ments 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 sooths himself a while with the pity that shall be paid him after his death: Tamen cantabitis, Arcades, inquiet, Arcades. O mihi tum quam molliter ossa quiesc ant, Yes, O Arcadian swains, Ye best artificers of soothing strains! 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: Here cooling fountains roll thro' flow'ry meads, 'Mid foes, and dreadful darts, and bloody plains: 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 scene and then in another; and at last finds that nothing will satisfy : Jam neque Hamadryades rursum, nec carmina nobis P But now again no more the woodland maids, Far from cool breezes and refreshing streams. 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, & dulcia linquimus arva ; We leave our country's bounds, our much lov'd plains; You, Tit'rus, 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: En ipse capellas Protenus ager ago: hanc etiam vix, Tityre, duco: And lo! sad partner of the general care, On the bare flint her hapless twins she cast, The hopes and promise of my ruin'd fold!-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. Happy old man! then still thy farms restor'd, No foreign food thy teeming ewes shall fear, Mean while shall cease to breathe her melting strain, It may be observed, that these two poems were produced by events that really happened; and may, therefore, be of use to prove, that we can always feel more than we can imagine, and that the most artful fiction must give way to truth. I am, Sir, Your humble servant, DUBIUS. |