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MILO. No-No-such thoughts should ne'er the labourer haunt;

Thy silly dream of idleness avaunt!

BAT. But, Milo, didst thou never watch for love? MILO. Not I!-love's watchings may I never

prove.

His tongue in lambkin's blood if Rover steep,
Rover will ever feel a thirst for sheep. [more!
BAT. Ah, Milo! I have loved ten days and
MILO. Enjoy it, friend; I envy not the store!
Of meagre vinegar I've scarce a flask?
Thou, rich in wine, canst pierce the purple cask!
BAT. Ah! hence it is my fallows are unsown.
MILO. But who's the cruel nymph?
BAT.
To thee I own,
Old Polybutas' girl, whose madrigal

So seized our reapers' ears, and charm'd them all. MILO. Faith, thou art rightly served! a luscious bite!

Go, clasp her! Hug thy little chirping fright. BAT. Hah! mouthing it so big! Thou needst not flout!

Cupid's as well as Plutus' eyes are out. [byMILO. I mouth it-no-but throw thy sickle Come-come-cheer up! Some amorous ditty Deftly thy tale of sweet Bombycé tell! [try. For once, if well I ween, few sung so well!

BAT. Piërian Muses! be my nymph your care! My slender nymph! for all ye touch are fair! Sweet girl! so sunburnt and so thin 'tis said, Yet, in my eyes, a honey-colour'd maid! The letter'd hyacinth and violet brown Are the first flowers that grace the rural crown!

Kids follow thyme, and wolves soft kids; the crane
Pursues the plough—and thee thy faithful swain!
O that the wealth of Croesus were but mine,
Then would we stand, at Venus' sacred shrine,
Two richly sculptured images of gold;
While thy dear hand a rose or lute should hold,
Or vermeil apple, and thy swain be dress'd,
New sandal'd, in a dancer's gaudy vest.
Delightful girl! how beauteous are thy feet!
And oh! the music of thy voice how sweet!
How smooth thy ankles, with so soft a swell!
But for thy manners-no rude song can tell!

MILO. Hah! we mistook his talents! what a He hath not measured harmony in vain! [strain Hah! no more wisdom? Yet so wise a beard! But hast thou Lytierses' numbers heard?

Prolific Ceres, bless our fruitful soil,

Ripen the reddening ear, and crown our toil, Bind-bind your sheaves; lest travellers scoff

ing say,

"Such wooden fellows ill deserve their pay."
Rear to the north or west, ye reaping train,
Your shocks; so gales salubrious swell the grain.
Sleep not at noon, ye threshers; from the corn
When in brisk eddies the light chaff is borne.
Rise, reapers, with the lark (yet seek the shed
At noon), and with the lark retire to bed.
Sweet is the life of frogs: they never thirst,
For they may drink, my striplings, till they burst,
Boil, Pinchpenny, the lentils whole, nor stint
Your slaves; you'd slit a bean,or flay a flint,'
Thus should the reapers carol toil away;

Thus pass, with useful songs, the sultry day.
But go-such lovesick lays as fill thy head-
Such dreams may suit thy mother's ears in bed!

IDYLLIUM XI.

The Cyclops.

ADDRESSED TO NICIAS.

NICIAS, how vain the labour to remove,
By drugs or healing herbs, the fire of love!
"Tis for the Muse alone, though rare her art,
To quench, in lenient balms the burning dart!
Dear to the Muse, 'tis thine full well to know,
We boast no sweeter remedy below!

"Twas thus famed Polypheme, in elder days, Charm'd all his soul to rest with soothing lays― When Galatea first inspired the vows

Of love and youth sprung vivid on his brows! Yet, though the rustic swains their passion O'er braided tresses, or the rosy wreath; [breathe With no such gifts of calm delight he lovedBut his whole maddening breast the furies moved. Oft, as he wander'd on the sedgy shore

(Love all his care-his flocks review'd no more), From grass green meads his sheep were wont to

roam

Or seek their cotes alone, returning home.

Meantime (his Galatea all day long The burden of his sweet repeated song) He pined, with love's keen arrow at his heart, Yet found a medicine for the' envenom'd dart; While from a rock, that o'er the billows hung, Wishful he view'd the waste, and sighing sung:

'O soft as lambkins, than the curd more white, And as the vine's unripen'd fruitage bright

O wanton as the calf, my snowy maid,
Why thus with scorn are all my vows repaid?
For though, in sleep, I see thy form so fair,
I wake, and all the vision melts in air!
Ah, then thy beauties vanish from my eyes!
Thus from the hoary wolf the lambkin flies.
Then first I loved (and drank of love my fill)
When, wandering round the hyacinthine hill,
Fair nymph! thy guardian mother by thy side,
I led thee to its flowers, a willing guide.
Ah, from that hapless period have I pined,
Nor felt one pause of quiet in my mind:
And yet, proud maid! my pangs no pity move,
Nor gain from thee a moment's sigh, by Jove!
Indeed, I guess the cause of all thy pride-
My eyebrows stretch'd so shaggy and so wide!
One socket only, where my large eye glows!
And o'er my blubber lips such prominence of nose.
Yet, though I'm such, I feed a thousand sheep,
Milk the rich stream, and drink its beverage deep!
And from the fatness of the' o'erflowing pails,
Curdle the softest cheese that never fails!
Still if the genial spring my meads hath bless'd,
My plenteous curd lies ready to be press'd!
Still, if the summer scorch, the winter freeze,
My shelves are loaded with abundant cheese.
No Cyclops, here, outvies my vocal pipe,
Chanting thy charms so luscious and so ripe!
Yes! apple of delight! I sing with glee,
Oft, at the midnight hour, myself and thee!
For thee ten does, all mark'd with moons, I rear;
And four fine cubs-I plunder'd from a bear!
Come then-nor heed the dashing of the wave,
Repose, each night, more sweetly in my cave!

Come, nymph! and I will give thee nothing less
Than thy own grotto yields thee, to possess!
There ivy round my bays and cypress twines!
There grapes delicious load my blushing vines.
There, from deep-shaded Etna's melting snows,
The cooling spring's ambrosial beverage flows.
And who, my fair one, would prefer to these
The dull, drear prospect of a waste of seas?
But if my beard-my eyebrow be too rough,
I've oaken billets, and I've fire enough:
On the red earth unquench'd my embers live;
Then to the flame my beard-my eyebrow, give.
For e'en to burn my life-blood I could bear—
Or this far dearer eye-to please my fair.
O had I sprung (alas! my hapless doom)
With fins, like fishes, from my mother's womb:
Soon for thy waters I had left the land, [hand!
Dived down, and kiss'd, if not thy lips-thy
Then had I brought thee lilies white as snow,
And poppy-bells, with leaves that deeply glow!
But yet, at once, my flowers I could not bring;
For these in winter rise, and those in spring.
Now-now-dear maiden, will I learn to dive,
If some kind sailor at our coast arrive;
That I may see what bliss is thine below-
What pleasures I would wish thee to forego.
Yet come, my charming Galatea, come—
Forget (as I on this lone spot) thy home!
Come, leave the covert of thy native rocks:
And milk with me, my love, and feed my
flocks!
Mix the sharp runnet with the curdling cream,
And from the cheeses press the sourer stream.
'Ah! 'tis my mother I accuse alone-
Who, though she daily hears my wasting groan,

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