English

King Bele, leaning on his sword, i' th' hall of council stood;
And near him Thorsten Vikingson, that bonde brave and good,
His age was full an hundred years; snow-white his hair and beard;
And, like an ancient runic stone, his brow with scars was sear'd.

And like two temples they appear, placed on a mountain high,
Which, destin'd once to Pagan Gods, in ruin'd masses lie:
Full many runes are graven there upon the ancient wall,
That speak of times long since gone by, and brighter days recall.

Was there no mercy, mother of the slave!
No friendly hand to succour and to save,
While commerce thus thy captive tribes oppress'd,
And lowering vengeance linger'd o'er the west?
Yes, Africa! beneath the stranger's rod
They found the freedom of the sons of God.

When Europe languish'd in barbarian gloom,
Beneath the ghostly tyranny of Rome,
Whose second empire, cowl'd and mitred, burst
A phaenix from the ashes of the first;
From Persecution's piles, by bigots fired,

There is a land, of every land the pride,
Beloved by Heaven o'er all the world beside;
Where brighter suns dispense serener light,
And milder moons emparadise the night;
A land of beauty, virtue, valour, truth,
Time-tutor'd age, and love-exalted youth;
The wandering mariner, whose eye explores
The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores,
Views not a realm so bountiful and fair,
Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air;
In every clime the magnet of his soul,
Touch'd by remembrance, trembles to that pole;

Among the bowers of paradise, that graced
Those islands of the world-dividing waste,
Where towering cocoas waved their graceful locks,
And vines luxuriant cluster'd round the rocks;
Where orange-groves perfum'd the circling air,
With verdure, flowers, and fruit for ever fair;
Gay myrtle-foliage track'd the winding rills,
And cedar forests slumber'd on the hills;
— An eastern plant, ingrafted on the soil,
Was till'd for ages with consuming toil;
No tree of knowledge with forbidden fruit,

ECLOG. VII.

The PRIZE.

1

Aurora from old Tithons frosty bed
(Cold, wintry, wither'd Tithon ) early creeps;
Her cheek with grief was pale, with anger red;
Out of her window close she blushing peeps;
Her weeping eyes in pearled dew she steeps,
Casting what sportlesse nights she ever led:
She dying lives, to think he's living dead.
Curst be, and cursed is that wretched sire,
That yokes green youth with age, want with desire.
Who ties the sunne to snow? or marries frost to fire?

2

Eclog. VI

A fisher-boy that never knew his peer
In daintie songs, the gentle Thomalin ,
With folded arms, deep sighs, & heavy cheer
Where hundred Nymphs, & hundred Muses inne,
Sunk down by Chamus brinks; with him his deare,
Deare Thirsil lay; oft times would he begin
To cure his grief, and better way advise;
But still his words, when his sad friend he spies,
Forsook his silent tongue, to speak in watrie eyes.

2

ECLOG. V.

NICÆA.

Damon, Algon, Nicaea.

The well known fisher-boy, that late his name,
And place, and (ah for pity!) mirth had changed;
Which from the Muses spring, & churlish Chame
Was fled, (his glory late, but now his shame:
For he with spite the gentle boy estranged)
Now 'long the Trent with his new fellows ranged:
There Damon (friendly Damon ) met the boy,
Where lordly Trent kisses the Darwin coy,

ECLOG. IIII.

CHROMIS.

Thelgon. Chromis.

Chromis my joy, why drop thy rainie eyes?
And sullen clouds hang on thy heavie brow?
Seems that thy net is rent, and idle lies;
Thy merry pipe hangs broken on a bough:
But late thy time in hundred joyes thou spent'st;
Now time spends thee, while thou in vain lament'st.

2

Thelgon , my pipe is whole, and nets are new:
But nets and pipe contemn'd, and idle lie:

ECLOG. III.

MYRTILUS.

A Fisher-lad (no higher dares he look)
Myrtil , sat down by silver Medwayes shore:
His dangling nets (hung on the trembling oare)
Had leave to play, so had his idle hook,
While madding windes the madder Ocean shook.
Of Chamus had he learnt to pipe, and sing,
And frame low ditties to his humble string.

2

There as his boat late in the river stray'd,
A friendly fisher brought the boy to view

ECLOG. II.

THIRSIL.

Dorus, Myrtilus, Thomalin, Thirsil.

M yrtil , why idle sit we on the shore?
Since stormy windes, and waves intestine spite
Impatient rage of sail, or bending oare;
Sit we, and sing, while windes & waters fight;
And carol lowd of love, and loves delight.

2

Dorus , ah rather stormy seas require
With sadder song the tempests rage deplore:
In calms let's sing of love, and lovers fire.
Tell we how Thirsil late our seas forswore,