O STRANGER, spare thy span of life,
Nor sail through winter's stormy strife!
Poor Cleonicus found his grave
In evil hour, amidst the wave;
What time his ship from Syria bore
Her freight for Thasos' fertile shore:
The Pleiads sinking down the skies—
"Twas then he sunk, no more to rise!
A MONUMENT ERECTED TO THE MUSES.
HERE, Xenocles, to you, ye hallow'd Nine,
A sweet musician raised this marble shrine !
And who, so skill'd, such offerings could refuse?
Who, famed for music, could forget the Muse?
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