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sally acknowledged, I am far from thinking all the productions of his rural Thalia equally excellent : there is, indeed, in all his pastorals, a strain of versification which it is vain to seek in any other poet; but if we except the first and the tenth, they seem liable either wholly or in part to considerable objec

tions.

"The second, though we should forget the great charge against it, which I am afraid can never be refuted, might, I think, have perished, without any diminution of the praise of its author; for I know not that it contains one affecting sentiment or pleasing description, or one passage that strikes the imagination or awakens the passions.

"The third contains a contest between two shepherds, begun with a quarrel of which some particulars might well be spared, carried on with sprightliness and elegance, and terminated at last in a reconciliation: but surely, whether the invectives with which they attack each other be true or false, they are too much degraded from the dignity of pastoral innocence: and, instead of rejoicing that they are both victorious, I should not have grieved could they have been both defeated.

"The poem to Pollio is, indeed, of another kind: it is filled with images at once splendid and pleasing, and is elevated with grandeur of language worthy of the first of Roman poets; but I am not able to reconcile myself to the disproportion between the performance and the occasion that produced it: that the golden age should return because Pollio had a son, appears so wild a fiction, that I am ready to suspect the poet of having written, for some other purpose, what he took this opportunity of producing to the public.

“The fifth contains a celebration of Daphnis, which has stood to all succeeding ages as the model

of pastoral elegies. To deny praise to a performance which so many thousands have laboured to imitate, would be to judge with too little deference for the opinion of mankind: yet whoever shall read it with impartiality, will find that most of the images are of the mythological kind, and, therefore, easily invented; and that there are few sentiments of rational praise or natural lamentation.

"In the Silenus he again rises to the dignity of philosophic sentiment and heroic poetry. The address to Varus is eminently beautiful: but since the compliment paid to Gallus fixes the transaction to his own time, the fiction of Silenus seems injudicious ; nor has any sufficient reason yet been found to justify his choice of those fables that make the subject of the song.

"The seventh exhibits another contest of the tuneful shepherds: and, surely, it is not without some reproach to his inventive power, that of ten pastorals Virgil has written two upon the same plan. One of the shepherds now gains an acknowledged victory, but without any apparent superiority; and the reader, when he sees the prize adjudged, is not able to discover how it was deserved.

"Of the eighth pastoral, so little is properly the work of Virgil, that he has no claim to other praise or blame than that of a translator.

"Of the ninth it is scarce possible to discover the design or tendency: it is said, I know not upon what authority, to have been composed from fragments of other poems; and except a few lines in which the author touches upon his own misfortunes, there is nothing that seems appropriated to any time or place, or of which any other use can be discovered than to fill up the poem.

"The first and the tenth pastorals, whatever be determined of the rest, are sufficient to place their

author above the reach of rivalry. The complaint of Gallus, disappointed in his love, is full of such sentiments as disappointed love naturally produces; his wishes are wild, his resentment is tender, and his purposes are inconstant. In the genuine language of despair, he soothes himself awhile with the pity that shall be paid him after his death:

Tamen cantabitis, Arcades, inquit,

Montibus hæc vestris: soli cantare periti

Arcades. O mihi tum quàm molliter ossa quiescant,
Vestra meos olim si fistula dicat amores !

-Yet, O Arcadian swains,

Ye best artificers of soothing strains!

ECL. X. 31.

Tune your soft reeds, and teach your rocks my woes,
So shall my shade in sweeter rest repose.

O that your birth and business had been mine;
To feed the flock and prune the spreading vine!

WARTON.

"Discontented with his present condition, and desirous to be any thing but what he is, he wishes himself one of the shepherds. He then catches the idea of rural tranquillity; but soon discovers how much happier he should be in these happy regions, with Lycoris at his side.

Hic gelidi fontes, hic mollia prata, Lycori:

Hic nemus, hic ipso tecum consumerer ævo.
Nunc insanus amor duri me Martis in armis ;
Tela inter media atque adversos detinet hostes.
Tu procul à patriâ, nec sit mihi credere, tantùm
Alpinas, ah dura, nives, et frigora Rheni
Me sine sola vides. Ah te ne frigora lædant!
Ah tibi ne teneras glacies secet aspera plantas !

Here cooling fountains roll through flowery meads,
Here woods, Lycoris, lift their verdant heads;
Here could I wear my careless life away,

And in thy arms insensibly decay.
Instead of that, me frantic love detains

Mid foes, and dreadful darts, and bloody plains:

ib. 42.

While you and can my soul the tale believe,-
Far from your country lonely wandering leave
Me, me your lover, barbarous fugitive!
Seek the rough Alps where snows eternal shine,
And joyless borders of the frozen Rhine.
Ah! may no cold e'er blast my dearest maid,
Nor pointed ice thy tender feet invade!

WARTON.

"He then turns his thoughts on every side, in quest of something that may solace or amuse him; he proposes happiness to himself, first in one scheme and then in another; and at last finds that nothing will satisfy.

Jam neque Hamadryades rursum, nec carmina nobis
Ipsa placent: ipsæ rursum concedite sylvæ.
Non illum nostri possunt mutare labores;
Nec si frigoribus mediis Hebrumque bibamus,
Sithoniasque nives hyemis subeamus aquosæ ;
Nec si, cùm moriens alta liber aret in ulmo,
Ethiopum versemus oves sub sidere Cancri.
Omnia vincit amor; et nos cedamus amori.

ECL. X. 62.

But now again no more the woodland maids,
Nor pastoral songs delight-Farewell, ye shades-
No toils of ours the cruel god can change
Though lost in frozen deserts we should range;
Though we should drink where chilling Hebrus flows,
Endure bleak winter's blasts and Thracian snows;
Or on hot India's plains our flocks should feed,
Where the parched elm declines his sickening head;
Beneath fierce-glowing Cancer's fiery beams,
Far from cool breezes and refreshing streams.
Love over all maintains resistless sway,
And let us love's all-conquering power obey.

WARTON.

"But notwithstanding the excellence of the tenth pastoral, I cannot forbear to give the preference to the first, which is equally natural and more diversified. The complaint of the shepherd, who saw his old companion at ease in the shade, while himself was driving his little flock he knew not whither, is such

as, with variation of circumstances, misery always utters at the sight of prosperity:

Nos patriæ fines, et dulcia linquimus arva :
Nos patriam fugimus: tu, Tityre, lentus in umbrâ,
Formosam resonare doces Amaryllida sylvas.

ECL. i. 3.

We leave our country's bounds, our much loved plains;
We from our country fly, unhappy swains!
You, Tityrus, in the groves at leisure laid,
Teach Amaryllis' name to every shade.

WARTON.

"His account of the difficulties of his journey gives a very tender image of pastoral distress:

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Protenus æger ago: hanc etiam vix, Tityre, duco :
Hic inter densas corylos modò namque gemellos,
Spem gregis, ah! silice in nudâ connixa reliquit.

And lo! sad partner of the general care,
Weary and faint, I drive my goats afar!
While scarcely this my leading hand sustains,
Tired with the way, and recent from her pains;
For 'mid yon tangled hazels as we pass'd,
On the bare flints her hapless twins she cast,
The hopes and promise of my ruin'd fold!

ib. 12.

WARTON.

"The description of Virgil's happiness in his little farm, combines almost all the images of rural pleasure; and he, therefore, that can read it with indifference, has no sense of pastoral poetry:

Fortunate senex! ergo tua rura manebunt,

Et tibi magna satis; quamvis lapis omnia nudus,
Limosoque palus obducat pascua junco :
Non insueta graves tentabunt pabula fœtas,
Nec mala vicini pecoris contagia lædent.
Fortunate senex! hic inter flumina nota,
Et fontes sacros, frigus captabis opacum.
Hinc tibi, quæ semper vicino ab limite sepes,
Hyblais apibus florem depasta salicti,

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