There came the mother of the festive pair,

Sweet-voiced Philista and Melixo fair,

And told me:

"Delphis loves elsewhere, I know,

But whom I know not; yet enamoured so,
That from the banquet suddenly he fled,
To hang his lady's house with flowers, he said."
My old friend told me this, and told me truth:
For twice or thrice a day once came my youth,
And often left his Dorian pyx with me;
This the twelfth day since him I last did see.
Has he forgot me for another love?
With philtres will I try his soul to move;
But if he still will grieve, betray me, mock,
He shall, by fate! the door of Hades knock.
That chest has drugs shall make him feel my rage;
The art I learned from an Assyrian sage.

Thy steeds to ocean now, bright Queen, direct;
What I have sworn to do I will effect.

Farewell, clear Moon! and skyey cressets bright,
That follow the soft-gliding wheels of Night.

IDYL III.

AMYRILLIS.

ARGUMENT.

A goatherd, enamoured of Amaryllis, having given his flock in charge to Tityrus, goes to her cave, and, after complaining of her changed disposition towards him, attempts to revive her former attention to his suit with gifts, and entreaties, and finally with threats of self-destruction. At last, in the hope of attracting her notice, he sings a song recalling the memory of some happy mortals, whom Venus had favoured. Finding her inflexible, he ceases despondingly. The scene is changed from the place where his flock is at pasture, to the cavernhome of Amaryllis.

IDYL III.

AMARYLLIS.

I Go to serenade my charming fair,
Sweet Amaryllis; Tityrus, to your care
I leave my goats, that on the mountain feed;
But of yon Libyan tawny ram take heed,

Lest with his horn he butt you; careful tend,
And to the fountain drive them, heart-dear friend!

Sweet Amaryllis! why dost thou no more,
Peeping from out thy cavern as before,
Espy and call to thee thy little lover?

Dost hate me? or do I myself discover

Flat-nosed, or with a length of chin, when near? Thy scorn will make me hang myself, I swear. Behold, ten apples, nymph! I bring for thee, Plucked from the place where thou didst order me

To pluck them; others will I bring to-morrow.
Consider now my heart-devouring sorrow:

O! that I were a little humming bee,

Το pass thro' fern and ivy in to thee,

Where in thy cave thou dost thyself conceal!
I now know love a grievous god to feel;

He surely sucked a savage lioness,

Reared in the wild, who works me such distress, Eating into the marrow of the bone.

O sweet in aspect! altogether stone!

Nymph! with thine eye-brows of a raven hue,
Clasp me, that I may suck the honey-dew
From off thy lip: mere kisses yield some joy.
Now wilt thou make me the sweet crown destroy,
This wreath of ivy which for thee I brought,
With rose-buds and with parsley sweet inwrought.
Ah me! what shall I do? I plead in vain
Thou hearest not: I'll plunge into the main,
My jerkin stript, where Olpis sits on high,
Watching the tunnies. Should I even die,
"Twill please thee. This the sign I lately found,
For the struck pop-bell gave me back no sound,
(When by that proof thy doubtful love I tried)
But withering on my elbow shrunk and dried.