Himself's a dart, when nothing else can move. XIV. Sure love it is which breeds this burning fever: Upon the golden sand to dance and play: XV. There, to their sportings while I pipe and sing, Blow up desire: yet little did I dream XVI. But when those lips (those melting lips) I press'd, And sighs, which sweetest breath did soft convey, XVII. Thomalin, too well those bitter sweets I know, And higher love safe anchors in my heart: XVIII. THOMALIN. Thirsil, although this witching grief doth please Yet if my Thirsil doth the cure request, The appearance of a light or fire on the top of the mast, is well known and familiar to sailors. The ancients, who understood not the principles of electricity, from which this phenomenon is accounted for, supposed it a mark either of the favour or displeasure of the gods; for, when only one fire was seen upon the mast, it was accounted an unlucky omen, and presaging a storm; when two appeared, it was esteemed favourable, and proThese lights had sometimes the names of Castor and Pollux, who were the sons of Jupiter by Leda, and were supposed to be transformed into stars. Concerning this belief of the ancients, see Pliny, lib. 2. cap. 27. Hygin. lib. 27. Horace, lib. 1. od. 12. See also Magellan's Voyages, where they are mentioned by the names of St. Helen, St. Nicholas, and St. Clare. indeed a colour which, I believe, is not at all to be ? I have seen a very elegant epigram, of which XXIII. Then let thy love mount from these baser things, XXIV. Raise then thy prostrate love with tow'ring thought, Next, love thou there, where best thy love is She shall not more deserve, nor cannot love so well. If from this love thy will thou canst unbinde, To will is here to can: will gives thee might: 'Tis done if once thou wilt; 'tis done, I finde. Now let us home: for see, the creeping night Steals from those further waves upon the land. To-morrow shall we feast; ther, hand in hand, Free will we sing, and dance along the golden sand. I know not the author, where this sentiment of the short duration of the rose is prettily expressed: Quam longa una dies, ætas tam longa rosarum, Quas pubescentes juncta senecta premit. Quam modo nascentem rutilus conspexit eous, Hanc rediens sero vespere vidit anum. ECLOGUE VII. THE PRIZE. THE ARGUMENT. At sunrise, a band of shepherds and shepherdesses are seen advancing in order, and are joined by This eclogue is modelled after the third of Virgil, and fifth or eighth of Theocritus, which there have been few pastoral writers who have not chosen to imitate in some of their eclogues: there a troop of fishers and water-nymphs, who had concerted to dispute with them the prize of singing. Daphnis, the shepherds', and Thomalin, the fishers' champion, advance in the middle of the circle, before Thirsil, who is appointed judge, and begin an alternate song, in which, after invoking their tutelary gods, they each recite the history of their loves, and the praises of their mistresses. After deciding the controversy, Thirsil, the judge, gives an invitation to all the shepherds and fishers, with their nymphs, and with him the day is spent in sporting and festivity. are, however, I believe, none who, upon compar-` ing this of our poet with the similar eclogues of other authors, (nay, of these great models them selves) will deny him in this the superiority. There in the like eclogues of others. Even in Virgil and is here a much greater variety of sentiment than Theocritus, the one shepherd but barely repeats the sentiment of the other, only varying a little, and adapting it to apply to his own circumstances. One shepherd says, he intends to make a present of pigeons to his mistresses; the other, instead of pigeons, says he will give her apples. The contention between the shepherds in Spenser's Ec- logues has something extremely ludicrous and burlesque, where the one shepherd is merely an echo to the last words of the other, and the whole merit lies in an aukward chime of words with little or no meaning. If this eclogue yields to any of the same kind, it is to the ninth of Michael Drayton's and the contest between the shepherds is there pastorals, which is full of picturesque description, finely managed. 2 This description of the morning is most elegant and beautiful; and the fine reflection, which he so naturally introduces, is particularly ad mirable. And now the nymphs and swains had took their place; [pride; First, those two boyes; Thomalin, the fishers' Daphnis, the shepherds': nymphs their right hand grace; IX. She is like thee, or thou art like her rather : bright: So thou, as she, confound'st the gazing sight: X. And choicest swains shut up the other side:- Thirsil betwixt them both, in middle space; VI. So, as they sit, thus Thirsil 'gins the lay: THIRSIL. You lovely boyes, the woods' and ocean's pride, Then in short verse, by turns, we'll gently play: The recorder is a wind-instrument of a soft and melancholy sound. Milton makes the infernal spirits march on In perfect phalanx, to the Dorian mood to mitigate and swage Paradise Lost, b. i. v. 550. First her I saw, when tir'd with hunting toil, The crystal humour trickling down apace', XI. Her face two colours paint: the first a flame; XII. Her slender waste, her hand, that dainty breast, Her cheek, her forehead, eye, and flaming hair; Daphne, the daughter of the river Peneus, was beloved of Apollo; and, being pursued by him, invoked her father's assistance, and was transformed into a laurel or bay-tree. Whether this image is pleasing or otherwise, would perhaps admit of a little dispute. That the air has been a lover's rival, is known from the beautiful story of Cephalus and Procris. Ovid. Met. b. T. Cease then, vain worls; well may you show affection, But not her worth: the minde her sweet perfection Admires; how should it then give the lame tongue direction? XIII. THOMALIN. Unlesse thy words be fleeting as thy wave, Proteus, that song into my breast inspire With which the seas, when loud they roar and rave, Thou softly charni'st; and windes' intestine ire, When 'gainst Heav'n, Earth, and seas, they did conspire, Thou quict laid'st: Proteus, thy song to heare, Seas list'ning stand, and wiudes to whistle fear; The lively dolphins dance, and brisly seales give care. XIV. Stella, my starlike love, my lovely starre: Her hair a lovely brown, ber forehead high, And lovely fair; such her cheeks roses are: Lovely her lip, most lovely is her eye: And as in each of these all love doth lie, So thousand loves within her minde retiring, Kindle ten thousand loves with gentle firing. Ah! let me love my love, not live in love's admiring. XV. At Proteus' feast, where many a goodly boye, Her face mine eye, her voice mine eare did greet: While eare and eye strove which should be most sweet, That face, or voice: but when my lips at last XVI. The eye swears, never fairer lip was ey'd ; The eare, with those sweet relishes delighted, Thinks them the spheares; the taste, that nearer try'd Their relish sweet, the soul to feast invited; The touch, with pressure soft more close united, Wish'd ever there to dwell; and never cloyed, While thus their joy too greedy they enjoyed, Enjoy'd not half their joy, by being overjoyed'. 7 Ariosto's fiction of the Moon's being the receptacle of every thing that is lost on Earth, furnishes the poet with the following beautiful apostrophe to his mistress, with which he introduces the 35th book of Orlando Furioso: Chi salirà per me, Madonna, in cielo Pur che non cresca, ma stia a questo segno; Per rihaver l'ingegno nio mi è aviso, XVII. Her hair all dark, more clear the white doth show And, with its night, her face's morn commends: Her eye-brow black, like to an ebon bow, Which sporting Love upon her forehead bends, And thence his never-missing arrow sends. But most I wonder how that jetty ray, Which those two blackest sunnes do fair display, Should shine so bright, and night should make sp sweet a day. XVIII. So is my love an Heav'n; her hair a night ; XIX. THIRSIL. The earth her robe, the sea her swelling tide, The trees their leaves, the Moon her divers face; The starres their courses, flow'rs their springing pride, [race. Dayes change their length, the Sunne his dayly Be constant when you love; Love loves not ranging: [ing. Change when you sing; Muses delight in chang It is hard to say, whether the above, or the following translation, by sir John Harrington, is more admirable. Fair mistress, who for me to Heaven shall flye, To bring again from thence my wand'ring wit? Which I still lose, since from that piercing eye The dart came forth that first my heart did hit: Nor of my loss at all complain would I, Might I but keep that which remaineth yet: In that sweet face of yours, in that fair hair, There is my wit-I know it wanders there; And, now that we are on the subject of lips, I must mention William Warner, an old poet, and author of a work entitled Albion's England, who thus describes queen Eleanor's harsh treatinent of Rosamond, in a fine sentiment: With that she dasht her on the lippes, Hard was the heart that gave the blow! For a larger specimen of Warner's poetical abilities, the reader may consult the second volume of Mr. Percy's Collection of ancient Songs and Ballads, where he will find a pastoral, entitled Argentile and Coran, which will well reward his trouble. Arion, a celebrated musician of antiquity, who saved his life by his skill in his art. |