  GALLUS. To my last labour lend thy sacred aid, O Arethusa: that the cruel maid With deep remorse may read the mournful song, For mournful lays to Gallus' love belong. (What Muse in sympathy will not bestow Some tender strains to soothe my Gallus' woe?) So may thy waters pure of briny stain Traverse the waves of the Sicilian main. Sing, mournful Muse, of Gallus' luckless love, While the goats browse along the cliffs above. The woods return the long-resounding strain. Whither, ye fountain-nymphs, were ye withdrawn, To what lone woodland, or what devious lawn, When Gallus' bosom languish'd with the fire Of hopeless love, and unallay'd desire? For neither by th' Aonian spring you stray'd, Nor roam'd Parnassus' heights, nor Pindus' hallow'd shade. The pines of MÆnalus were heard to mourn, And sounds of woe along the groves were borne. And sympathetic tears the laurel shed, And humbler shrubs declin'd their drooping head. All wept his fate, when to despair resign'd Beneath a desert-cliff he lay reclin'd. Lyceus' rocks were hung with many a tear, And round the swain his flocks forlorn appear. Nor scorn, celestial bard, a poet's name; Renown'd Adonis by the lonely stream Tended his flock.—As thus he lay along, The swains and awkward neatherds round him throng. Wet from the winter-mast Menalcas came. All ask, what beauty rais'd the fatal flame. The god of verse vouchsafed to join the rest; He said, "What phrensy thus torments thy breast? While she, thy darling, thy Lycoris, scorns Thy proffer'd love, and for another burns, With whom o'er winter-wastes she wanders far, 'Midst camps, and clashing arms, and boisterous war." And wav'd the lilies long, and flowering fennel round. Next we beheld the gay Arcadian god; His smiling cheeks with bright vermilion glow'd. "For ever wilt thou heave the bursting sigh? Is love regardful of the weeping eye? Love is not cloy'd with tears; alas, no more Than bees luxurious with the balmy flow'r, Than goats with foliage, than the grassy plain With silver rills and soft refreshing rain." Pan spoke; and thus the youth with grief opprest; "Arcadians, hear, O hear my last request; O ye, to whom the sweetest lays belong, O let my sorrows on your hills be sung: If your soft flutes shall celebrate my woes, How will my bones in deepest peace repose! Ah had I been with you a country-swain, And prun'd the vine, and fed the bleating train; Had Phyllis, or some other rural fair, Or black Amyntas been my darling care; (Beauteous though black; what lovelier flower is seen Than the dark violet on the painted green?) These in the bower had yielded all their charms, And sunk with mutual raptures in my arms: Phyllis had crown'd my head with garlands gay, Amyntas sung the pleasing hours away. Here, O Lycoris, purls the limped spring, Bloom all the meads, and all the woodlands sing; Here let me press thee to my panting breast Banish'd by love o'er hostile lands I stray, And mingle in the battle's dread array; Whilst thou, relentless to my constant flame, (Ah could I disbelieve the voice of fame!) Far from thy home, unaided and forlorn, Far from thy love, thy faithful love, art borne, On the bleak Alps with chilling blast to pine, Or wander waste along the frozen Rhine. Ye icy paths, O spare her tender form! O spare those heavenly charms, thou wintry storm! "Hence let me hasten to some desert-grove, And soothe with songs my long unanswer'd love. I go, in some lone wilderness to suit Euboean lays to my Sicilian flute. Better with beasts of prey to make abode In the deep cavern, or the darksome wood; And carve on trees the story of my woe, Which with the growing bark shall ever grow, Meanwhile with woodland-nymphs, a lovely throng, The winding groves of MÆnalus along I roam at large; or chase the foaming boar; Or with sagacious hounds the wilds explore, Careless of cold. And now methinks I bound O'er rocks and cliffs, and hear the woods resound; And now with beating heart I seem to wing The Cretan arrow from the Parthian string— As if I thus my phrensy could forego, As if love's god could melt at human woe. Farewell, ye groves! the groves no more invite. No pains, no miseries of man can move The unrelenting deity of love. To quench your thirst in Hebrus' frozen flood, To make the Scythian snows your drear abode; Or feed your flock on Ethiopian plains, When Sirius' fiery constellation reigns, (When deep-imbrown'd the languid herbage lies, And in the elm the vivid verdure dies) Were all in vain. Love's unresisted sway Extends to all, and we must love obey." 'Tis done: ye Nine, here ends your poet's strain In pity sung to soothe his Gallus' pain. While leaning on a flowery bank I twine The flexile osiers, and the basket join. Celestial Nine, your sacred influence bring, And soothe my Gallus' sorrows while I sing: Gallus, my much belov'd! for whom I feel The flame of purest friendship rising still: So by a brook the verdant alders rise, When fostering zephyrs fan the vernal skies. Let us begone: at eve, the s Gallus was a Roman of very considerable rank, a poet of no small estimation, and an intimate friend of Virgil. He loved to distraction one Cytheris (here called Lycoris) who slighted him, and followed Antony into Gaul. |
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