%\\ ,;S- %. .■^ ^iivojov" ^ojnvDJO^" %m •©I 1 V ^^ O ÛÎ ^OfCAllFOR^ ^OfCAllFOff^ .^irtElNIVER:, >- f .. v/sajAiNfimv ^;^lllBRARYQ/: ^^IIIBRARYO^;^ ^ojuvdjo"^ ^ÛJUVÛ-JO"^ ^irtEUNIVER% ^riiaDNvsm^"^ _^lOSANCElfj-^ %a]AIN(l]V>'^^ ^^^tllBRARYO/: ^OJITOJO- .>;lOSANCElfj> c "^AaîAiNnïWV ^OFCALIFOff^ -<;0FCA1IF0,^ ^OAavaaiiî*^ ^OAavaaiii^ ^lOSANCflfj-^ o ^Aa3AIN(l]WV' ^0FCAIIF0% ^' '^.ÏOJIIVJJO^ MEUNIVERî/A ■^TiiJONVSOl^'" ,OfCAllFO% .^MEUNIVER% ^lOSANCElfj> ^ j,OFCAllfOR^ ^OFCALIFOft)^ i? ^ AWEUNIVERi, S §IIDVs "J iaj.lt OUI "'JUa,\Mir3tV-^ 1 r iiMt\ ;rr.r , .^>■ ■'.rjij'jKv ^s^lOSANCElfjv. ■■f/saaAiNiiawv- .^MEUNIVERJ/A ovlOSANCElfj> ^OfCAllF0%. ^OFCAEIFOS"^ *: $ 4JÎ ^ i»rii I ' O u- AV\EUNIVERÎ/A. ^lOS, o ce 5' o ^'^iii'jNvsm^'^ '^i'iaMiNniiW'' ^MIIBRAW0^ ^lUBRARYQ^. 'JïlBli\' '^/^asAiNn 3'; ;>' ^OFCA1IFO% ^OFC 2 »*- ■5? O .\yEUNIVER% ^v^lOS-i '■Aphne and Chloe I J The Navigation II. III. The Carnation IV. Climena and Damon V. The Autumnal Morning VI. The Obfccration VII. The Zephyrs VIII. Amyntas IX. Thyrfis X. To Love XI. Daphnis xn. Corydon and Menalcus XIII. Glicera XIV. The Nofegay XV. Dametus and Milon XVI. Iris and Egla XVII. Menalcus and Alexis XVIIII. The Tempeft XIX. Mirtilus and Chloe XX. Jealoufy XXI. Erythea page I 5 7 8 II 15 16 18 25 27 28 - - 31 33 37 40 45 51 58 62 66 -71 The Wooden Leg - - > ^8 Letter on Landfcape Painting - - 87 The Two Friends of Bourbon. - - i ij ■S- Oc^»yii.y "^"■''■"^ ,.. /^iin/ii{ /^(Tf J.Sirp/ur dj t/m Act do'e/:àf 3. Ji/^y IJJS . DAPfîNE AND CHLOE. DAphne. The moon is already rifen behind thofe dufky mountains ; already her refplendent light fhines through the trees that crown their fummit. What a charm this place infpires ! Chloe, let us reft here awhile. My brother will bring back the flocks to the fold. Chloe. This lovely place enchants me. The frefhnefs o£ the evening is delicious. Daphne, we will reft here a while. Daphne. Doft thou fee, Chloe, near to that rock, the gar- den of the young Alexis ? Let us approach the hedge of rofe- trees that furrounds it. It is the moft beautiful garden of the country. Is there any one whofe afpett is fo delightful ? No^; none that is cultivated with fo much care. Chloe. Let us go to it, Daphncr E 2 DAPHNE AND CHLOE. Idyl I. Daphne. There is no fhepherd who underftands fo well the culture of plants as Alexis. Is there, Chloe ? Chloe. No, not any one. Daphne. How all things here are frefh and flourifliing; what creeps upon the ground, or climes the props. There fpouts the cryftal fource, which, falling from the fummit of the rock, murmurs through the garden's ihades. Obferve the point of that rock over the cafcade ; it is there Alexis has formed a bower of honeyfuckles. From the bofom of that retreat how ravifhing muft be the profpedt of this vaft campaign ! Chloe. Daphne, you praife with tranfport. Yes, all that we fee is charming. The garden of the young Alexis is the moll delightful of all the gardens of thefe parts. His flowers are the moft beautiful. There is no fountain whofe murmurs are fo fweet, whofe water is fo refrefhing. Daphne. But you fmile, Chloe. Chloe. No, Daphne, no: obferve this rofe which I have gathered : is not the perfume it breathes fweeter than that of all the other rofes of the earth ? Could it have been more deli- cious if cultivated by Love himfelf ? Daphne. Chloe ! Chloe. Ah, why would you fupprefs the figh with which your bofom heaves. Daphne. Come, unlucky one, let us be gone. Chloe. So foon ! No, this place delights me ; I am fo happy here ! But hark, I hear a noife ! Under the dark {hade of thefe lilacs we fhall not be perceiv'd. Doll Idyl I. D A P H N E A N D C H L O E. 3 thou fee him ? It is Alexis, it is he himfelf. Tell me foftly in my ear, is he not more handfome than all the fhepherds of this country ? Daphne. Ah! let me go. Ghloe. No, I will not let thee go. He is penfive, he fighs. Surely fome fhepherdefs has ftolen his heart. My dear child, thy hand trembles in mine. Fear nothing, there is here no wolf. The young fhepherdefles conceal themfelves under the thick fhade of the Lilacs, and Alexis, not knowing that he was heard, raifed his melodious voice, and thus he fung. " O thou pale and tranquil moon, be witnefs to my fighs ; and you peaceful groves, how often have you fighed after me, the name of Daphne ! Tender flowers, that breathe your pcr^ fumes around me j the dew of evening glitters on your leaves,, while my checks are bathed with the tears of love. Ah ! if I dared — Why can I not fay — Daphne! I love thee more than the bee loveth the fpring. " I found her; the other day at the fountain ; fhe came to fill a weighty jug with water. Let me, I faid, with a falter- ing voice, carry that load, too heavy for thy arm. You are ex- tremely kind, fhe faid, all trembling. I took the heavy pitcher. Timid, my fighs with pain 1 flifled, while, with down-cafl eyes, by her fide I walked, but did not dare to fay, Daphne!, I love thee more than the bee loveth the fpring. B 2 4 DAPHNE AND CHLOE. Idyl I. " Poor Narciffus, how mournfully by my fide, thou hang'll •thy head ; the morning faw thee flill in all thy fplendor> but thou art now withered. Thus my youthful days will perifh, if Daphne fhall difdain my love. Then, ye charming flowers, ye various plants that, have ever been my dear de- Kght, the objets of my tendereft cares, deprived of culture you will wither ; for joy fhall be for ever banifhed from my heart. Choak'd will you be with tares, while the thorn and briar hang over you their fatal Ihade ; and you young trees, planted by my hands, you that bear fuch delici- ous fruits, defpoiled of all your gay attire, your withered- branches mournfully fhall rife over this favage place, while I the remainder of my days fliall pafs in fighs and tears. " Mayst thou, when my afhes here repofe, mayfl thou be then, farrounded with all earthly blifs, enjoy the moft encTianting pleafures in the arms of a more amiable happy lover ! — No — diftradling thoughts, why do you thus my foul torment ! — I flill behold fome glimmering rays of hope. Does not Daphne fmile with a gracions air, when, with lingering fleps, I pafs before her ? Seated, the other day, on the declivity of the hill, I played upon my pipe, while flie pafs'd over the adjoining valley. Suddenly Ihe flopp'd ; which I no fooner faw than my lips trembled, and my fingers running wildly ov'r the reed, formed nought but incoherent founds. Yet flill fhe flopped and liflened. îi3YL r. DAPHNE AND CHLOË. 5 " O, if one day thy fpoufe, I fliall condud thee to thefe fliades : ye then, fair flowers, in all your fplendid colours fhine» £nd around her pour your fweet perfumes ; and you young trees, bow down your loaded branches, and offer her your Jnoft delicious fruits." Thus fung Alexis. Daphne figh'd, while her trembling hand was by Chloe's held. But Chloe called to the young fliepherd, " Alexis," flie cried, "Daphne loves thee; fee where file lies reclined beneath the Lilac's fliade. Come let thy kifles gather up the tears of love that bathe her checks." With a timid air he ran. But how can I defcribe his tranfports, when Daphne, confufed and leaning upon Chloe's breaft, •confefled her love. THE NAVIGATION. IT flies ! the vefTel that bears Daphne to the diftant fhores. Ah ! at leaft that Zephir only, and the Loves, may play around her. Waves, float gently round the veflel ! when her tender looks regard your idle gambols. Gods ! 'tis then fhe will think of me. May the birds who inhabit the groves, that border on the ihore, fmg but for thee ! May the buflies and the reeds, agitat- ed by the gentle gales, invite thee to thefe fhades I THE NAVIGATION Idyl I*L O fea, let thy brilliant furface be for ever tranquil. Never was more beauteous obje(5t confided to thy waves. The image of the fun refleded by thy cryftal waters, is not fo unfullied as her beauty. Venus had not more charms, when fhe rofe from the fea's refplendent foam, and mounted her filver car ; when at her afpeâ: the enchanted Tritons forgot their noify fports, forgot, the nymphs with bulruflies all crowned. They regarded not the troubled looks nor fneering fmiles of the jealous nymphs, while, plung'd in moft delightful ex- taflcs, their eyes ftill purfued the tranfporting goddefs to the, fhady banks. ÎDVLiri. THE CARNATION, 7 THECARNATION. S Doris was walking in the garden, {he perceived, neat a hedge of yoke elms, a carnation juft blown, and Variegated with the moft brilliant colours. She approach'd it, and with a fmiling air, her lovely face reclined over the flower. While fhe inhaled its fweèt perfumes, the tarnation feemed to kifs her lips. At that fight, I felt my checks in- flamed, and faid, why cannot I, ah ! why cannot I fo touch your vermilion lips ! Doris retired. I approached the carna- tion. Shall I pluck thee ! fhall I pluck thee, thou fair flower ! that has touched her lips. Thy perfumes are more grateful to me than is the dew of heaven to the flowers of the field. I ftretch'd my hand out, eager to gather it, when on a fudden to myfelf I faid. What ! fliall I lay wafl:e the flower that {he has cherifhM ? No, Doris fhall place thee in her bofom, to meet her breath more fragrant, and thy delicious odours fliall rife as the facred incenfe mounts to Olympus, when we offer our vows to the goddefs of beauty. 8 CLIMENA AND DAMON Idyl IV. CLIMENA AND DAMON. CLIMENA. Tell me, my dear Damon, what doft thou mean to do with that little altar? To what divinity fhall it be confecrated ? Damon. Doft thou not know, my Climena, what charms at- tract me to the banks of this peaceful ftream ? Haft thou forgot that in the days of our infancy, it was our favourite retreat ? Here when we pafled our time together, not taller than this young columbine, our hours flew rapidly away, while we were delighted in the fweet fports of innocence. It is therefore,, Climena, that I eredt this little altar. I would pay my homage to the god of Senfibility ; for it was his fires, O! delightful remembrance, it was his fires that then glowed in and inflam- ed our hearts. Climena. Can that remembrance be lefs charming to thee Damon, than to me ? Here around this altar I will plant myrtles and rofe trees. If Pan fhall prove propitious, their branches will foon rife above the fummit of the altar, and form a verdant temple, where we will refort to pay our adorations to innocence and love. Damon. Doft thou behold this thicket? Its branches ftill' afcend in arches, though now negleded. This was our, habitation ; we raifed the roof as high as we could reach, yet a goat would have pierced the top with his horns, fuch was /■Yiflted- for J.Hoi^ifr (t^ tAeAct dir^cO .3. .T/f/y ///S. IdylIV. CLIMENA and DAMON. 9 its height. Branches of ozier formed the walls, and a fmall chequer of rofe-trees clofed the entrance to our dwelling. How delicious were all the hours we pafled in this lovely retreat ! Climena. Did I not too plant before our houfe a little gar- den, and did we not furround it with a hedge of buU-ruflies ? (o high it was, that a fheep would have brows'd it in a moment. Damon. Can the favour of the gods reft upon the houfe where no children are ? You found a little mutilated image of the god of love, and, like a fond mother, you were prodigal of your care and carefles. A nut-ihell was its bed, and you lulled it with your fongs while it repofed on the leaves of rofes. CuMENA. Yes, Damon, and that god will recompenfe the ingenuous cares of our infancy. Damon. I one day made a little cage of rufhes. I put a grafshopper into it, and then prefented it to thee. You would . have taken it from the cage to play with, but as you held it, in ftruggling to efcape, it left one of its flender legs between your fingers. Fluttering with pain, the grafshopper remained fixed on the ftalkof a flower. Al\, look! you faid, how the poor infe£l trembles ! Thou art tortured, and I am the caufe of thy mifery. Your eyes were bathe^d in tears, and I rejoiced to fee thee To tender and fympathifing. Cl I . Thy goodnefs, Damon, appeared to me far more affed- ing, on the day my brother took two young linnets from their neft. Give me, you faid, thofe little birds; but he would not part with them. I will give thee this crook for them ; look with what C 10 CLIMENA AND DAMON Idyl IV. art I have adorned it ; fee how this brown bark and thefe green twigs twine round the fliining wand. The offer was accepted. When you had got the tender birds, you put them in your little bafket, and climbing the tree, placed them gently in their neft. Then tears of joy ran down my cheeks; I fhould have loved thee from that moment, had I never loved thee before. Damon. Thus fweetly pafs'd the hours away, when in our infant fports I was thy hufband and thou my wife. Cli. And thofe hours fliall I ever remember with delight. Damon. How happy will be each moment of our lives, if with the next new moon, as thy mother hath promifs'd Hy- jnen fhall unite our loves, and realize our infant paftimes! Cli. If the propitious gods fhall deign to blefs our lot, never, my companion, no, never were lovers more happy than we. IoylV* autumnal morning. 11 The AUTUMNAL MORNING. ALREADY had the fun's rays gilded the fummit of the mountains, and proclaimed the approach of thefaireft of autumnal days, when Milon placed himfelf at his win- dow. The fun then fhone through the branches of the vine, whofe verdure, mix'd with purple and aurora, form'd over the window a fhady arbour, that lightly waved to the morning's gentle gale. The fky was fercne ; a fea of vapours cover'd the valley. The higheft hills, crown'd with fmoking cot- tages, and with the party-colour'd garb of autumn, rofe like iflands, by the power of the fun's rays, out of the bofom of that fea. The trees, loaded with ripening fruits, prefented to the eye a ftriking mixture of a thoufand {hades of gold and purple, with fome remains of verdure. Milon, in fweet ex- tafy, fufFer'd his fight to wander through the vaft extent. Sometimes he heard far off, fometimes more near, the joyous bleating of the fheep, the flutes of the fhepherds and the warblings of the birds, that by turns purfued each other on the floating gales, or died away in the vapours of the val- ley. Plunged in a profound contemplation, for a long time he flood motionlefs j then, fired with a fudden tranfport of divine enthufiafm, he feized his lyre, that hung againfl: the wall, and thus he fung : Ca 12 AUTUMNAL MORNING. Idvl V. " Grant, O grant me, Gods! the power to exprefs my tranf- ports and my gratitude, in hymns worthy of you ! Full-blown nature now fhines forth in all her charms ; her riches (he pro- fufely pours around ; mirth and feftivity reign throughout the plains. The profperous year fmiles in our vines, and orchards. How beautiful appears this vaft campaign ! How delightful the variegated drefs of autumn !" Happy the man whofe heart feels no remorfe, who, with his lot contented, frequently enjoys the delight of doing good. The ferenity of the morning invites him to new joy : his days are full of happinefs ; and night finds him in the arms of the fweeteft flumbers : his mind is for ever open to the impref- fions of pleafure! The various beauties of the feafons inchant him ; and he alone enjoys all the bounties of nature. But doubly blefs'd is he who (hares his happinefs with a companion form'd by Virtue and the Graces : with one like thee, my belov'd Daphne. Since Hymen has united our def- tinies, there is no felicity that is not more delightful to me. Yes, fmce Hymen has united our deftinies, they are like the concord of two flutes, whofe pure and fwect accents repeat the fame air. Whoever hears them is penetrated with joy. Did my eyes ever exprefs a defire that thou didft not accomplifh ? Have I ever tafted any happinefs that thou didft not augment ? Did any care ever purfue me to thy arms »-hat thou didft not difpel, as the vernal fun difpels the fogs ? Yes, my IdylV. autumnal morning. 13 fpoufe, the day that I condudled thee to my cottage, I faw all the joys of life attend thy train, and join themfelves to our houfhold gods, there forever to remain. Domeftic order and elegance, fortitude and joy, prefide over all our labours, and the gods vouchfafe to blefs thy undertakings. Since thou haft been the felicity of my heart, fince thou haft been mine, O Daphne ! all that furrounds me is become more pleafing to my fight ; profperity has refted on my cot- tage, and dwells among my flocks, my plantations and my harvefts. Each day's labour is a new pleafure, and when I return fatigued to this peaceful roof, how delightfully am I folaced by thy tender afllduity ! Spring now appears more joyous, furamer and autumn more rich, and when winter covers our habitation with its hoary froft, then, before the glowing fire, feated by thy fide, I enjoy in the midft of the moft tender cares and pleafing converfe, the delicious pleafure of domeftic tranquility. Let the north wind rage, and let ftorms of fnow hide the face of all the country from my view, fhut up with thee, my Daphne ! I feel, I more fenfibly feel that thou art all to me : and you, my love- ly infants ! crown my felicity ; adorned with all the graces of your mother, you are to us an earneft of heaven's unbound- ed favours. The firft words that Daphne taught you to lifp, was, that you loved me : health and gaiety fmile in all your features, and fweet complacency fhines already in your eyes ; you are the joy of our youth, and your profperity will be 14. AUTUMNAL MORNING. Idyl V, the comfort of our latter days. When returning from the la* hours of the field, or from guarding my flocks, you meet me at the cottage-door with cries of joy ; when hanging on my knees you receive, with the tranfports of innocence, the trifling prefents of fruits that I have gathered, or the little inftruments that I have made while tending my flocks, to form your hands, as yet too feeble, to culture the garden, or the field ; Gods! how does the fweet fimplicity of your joys de- light me ! In my tranfport, O Daphne, I rufh to thy arms, that open to embrace me ; then with what an enchanting grace you kifs away the tears of joy that flow from my eyes !*' While he thus fung. Daphne entered, holding in each arm an infant, more beautiful than Love himfelf. The morning, bathed in refplendent dew, is not fo charming as was Daphne, while tears of joy ran down her checks. O my love! fhe fighing faid, how happy am I ! We are come, O we are come, to thank thee for thy tender love. At thefe words he clafp'd the lovely infants and their mother in his arms : loft in delight they could not fpeak. Ah, he who at that inftant had feenthem, muft fure have felt at the bottom of his heart, that the virtuous man alone is happy. Idyl VI. THE OBSECRATION. i; THE OBSECRATION. GRANT, O nymphs! grant that the waters of your fpring may lave my wounded fide. Give to this foun- tain a falutary power, for it was not rage or enmity that caufed this blood to flow. The tender fon of Amintas, aflailed by a wolf, made the woods refound with his cries; when, at once, thanks to the immortal powers ! I fiew to his aid. While the ravenous beaft was ftruggling under my blows, with his keen teeth he tore my fide. O nymphs ! be net offended that the blood which flows from my wound pollutes your cryflal waters. To-morrow, with the early dawn, I will facrifice to you on this bank a kid, white as the fnow jufl: fallen from the fkies,. i6 T H E Z E P H Y R S. Idyl VII. THE ZEPHYRS. T^'^Irst Zephyr. Why doft thou thus idly flutter among -*" thefe rofe trees ? Come, let us fly together to the center of yonder valley. Thofe ihades conceal the nymphs who bathe in the tranfparent waters of the lake. Sr.coND Zephyr. I {hall not follow thee. Go, friflc about thy nymphs ; a more delightful taflc 'detains me here. I fliall imbrue my wings in the dew that bathes thefe flowers, and gather their delicious perfumes. First Zephyr. Is that a more delightful taflc than to mingle with the fportive nymphs, who gaiety for ever breathe ? Second Zephyr. A tender virgin, beauteous as the youngeft of the Graces, will prefently pafs by this place. With each re- turning dawn, bearing on her arm a well-ftored baflcet, flie repairs to the cottage on the fummit of yon hill. Dofl; thou not fee it? 'Tis that whofe mofly roof refleds the firft rays of the morning. Thither Melinda bears relief to indigence. A woman virtuous, but infirm and poor, dwells in that humble cot. Two infants, in the opening flower of innocence, wou'd weep of hunger by the bed of their unfortunate mother, were not Malinda their guardian angel. Tranfported with hav- ing adminiftered confolation to diftrefs, fhe will foon return, her lovely cheeks glowing with heartfelt joy, and her brilliant eyes flill bathed with the tears of pity. I wait for her re- Idyl VII. THE ZEPHYRS. «7 turn in this thicket of rofes. As foon as (he appears I fly to meet her ; and my wings, fpreading round her the moft fweet perfumes, will cool her burning cheeks; while I kifs the tears juft darting from her eyes. This is my delightful talk. First Zephyr. You tranfport me. How 'fweet is your employ ! I will, like thee, imbrue my wings in the dew that bathes thefe flowers ; like thee I will gather their perfumes ; and like thee, at the return of Melinda, I will fly to meet her. But fee, from yonder grove fhe comes, all beauteous as the morning of a glorious day. Virtue fmiles upon her rofy lips. Her deportment is that of the Graces. Come, let us fpread our wings ; never have 1 fanned more V€rmiUion cheeks, nor a vifage mare enchanting. D i8 A M Y N T A S. Idyl Vlir, M Y N T A S. LYCAS and I came from Miletum bearing our ofFerings. to Apollo. We already perceived at a diftance the hill on which the temple, adorned with columns of refplen- dent white, rofe, from the bofom of a laurel grove, toward the azure vault of Heaven ; beyond the grove our view was loft in the fea*s unbounded furface. It was mid-day. The fand burn*d the foles of our feet, and the fun darted its rays fo directly on our heads, that the fhadows of the locks of hair which covered our foreheads, extended over the whole face. The panting lizard dragged himfelf with pain through the fern that bordered the path. No found was heard, fave that of the grafshopper chirping amidft the meadows fcorched grafs. At each ftep there rofe a cloud of fiery duft that burn'd 'our eyes, and ftuck upon our parched lips. Thus we labour'd on, opprefs'd by languor ; but foon increas'd our pace, when we faw before us, even on the border of our path, fome high and fpreading trees. Their fliade was dark as night. Seized with a religious awe, we entered the grove, and there inhaled a moft refrelhing breeze. This delicious place at .ri..,...., /.„,' Amtwt^as ■Sjr,m/itr enn^if 4 . ' Orf- r ///■î'. ÏDVL Vin. A M Y N T A s. 19 once afforded all that could regale each fenfe. The tufted, trees inclofed a verdant fpot, watered by a pure and moft refreflting ftream. The branches of the trees, bending with golden fruit, hung o'er the bafon, and the wild rofe, jefla- mine, and mulberry twined in rich clufters round their trunks. A bubbling fpring rofe from the foot of a monument,, furrounded by honey fuckles, the fickly willow, and the. creeping ivy. — O gods 1 I cried, how inchanting is this place ! my foul venerates the bounteous hand that plant- ed thefe delightful fhades. His alhes here, perhaps, re- pofe. See here, cries Lycas, fee thofe charaders that appear through the branches of the honeyfuckle on the. front of the. tomb. They, perhaps, will tell us who it was that thus vouchfaf'd the weary traveller to folace. He rais'd the. branches with his ftafF, and read thefe words :. " Here repofe the afhes of Amyntas, whofe whole life was «' one continued fcene of bounteous a£ts : defirous to extend his ♦' goodnefs far beyond the grave, he hither led this ftream, *' and planted thefe trees." BleiTed be thy afhes, generous man ! May thy poflerity be for ever blefTed ! While I was fpeaking, we perceived ata diflance, through the trees, fome- one advancing towards us. It was a young and beauteous woman ; her fhape was elegant ; in her deportment appear- ed a noble fimplicity ; on her arm fhe bore an earthen vafe. Advancing to the fountain, fhe addrelTed us in a courte- D 2 20 A M Y N T A S. iDYL.yilL ous voice. You are ftrangers, ftie fald, wearied doubtlef» with your tedious journey in the fervour of the day. Say, do you want any refrefhment you have not here met with ? We thank thee, I replied, we thank thee, ami- able and beneficent woman. What could we wifli for more ? The waters of this ftream are fo pure, fo delicious are thefe fruits, and thefe fhadows fo refrefhing ? We are fiU'd with veneration of that worthy man whofe alhes here repofe ; his bounty hath anticipated every want the traveller can know. You feem to be of this country, and doubtlefs knew him. Ah! tell us, while we repofe beneath thefe cooling {hades, tell us who was this virtuous man ? The woman then feating herfelf at the foot of the tomb, and leaning on the vafe, which fhe placed by her fide, with â gracious fmile replied : His name was Amyntas. To honour the gods, and do good to mankind, was his greatefl felicity. There is not a fhepherd in all this country, who does not revere his memory with the moft tender gratitude ; not one who does not, with tears of joy, relate fome inftance of his reûitude or be- neficence. I owe to him myfelf all that I enjoy, it was by him that I became the happieft of w^omen — here her eyes were fill'd with tears — I am the wife of his fon. — My father died, leaving my mother and myfelf in grief and poverty. Re- tiring to a folitary cottage, we there lived by the labour of Idyl. VIII. A M Y N T A S. 2i our hands, and by the beneficence of virtue. — Two goats that gave us milk, and the fruits of a fmall orchard, were all our wealth. — This calm did not loog continue ; my mother died, and I was left alone without fupport or confolation. Amyn- tas then took me to his houfe, and committing to my care theconduâ: of his family, was more a father than a mafter to me. His fon, the moft handfome of all the fhepherds of thefe hamlets, faw with what tender folicitude I fought to merit fuch a fweet afylum. He faw my faithful labours and afli- duous cares. — He loved me, and he told me that he loved me. I would not confefs to myfelf what my heart felt at that moment. — Damon, I faid, forget thy love ; I was born in in- digence ; and am quite happy to be a fervant in thy houfe. This to him I often earneftly repeated : but he would not for- get his love. One day while I for ufe prepared our fleecy flores be- fore the cottage door, Amyntas came and fat down by me in the morning fun. After looking a long time at me ; with ' a gracious fmile, he faid ; my child, thy candour, cares, and modefty delight me. I love thee, and I will, if the gods fhall prove propitious, I will make the happy. Cou'd I, O my dear mafter, cou'd I be more happy if I merited thy bounty; was all I could reply; while tears of gratitude flowed from my eyes. My child, he faid, I wou'd honour the memory of thy parents, I would fee, in my old age, in y a2 A M Y N T A S. Idyl VIIL fon and thee made happy. He loves thee, will his love» i tell me, will his love make thee happy ? The work fell from my hands ; I trembled, bluflied, and flood motionlefs before > him. He took me by the hand, my fon's love, tell me» again he faid, will his love make thee happy ? I fell at his feet, and my voice died on my lips. I preft his hand againft my checks bedewed with tears, and from that fortunate day I have been the happieft of women. She paufed a while, then drying her eyes, continued thus : fuch was the man, whofe afhes here repofe. You may lUll wifh to know how- he brought hither this ftream, and planted thefe trees ; I fhall now inform you. In his latter days he frequently came to this fpot, and feat- ed himfelf on the fide of the high way. With an affable and- fmillng afped he faluted the paffengers, and offer'd refrefli- ment to the weary'd traveller. And what, he one day faid, if I fhould here plant fruit-trees, and under their Ihade conduit a frefh and limpid ftream : both fhade and water are from hence far diftant. I then fhall folace, a long time after I am gone, the man fatigued with travel, and him that faints amid the non-day's ardour. This defign he executed foon. Hither he conduced that pure ftream, and around it fet thefe fertile trees, whofe fruits in different feafons ripen. The work completed, he repaired to the temple <^ Apollo, and having prefented his offering, he made this Idyl VIII. A M Y N T A S. 23 prayer : " O God, profper the young trees I have juft ," planted, that the pious man, as he reforts to thy temple, f *' may refrefii himfelf under their fhade." The god vouchfafed to heard his prayer. Amyntas rifing early the next morning, direded his firft looks towards this fpot : but how was he tranfported, when inflead of the faplings he had planted the preceding day, he faw lofty and fpreading trees. O God ! he cried, what do I behold ! Tell me, O my children, is it a dream that deludes me ? I fee the plants that I fet but yefterday changed into flrong and lofty trees. Tranfported with facred admiration, we all went to the grove. The branches of the trees, already in their full vigour and loaded with fruit, bow'd down to the flowery ground. O wonderful, the old man cried, fhall I, even in the winter of my days, ftill walk beneath thefe fhades ! We poured forth our thankfgivings, and facrificed to the God who had granted, had even exceeded the prayers of Amyntas. But, alas, this old man, fo favoured by the gods, did not long frequent this bower. He died, and we have here in- terred his afhes, that all who repofe under thefe fhades may blefs his afhes. At this relation, penetrated by refped, we blelTed the afhes of the worthy man ; and faid to his daughter : " This " flream we have found mofl pleafing; by thefe fhades we have 24 A M Y N T A s. Idyl VIIL ** been refrefhed, but much more by the recital you have made- ** us. May the gods, each moment of thy life, pour downt. *« their bleffings on thee !" and filled with divine fcnfations^ we direded our fteps to the Temple of Apollo. T^ZiTYM A' J A' ^ A,,, /,.//,';■,/.'. y/.'y,,-, ,,.,//„■ ^/,./- ,/,\rr/., ■ifl'r/:- I, ■"/.>. IbYLlX. T H Y R s I s. 25 T H Y R S I S. IN vain, faid Thyrfis, fighing forth his pain, it is in vain,, propitious nymph, you breathe fuch fweet refrefhing gales amidft thefe fhades. 'Tis not for me your urns pour forth the limpid ftream beneath the flielter of thefe groves^. I burn, alas ! I burn, as in the furious heats of harveft. Seated at the foot of the hill, where Chloe's cottage ftands, to the echo, a tender air I fung. The fummit of the hill i& fhaded by a. garden of fruit-trees, her own hands cultivate. By my fide rolled a murmuring ftream, that in its winding courfe flows through the garden. Often in this flood ihe laves her hands and rofy cheeks.- — Sudden I heard the found of the bolt that faftens the garden door. Chloe came forth. A foft zephyr wanton'd in her flaxen trefTes. How beauteous Ihe appeared. In one hand fhe bore a curious bafket, filled with the choiceft fruit, and with the other, (modefty conceals, even when fhe thinks that no one fees) with the other fhe held her robe acrofs her rifing bofom, which the fportive zephyrs endea- voured to unveil. Her airy garment, winding in graceful folds about her fhape and knees, behind her floated, at the lileafure of the winds, with pleafing murmurs.. E '■£6 T H Y R S I S. Id^l. IX. As Chloe thus pafs'd o'er the fummlt of the hill, two apples fell from her bafket, and roU'd down to my feet, as •if by Love himfelf direded. I picked them up, and 'prefT- ing them to my lips, afcended the hill, and gave them to the blooming maid. My hand trembled — I would have fpoke, but could only figh. Chloe inclined her eyes, while a lovely blufh fpread o'er her cheeks. Then with a gracious air fhe fmiled, again {he blufh'd, and prefented me the faireft apple. Both abafh'd, quite motionlefs we flood. Ah ! what did I not that moment feel. Then with lingering fteps ihe home returned. My looks remain'd ftill fix'd upon her. At the door of her cottage fhe flop'd, and with a courteous air (he turned again towards me. My eyes, long after Ihe was gone, remained fixed on the threfhold of her door. At laft I defcended the hill, my knees trembling under me. Love, O tender Love, be propitious to my vows. Ah ! what I have fince that moment felt can never be effaced from my lieart. Idyl. 2. T O L O V E. 27 TO L O V E. LOVELY God of Cyprus, it was on the firft of May- I rais'd this altar to thee, at the bottom of my gar- den, and crowned it with a bowtr of myrtles and rofes ! Love ! on this altar have I not each morning ofFer'd to thee a garland of flowers, bedewed with the tears of Aurora ? But, alas ! thou derideft my vows. The north winds have already blafted the verdure of the trees and meadows ; yet Phillis — Phillis remains ftill cruel as on the firfl. o£ May. £ 2 2t D A P H N I S. IDVL Xïv. D A P H N I S. ON a fair fummer's night, Daphnis ftole to the cottage of his fiiepherdefs. Love can feldom lleep. The ^'aft expanfe of heaven was (Irew'd with brilliant ftars. The moon pour'd her gentle rays through the dark fhades of the foreft. All the country round was ftill and gloomy. All things feemed to refpeâ: the repofe of nature. No light was feen except fome fparkles of the torch of night, fhat play'd upon the purling brooks, and here and there a glow-worm, "Wandering in the dark. All other lights were out. Daphnis, plunged in a fweet melancholy, feated himfelf before the cottage of his miftrefs. His eyes remained fixed 'on the window of the chamber where ihe flept. The window was partly open to the foft galea of the night, and to the gentle rays of the moon, Daphnis, in a low voice, thus fung : May thy {lumbers be tranquil, O my beloved, and re- frefhing as the rporning breeze. Reft gently on thy couch, •as the drops of dew repofe upon the leaves of the lily, when no breath of wind agitates the flowers. How foft muftbe the (lumbers of innocence ! Defcend from heaven, fweet dreams I you that attend the lovely train of fports and mirth, defcend on Cynthia's ÎdvlXÎ. Ï) a P IÏ N I S. 25 rays, and hover over my fhepherdefs. Prefent to her mind nought but laughing plains, paftures ever verdant, and flocks more white than is their milk. Let her think fhe hears a concert of the fw^eeteft flutes re- founding in the folitary valley, as if it were Apollo's felf that played. May (he feem to bathe in fome pure cryftal ftream, beneath the fhade of jeflamines and myrtle, beheld by none except the birds that fly from tree to tree, and fing for her alone ! Let her feem to fport among the Graces ; let them call her their companion and their fifler ; and may they toge- ther wander in the moft delightful fields, gathering of flowers ; the garlands made by Phillis being worn by the Graces ; thofe made by them be worn by her. Lovely dreams ! conduft her to the groves were flowers are with the verdure mix'd ! There let the little Loves purfue and play around her, as bees about the new-blown rofe. Let one of the lovely groupe fettle at her feet, loaded with a fra- grant apple : while another prefents her with vermilion and tranfparent grapes, and others agitate the flowers with their wings, to difi^ufe about her the moft fweet perfumes. At the bottom of the grove let the Paphian God appear, but without his arrows or his quiver, leaft he alarm her timid innocence. Let him be alone adorn'd with all the charms of his enchanting youth. 30 D A P H N I S. Idyl XL Sweet dreams ! deign at lafl: to prefent my image to her; Let her fee me languifhing at her feet; incline my eyes,, and fay, in faultering accents, that for love of her I die ! Never, O never, yet have I dar'd to tell it her. Ah, at that dream may a figh diftend her bofom. May fhe then blufli and fmile upon me ! Why am not I as beautiful as, Apollo when he guarded the flocks ! Why are not my fongs- as melodious as thofe of the nightingale, and why have I not all excellencies to deferve her love ! Thus fung the fhepherd, and then, by the light of the moon returned to his cottage. Dreams of hope beguiled the remaining hours of night. At break of day he led his flock by the fide of the hill where the cottage of Phillis flood. His fheep went flowly on, browzing on the fides of the path. Feed on, my fheep, feed on my tender lambkins ; there is no fweeter pafture. The verdure on which Phillis cafls her looks becomes more pleafing, and the flowers are eager to . adorn the path fhe treads. While he thus fpoke, PhiHis appear'd at her window. The • morning-fun brighten'd her beauteous vifage. He faw that fhe regarded him with a gentle fmile : he even faw a moil lively colour glow in her cheeks. With lingering fleps, and a heart that throb'd with joy, he pafs'd before her ; fhe fa- luted him with a lovely air, and her looks complacent flili. purfued him — for fhe had liften'd to his midnight fong. •loYL. XII. CORYDON AND MENALCUS. 31 CORYDON AND MENALCUS. CoRYDON. T Bore my offering to the God of Love, in the -^ little marble temple, I fufpended to the myrtles' that furround it, a fmall wicker bafket, neatly interwove; gar- lands of frefh blown flowers, and my befl pipe. I invoked the God of Love, and faid : tender love ! deign to fmile upon the offering of my heart. Well, Menalcus, paffing yeft:erday by the temple, I enter'd the grove of myrtles. I looked at my little baficet, and what do you think I faw ? A bird of the moft beautiful plumage was perching on the edge of the bafket, and chanting his loves. At my approach he flew away. I looked into my bafket, and found a neft carefully con- fl^rudled, with little eggs but newly hatch'd. The mother, dif- turb'd and trembling, endeavour'd to cover them with her wings ; and looking at me, feemed to fay, young fhepherd, do not molefl: my tender offspring. I retired ; when the father, who flew in circles round my head, fettled again upon the edge of the baflcet ; and I heard them fweetly warble fongs of joy and tendernefs. Now tell me, dear Menalcus, you who every prefage can expound, tell me, what does this portend ? Mt^NALCus. That in the bofora of the pureft happinefa united, thy fhepherdefs and thee fhall pafs your peaceful days, and that Juno Lucina fliall blefs your loves. 32 eORYDON AND MENALCUS. Idyl Xm. CoRYDON. I fwear, by the immortal gods 'tis what I thought !* But, to be well aflured, I would confult thy wifdom. Take this white kid, and this pitcher filled with honey, fweet as the lips of my fhepherdefs, and pure as the breath of hea- ven. I prefent them to thee. He faid, and went away^ leaping with joy, like a young goat that bounds amidft the, dew of May. IsylXIIL g L I C E R a. 33 G L I C E R A. G LI CERA was beautiful and poor. Scarce had fhe number'd fixteen fprings, when fhe loft the mother who had brought her up. Reduced to fervltude, fhe kept the flocks of Latnon, who cuhivated the lands of a rich citizen of Mitylene. One day, her eyes flowing with tears, fhe went to vifit her mother's folitary tomb. She pour'd upon the grave a cup of pure water, and fufpended crowns of flowers to the branches of the bufhes fhe had planted round it. Seated be- neath the mournful fhade, and drying up her tears, fhe faid, *' O thou moft tender of mothers, how dear to my heart is the remembrance of thy virtues ! If ever I forget the inftrudtions r thou gaveft me, with fuch a tranquil fmile, in that fatal mo- ment when inclining thy head upon my bofom I faw thee ex- pire ; — if ever I forget them, may the propitious gods for- fake me ! and may thy facred fhade forever fly me ! It is thou that haft juft preferved my innocence. I come to tell thy manes all. Wretch that I am ! Is there any one on earth to whom I dare open my heart? Nicias, the lotd of this coun- try, came hither to enjoy the pleafures of the autumn. He ïaw me ; he i'egarded me with a foft and gracious air. He praifed my flocks and the care I took of them : he often told F ^4 G L I C E R A. Idyl XIIL me that I was genteel, and made me prefents. Gods ! how was I deceived ! But in the country who miflruiis ? I faid to myfelf, how kind our mailer is ! May the gods reward him ! All my vows fliall be for him : 'tis all that I can do, but I will forever do it. The rich are happy, and favour'd by the immortals. When bountiful like Nicias they deferve to be happy. This, to myfelf I faid, and let him take my hand and prefs it in his. The other day I blufh'd, and dared not look up, when he put a gold ring upon my finger. See, he faid, fee what is engraved on this ftone ? A winged child, who fmiles like thee ; and 'tis he that muft make thee happy. As he fpoke thefe words, he ftroked my cheeks, that were redder than the fire. He loves me, he has the tendernefs of a father for me : how have I deferved. fo much kindnefs from a lord, and fo rich and powerful ? O, my mother, that was all thy poor child thought. Heavens!, how was I deceived ! This morning he found me in the orchard ; he chuck'd mc familiarly under the chin. Come, he faid, bring me fome new-blown flowers to the myrtle bower, that I may there enjoy their fweet perfumes. With haftelchofe the fineft flowers, and full of joy I ran to the bower. Thou art, he faid, more nimble than the zephirs, and more beautiful than the goddefs of flowers. Then, im- mortal gods ! I yet tremble at the thought, then he catch'd. me in his arms, and prefs'd me to his bofom, and all that love can promife, all that is foft and feducing flow'd from ÎDYLXnr. G L î C E R A. 35 his lips. I wept; I trembled. Unable to refill fuch. arts, I had been forever loft. No, thou wouldft no longer have had a child, if thy remembrance had not watch'd over my heart. Ah ! if thy worthy mother had ever feen thee fuffer fuch dif- graceful careffes ! That thought alone gave me power to force myfelf from the arms of the feducer and fly. Now I come; O with what comfort is it that I ftill dare ! I come to weep over thy grave. Alas, poor and unfortunate as I am, why did I lofe thee when fo young. I droop like a flower, deprived of the fupport that fuftain'd its feeble ftalk. This cup of pure water I pour to the honour of thy manes. Accept this gar- land ! Receive my tears ! May they penetrate even to thy afhes ! Hear, O my mother, hear, 'tis to thy dear remains that repofe beneath thefe flowers, which my eyes have fo often bedew- ed, 'tis to thy facred fhade I here renew the vows of my heart. Virtue, innocence, and the fear of the gods, fhall make the happinefs of my days. Therefore poverty fhall never dif- turb the ferenity of my mind. May I do nothing that thou wouldft not have approv'd with a fmile of tendernefs, and I fhall furely be, as thou waft, belov'd of gods and men : for I fhall be gentle, modeft, and induftrious. O my mother, by living thus, I hope to die like thee, with fmiles and tears of joy." Glicera on quiting the place felt all the powerful charms of virtue. The gentle warmth that was difFufed over her mind fparkled in her eyes, ftill wet with tears. She was F 2 36 G L I C E R A. Idyl XÏIL. beautiful as thofe days of fpring when the fun fhines through a tranfient fhower. With a mind quite tranquil, fhe was haf- tening back to her labour, when Nicias ran to meet her. O Glicera ! he faid, and tears flowed down his checks, I have- heard thee at thy mother's tomb. Fear nothing, virtuous maid ! I thank the immortal gods ! I thank that virtue which , hath preferved me from the crime of feducing thy innocence. Forgive me, chafte Glicera ! forgive, nor dread in me a frefh offence. My virtue triumphs through thine. Be wife, be vir- tuous, and be ever happy. That meadow furrounded wùth trees, near to thy mother's tomb, and half the flock thou keepeft, are thine. May a man of equal virtue com- plete the happinefs of thy days ! Weep not, virtuous maid, but accept the prefent I offer thee with a fincere heart, and fuf- fer me from henceforth to watch over thy happinefs. If thou refufeft me, a remorfe for offending thy virtue will be the tor- ment of all my days. Forget, O vouchfafe to forget my crime, . and I will revere thee as a propitious power that hath defended mc againft myfelf. J. i^cfi'/it-r /if/fJ"^ îfavLXIV, The NOSEGAY. 3^7 The NO a E G A- Y. IH A V E feen Daphne. Perhaps, alas ! perhaps it would ' have been happy fot me had I not feen her. Never l^efore did fhe appear fo charming. I was repofmg, during the noon-day fervour, under the fhadow of the willows, where the brook rolls flowly o'er the pebbles. The cluflering boughs hung o'er my head, and fpread their peaceful fhade upon the water. There I enjoyed the fweetnefs of repofe. But fince that hour, alas, there is no repofe for me. Not far from the bank where I fat, I heard a ruftling of the leaves, and prefently faw Daphne, the beauteous Daphne ! She walked in the fhade, by the fide of the ftreamr. There, with a charming grace, fhe rais'd her azure robe, and difcover-- ing her lovely feet, entered the limpid flream : then her body gently inclining, with her right hand fhe laved her beauteous vifage, and with the other held her flowing robe : then fhe fîopp'd, and waited till not a drop fell from her hand to agitate the furface of the flream. The water become tran- quil, prefented the artlefs femblance of her lovely fea- tures. Daphne fmil'd at her own beauty, and her flaxen treflTes in a charming group colleâed. For whom, I fighing faid, for whom are all thefe cares? Who wou'd fhe pleafe? 5? The N O S E G A Y. Idyl XÎV. Who is the happy mortal that employs her thoughts; while the pleafure to fee herfelf fo lovely thus blows the rofes of iher lips. While {he mufe^l, inclining o'er the brook, fhe drop'd the "noregay that adorn'd her bofom, and the ftream brought it to where I fat. Daphne retired, and I feized the nofegay. How I kifs'd it ! How I held it to my panting heart ! No, I would not have parted with it for a whole flock. But, alas, it fades, this lovely nofegay, and yet it is but two days fince I firft pof- fefled it. With what care have I not preferv'd it ! I have ftill kept it in the prize cup I gain'd in the fpring by Tinging. On it is feen, curioufly engraved, the figure of Love fitting under a bower of myrtle ; with the ends of his fingers he fmiling tries the fharpnefs of his arrows ; at his feet appear two doves, their wings mixing together, while they tenderly bill each other. Three times each day in this cup have I refreflied my nofegay with the pureft water, and at night expofed it at my window to the dew of heaven. How often, leaning over thefe flowers, have I breath'd their fweet perfumes ! Their odour feems to me more delicious, and their colours more brilliant than thofe of all the flowerets of the fpring. It was on Daphne's bofom they completely bloom'd. Then in an extafy I contemplate the cup, and I fighing fay, O love! how infedious are thy arrows ! how forcibly I feel their fting ! Ah 1 make Daphne feel for me but half of what I f«el Idyl XIV. The NOSEGAY. 39 for her, and I will confecrate to thee this cup. I will place it on this little altar. Every morning will I furround it with a garland of the frefheft flowers, and when winter fhall defpoil our gardens, I will adorn it with a branch of myrtle. O may . you, charming doves, may you be the happy omen of my fu- ture bllfs. But, alas ! in fpite of all my cares, the nofegay fades. Dejeâ:ed andcolourlefs the flowers hang their heads around the cup; no longer they exhale perfumes, but their drooping leaver fall off. O love, grant that the fate of thefe flowers may nolk grove a direful prefage to my tender paflion. 40 DAMETU8 ANP MIL ON. Idyl X?. t> A M E T U S AND M I L O N. SE E that ram, Dametus, 'ïiow he plunges in the bog, ihd how the (heep follow him. This mud produces nought but unwholefome weeds, and thefe waters fwarm with noxious infedts. Come, let us drive our flocks from hence. MiLON. How ftupid are thefe animals! Here is trefoil, thyme, and lavender : all thefe fhrubs are encircled by 'the ivyj and yet they quit this pafture for the weeds of an infedious bog. But, Dametus, are wc always more wife than they ? Do we never leave the good to follow evil ? Dametus. Whither will their ftupidity drive them ? Among thefe reeds, the frogs leap about them. Stupid as you are, leave that bog, and come back to thefe verdant banks. In what a plight they are ! and but now their wool was all fo white ! MiLON. So, here you are at laft: leave no more thefe flowery downs. But tell me, Dametus, what is that I fee ? Marble columns thrown down amid the mire, and furrounded by rank weeds and ruflies. Behold that mouldering arch, it is buried in the ivy, and from its crevices ihoot forth th€ bramble and the thorn. D METus. It has been a monument. ÎDYL XV. D A M E T S A ND M 1 L O N. ^t MiLON. I fee it has, Dametus. See, here is an urn fimk in the mire; all its fide appear to be ornamented with figures j terrible warriors, and firey fteeds, trampling uftder their feet men extended in the duft. Ke that wifh'd to have his afhes cover'd with fuch direful images, Vv^as certainly no fhephcrd. The man whofe proud maufoleum has been thus fufFer'd to tumble into ruins, was furcly no friend to thefe villages. Pofterity pays to his memory but finall regard, and but few flowers are ftrevx^'d around his tomb. Dametus. His tomb ! He v/as a monfter. He laid wafte thefe fertile plains, and of free-born men made flaves. The horfes of his warriors trampled under foot the hufbandman'â fair hopes ; and with the dead bodies of our anceftors he ftrew'd the defolated fields. As ravenous wolves rufll on the timid flocks, fo his armed fquadrons bore down upon the peace- ful fons of men, who never had offended him. Founding his grandeur on the enormity of his crimes, he difplay'd his pride in marble palaces, and gorged the blood of the provinces his'barbarity had ravag'd. 'Tv,'as himfelf that rais'd this pom- pous monument to his brutal fury. Mil ON. What a hateful monfter ! But I admire his frenzy. It was to his crimes he eredted this monument, that our lateft pofterity might not be ignorant of them, and that they might hever forget, when they pafs'd this way, to curfe his memory; and now behold his tomb thrown down, his afhes mix'd with G 42 DAMETUS and MILON. Idyl XV. the mud, and the urn that contaln'd them fîU'd with flime and venemous reptiles ; who can fee, without a fmile mix'd with horror and pity, the frog feated on the helmet of the hero, and the fnail crawl unconcern'd along his dread- ful fword ! Dametus. What now remains of all his fatal grandeur ?• What but the foul remembrance of his heinous deeds; while his mounful fhade is confign'd to the torments of avenging Furies. MiLON. None, no not one, will deign to offer up for him a fingle prayer. Immortal gods! how wretched is the maa whofe days are ftaia'd by crimes ! Even after he exifts his memory is held in execration. No, though I were offer'd all the riches of the earth to commit a crime, I would rather have two goats, and enjoy my peace of mind: and of them I would yet facrifice one to the gods, as a grateful offering for my happinefs. Dametus. This place prefents nothing but hideous images. Come with me, Mllon, I will Jhow thee a more glorious monument, that of an honeft man, of my father. It was rais'd by his own hands. In the mean time, Alexis, thou wilt guard our flocks. MiLON. I will gladly go with thee to celebrate the memory of thy father. His reditude is flill revered even in the moft tliftant villages. Idyl XV. DAMETUS and MILON. 43 Dametus. Come on, my friend, let us take the path that goes a-crofs the meadow. We fhall pafs by the god Terminus crown'd with hop-leaves, and the fruitful vine. They went thither. On the right hand of the path lay a mead whofe grafs rofe to the waifl : on the left, a field of corn, whofe ears wav'd o'er their heads. The path led them to the peaceful fhade of the mod beautiful fruit trees, which furrounded a fpacious and pleafant cottage. Dametus placed a table under one of the moft fpreading trees, and on it fet a bafket of frelh-gather'd fruit, and a pitcher fiU'd with new- made wine. MiLON. Tell me, Dametus, where is the monu- ment confecrated to thy father's memory ? That I may pour the firft cup of this wine to the manes of that vir- tuous man ! Dametus. Behold it here, my friend. Pour it under this peaceful fhade. All that you fee is the monument of his vir- tue. This country was a wafte : it was his labour that ferti- lifed thefe fields ; his hands planted thefe fruitful trees. We, his children, and our lateft pofterity, fhall blefs his afhes, and they who partake with us the fruits of his labours, will with us blefs his memory. The profperity of the upright man re- mains upon our fields, our tranquil roofs, and us. G 2 44 DAMETUS AND MILON. Idyl XV, MiLON. Juft and beneficent man ! Let this cup of wine I here pour forth be offer'd to thy memory ! To leave a vir- tuous family in abundance, and to do good, even after our deceafe, can there be a monument more refpeâ:able and moiQ dear to humanity ? ÏDYL XVI. I R I S A N D E G L A. 45 IRIS AND EGLA. Egla. ' b '' h E air continues burning hot, though the fun -a- already inclines toward the horizon. All the plants ftill langulfh. Come, Iris, let us go down to the fide of the river. The little filver waves play againft the bank, and thofe bowers offer us the mofh refrefhing flielter. Iris. Go on, Egla, I will follow thee. Go a little be- fore, the bows beat in my face.. Egla. How tranfparent are thefe waters ! one may fee the fmalleft pebble at the bottom ! How gently the ftream glides o'er the gravelly bed ! Now I fwear by the Nymphs, I will here leave my garments, and. plunge, even to my bo- fom, in the delicious flood. Iris. But if any one fhou'd come ? If we {hou'd be feen? Egla. There is no path that leads to this bank. This fruitful tree, that feems to have left the rank to bend its fpread- ing branches o'er the flood ; this tree will cover us with the thickeft fhade. We are here concealed in a verdant grot that no mortal eye can penetrate. Thefe branches that the zephyrs gently wave, open but by intervals to admit the tender rays of day, then fudden clofe again. Iris. Well, Egla, what thou dareft, lalfodare.. 46 I R ï S A N D E G L A. Idyl XVI. The fhepherdefTes laid their garments at the foot of the tree, and feized with a gentle fhuddering, they enter'd the lambent flood. The waves furrounded firft their curving knees, but foon their alabafter bofoms lav'd. They then feated themfelves on the ftones that the ftream had left near its banks. Egla. Iris, I feel a gaiety of heart! my fpirits are ail alert ! What fliall we do ? Let us fing fome pretty fongs. Iris. Can you think of it ? Would you that they hear us from the neighbouring hills ? Egla. Well, then let us talk foftly. What muft v/e do ? Tell me fome ftory. Iris. A Story! Egla. Yes, fome fecret and diverting hiilory. You tell firft, and I will tell one after in my turn. Iris. I know one that is pleafant enough, but Egla. Iris, be aflured, thefe leaves are not more fecret than am I. Iris. Well then. The other day I was coming down the hill, driving my fheep to the pafture that borders on the fea. There is, you know, a large cherry-tree that ftands on the fide of the hill. While I -was But am I not a fool thus to difclofe my greateft fecret ? Egla. O, fhall not I recount thee alfo the moft hidden fecret of my heart ? Iris. Well. Whilft I defcended the folitary path, I heard on a fudden, a charming voice, that fung the fweetefl tune. I Idyl XVI. IRISandEGLA. 47 Surprifed, and fearful, I ftopp'd ! I looked round me, but could not perceive any body ! Upon my word, not any one ! I continued my courfe, and came ftill nearer and nearer to the voice. I advanced ftill further; then it was behind me; for I had pafs'd the cherry-tree, and from its cluftering top it was that the melodious accents came. But what it fung ! Oh, that I can never dare to tell, though I have not for- got the leaft fyllable. Egla. You muft abfolutely tell me. Under thefc' fecret Ihades there can be no myftery, and young maidens when: they bathe tell all. Iris. Well then^ Iconfent, — But is it right thus to repeat the praifes of crurfelves ? 'Tis true, we know that fhepherds when they praife us keep no bounds. As I defcended the hill — I feel the colour glow in my cheeks — the voice thus fung : " Who is that beauty whofe fhape is fo elegant, and her gait fo noble ? Tell hie, foft zephyrs, you who wanton in her locks and the folds of her floating robe. Who is fhe ? Is it one of the Graces ? Ah ! if it be, 'tis moft young and beauteous of them all. " How the flow'ry fprigs of trefoil and of thyme foftly bend to the impreffion of her fteps ! How the blue-bells and the fky-ting'd cyanus, that line the border of the path, incline their heads to kifs her lovely feet. I will pluck thofe flowers thai kifs thy feet, and bend beneath thy fteps, and of them form . 4? 1 R I S A N D E G L A. ÎDYL XVI. two garlands. One fliall crown my brows, and the othct wiU I ofrer to the god of love. " With what a timid air her black and lovely eyes furvey the country round! O fear nothing. I am no vulture; my fongs contain no fatal omens. Oh that I cou'd utter founds fo fweet as might fufpend thy fleps ! Why are not my notes as enchanting as the linnet's, and melodious as Philomela's in the lovelifl: night of May ? Has not her beauty more charms for me than the fpring has for the nightingale, and for all the birds with which the groves refound ? " What feareft thou ? Rather deign to check thy fleps. Ye Tofes wild, turn afide your thorns, leaft they wound her ten- der feet; but cou'd you lightly catch her robe, how pleafmg wou'd it be, fohie moments longer to detain the beauteous maid! But, alas, her fteps flie hallens. The tender zephyrs, ■who feem to feel my pains, in vain oppofe her flight. Her robe alone ftill flows behind. Cruel ! thyfelf they cannot flop. " Of the mofl lovely fruit that this tree bears, I will a baf- ket fill ; and when at night the moon refplendent fldnes, I. will fufpend it to thy window. If thou deign'fl to accept my prefent, of all the fhepherds of thefe parts I fhall be moft blefl. Thou flyefl ! Thofe trees will foon quite hide thee from my fight. I fliU behold the laft fold of thy robe. Butj alas! now, even now, the extremity of thy fhadow difap- pears." Idyl XVI. I R I S and E G L A. 4g Thus fung the fiiepherd. With down-caft eyes I purfued the path, yet dole a look at the top of the tree, but its leaves were fo thick I cou'd difcover no one. You may guefs, Egla, if I flept that night. I foon perceived a young fiiepherd fix a bafket to the bars of my windov? j for the moon that fhone extremely bright, reflected his fhadow on my couch. I blufh'd, and my bofom panted. But when the young fhep- herd was gone — Was it not right to be fure I did not dream ? I went foftly to the window, and all trembling I took the little bafket. It was fill'd with the faireft cherries ! Never have I tafted any fo delicious ! With the cherries there were rofe- buds, and leaves of myrtle. Yes, dear Egla, — but who this fiiepherd was, that thy curiofity fhall not yet know. Egla. Doft thou think I would afk thee? Was ever any- one fo myfterious ? You will not tell me then that it was my brother; and that the bafket he hung at thy window was a prefent I made him that very day ? O, you are confounded— a blufh, more lovely than that of blooming rofes, fpreads o'er thee, from where the waves play againft thy bofom to the looks of hair that crown thy forehead. You look on the wa- ter. Embrace me, deareft Iris ! Love my brother : I already regard thee as my fifter. -^ Iris. Should I have told thee my greatefl fccret, Egla, if I did not love thee as myfelf ? Egla. Well, be not concerned for thy confidence; I will now tell thee alfo the greatefl fecret of my heart. The firft of may my father made a facrifice to the god Pan, He invited to H 5» IRIS AND EGLA. Idyl XVI. the feaft his friend Menalcus, who brought with him Daphnis, his youngeft fon. During the facrifice Daphnis play'd on two flutes ; and you know. Iris, that no fhepherd plays with greater IkilL His hair, of a pale burnilh'd gold flow'd in curls upon his robe, more white than is the fnow. Drefs'd for the feaft, he appear'd all lovely as the youthful god of Delos. When the facrifice was over we went — -^But hark— I hear a noife in the grove — it comes nearer to us. Iris. Hark J Yes, it comes nearer ftill. O, nymphs prote (ft us ! Quickly let us take our garments, and fly to yonder grotto. The affrighted fliepherdefles fled like two doves whom the hawk rapidly purfues through the mid air. It was however nothing but a fawn, timid as themfelves, who came to quenck . his thirft in the refrefhing flream. Alm^is . -^ ,., S. I/i'iyiir, ,:>■<■:•//, ft/- ^- . Prr //7S IdylXVII. MENALCUS and ALEXIS. 51 MENALCUS AND ALEXIS. MENALCUS was old. Fourfcore years had already bow'd his head. The filver hairs fhadow'd his fore- head, and a fnowy beard flowed o'er his breaft. A flafF fe- cured his tottering fteps. As he who after the labours of a fair fummer's day, in the cool evening fits down content, and thanks the gods, waiting for peaceful flumbers ; fo Menal- cus confecrated the remainder of his days to repofe, and to the worfhip of the gods ; for he had pafs'd his life in labour and beneficence, and therefore tranquil and refigned he wait- ed for the flumbers of the grave. Menalcus faw bleffings diffufed among his children. He had given them numerous flocks, and fruitful paftures. Full of tender anxiety they each one ftrove to chear his latter days, and to repay the cares he had taken of their tender years. 'Tis a duty that the gods never leave unrecompenfed. Oftea featedathis cottage door, in the fun's gentle warmth, he furvey- ed his gardens cultivated with the greateft care, and far diftant off the labours and the riches of the fields. With an affable and courteous air he engaged the paflenger to fit down by him ; gladly he heard the news of neighbouring villages, and H 2 . SZ MENALClfS and ALEXIS. IpviXVIL was pleafed to learn of (Irangers the manners and the cufloms of far diftant countries. His children, and his children's children, came playing about him; the moft delightful amufement of his age The judge of their diverfions, he decided their trifling difagree- ments. He taught them to be juft, mild, and compaffionate toi- men, and to the leafl: of animals. With the various fports he- learnt them, ftill he mix'd fome fimple and affeding truth He made for them the inftruments of their diverfions. They came inceflantly crying to him — O, now ma'ce u& this — and then that. When they had got them, they threw their arms round his neck; they leap'd for joy, while the old man fmil'd at their tranfports. He taught them to cut the reeds, into pipes and whiftles. He inftruded them to call the fheep and goats to the paflure, and back again to the fold. He compofed fongs for them, which were fung by the youngeft, accompanied on the pipe by the eldeft. At other times- he told them fome afFeâing ftory ; then they all fat round him on the grou-nd, or on the threfhold of the door, with: their mouths half-open, and their eyes fixM upon his lips. One day, as he was fitting at the entrance of his cottage, Tefrefliing himfelf in the morning fun, no one was with him- tut his grandfon Alexis. The lovely youth had not yet feen. fourteen winters. The rofes of the fpring of life and health, bloom'd on h.is cheeks, while locks of gold flowed o'er hi^- IdylXVII. MENALCUS and ALEXIS. 53 flioulders. The old man entertained him with difcourfes on the happinefs of doing good to mankind and of relieving the indigent. There is no pleafure, hevfaid, can equal that we feel after a virtuous adion. The brilliant charms of Aurora, the fweet fetting of the fun, the moon, that pierces through the fable vail of night, all fill the heart with delicious fenfatlons. But that beneficence infpires — O my fon, it is far, far more delicious ! Tears of joy and tendernefs bedew'd the cheeks of young Alexis. The old man fàw them with tranfport — You weep, my child, he faid, fixing his eyes tenderly on him,, furely my difcourfe alone could not caufe thefe tears ! There is. fomething in thy heart that makes them flow. Alexis wip'd the drops from his rofy cheeks, but his eyes ftill' fiird with frefli tears. Oh, I know, yes I feel that nothing is fo fweet as doing good. Menalcus was affeded ; he prefs'd the youth's hand in his, and faid, I fee by thy countenance, I read m thine eyes that thy mind isaffeded, and that it is not merely by what I have faid. The young Ihepherd abafli'd, turn'd away his face. Was not your difcourfe affeding enough to cover my cheeks with' tears .'' I fee, my child, replied Menalcus, I fee that you hide from, me, perhaps for the fir ft time, that which makes thy bofomi pant and even now {lands upon thy lips,. 54 MENALCUS an© ALEXIS. Idyl XVIL "Well then, faid Alexis, reflraining his tears, I will tell you all, which but for you I fhou'd have conceal'd for ever at the bottom of my heart. Have I not learnt from you that he who boafts of the good he does is but good by halves ? It was for that reafon I would have conceal'd from you what made my heart throb, what convinced me fo pleafmgly that the fatisfadion of doing good is the moft delicious pleafure of our lives. One of our Ihcep had ftrayM ; I went to feek it on the hills, when I heard a voice ! 1 crept to the part from whence the voice came and I perceiv'd a man. He took from his flioulders a heavy burden, and fighing, laid it on the ground. *' I cannot, no, he faid, I cannot go any further. How full of bitternefs are my days ! A fcanty and wretched fubliftence is all! obtain by my labour. Many hours have I wandered, loaded with this burden, amidft the noon-day's heat, and I can find no fpring to quench my thirft ; no tree, not even a bufh, whofe fruit can refrefh me. O gods, I fee nothing all round me but frightful deferts, no path appears to lead me to my hut, and my tottering knees cannot fupport me longer. Yet I will not murmur. Gods! You have al- ways fuccour'd me." Thus lamenting, he laid himfelf, ex- haufled, on his burden. Then, without being perceived, I ran with all my flrength to our cottage. I inftantly put in a bafket frefh and dry fruits, and fill'd my largeft flagon with milk. I flew back to the ITJVL XVir. MENALCUS and ALEXIS. 55 mountain, and again found the unhappy man. He was then in a peaceful flumber. Softly, quite faftly, I approached him, fet the bafket and flagon of milk by his fide, and hid inyfelf behind the bufhes. He foon awoke. What a fvveet refrefhment is fleep, Ire faid, then looking on his burden, I will now try to carry thee further; for haft thou not ferved as a pillow to my head ? Perhaps, the gods will dlred my fteps, that I may foon hear the murmur of fome fountain, or that I may find fome cottage whofe hofpitable mafter will receive me under bis roof. At the moment he was taking up his load, he perceived the flagon and the baiket ! The burden felL from his hands ! — Gods ! he cried, what do I fee ! — Alas, my want diflurbs my feniès ! I furely dream, and when I fhall wake all will vanifh. But no — I am awake. — O gods, it is no dream ! He laid his hand upon the fruit^^ — Yes, I am awake ! What divinity, O what propitious power hath wrought this miracle ? To thee I pour the firft drops of this milk, arvd to thee I confecrate thefe two apples, the faireft of the bafket. Receive, O vouchfafe favourable to receive my grateful offering. Thou knoweft the fincerity of my heart. He then fat down and eat, while tears of joy ran down his face. When he was refrefhed, he rofe and ofFer'd his thanks once more to the power that had watch 'd over him with fo much goodnefs Gr have the gods, he faid, have they fent hither fome beneficentmortal ? vYhy can I not fee and embrace him ?. 56 MENALCUS and ALEXIS Idyl aVIL Where art thou ? Let me thank and blefs thee. Alay the goda biefs him : blefs the generous man, all that are his, and all that is dear to him. I am fatisfted ! I will take with me thefe fruits, my wife and children fhall eat of them, and blefs with me our unknown benefaûor. He went his way and I •wept for joy. I then ran through the bufhes that I might get before him. I fat myfelf down on the fide of the road through which ho muft pafs. He came, he fainted me, and faid, " My fon, haft thou feen any one on thefe mountains bearing a flagon and a baftcet of fruit ? No, I have feen no one on thefe mountains bearing a flagon and a baflcet of fruit. But, I faid, how came you in this defert? You muft have furely loft your way! There is no path that leads hither. Alas, my child, he iaidj yes I did unluckily lofe my way, and if fome beneficent deity, or if it were a mortal, the gods blefs him; if fome beneficent power had not faved me, I fhould have periihed of hunger and thirft on thefe mountains." — Let me fhow thee thy way. Give me thy burden that I may carry it, and thou wilt more eafily follow me. After refufing a long time, he gave me the bur- iden, and I conduded him to the road that leads to his cottage. This, my father, is what makes me ftill weep with joy. What I did coft me little trouble, yet every time I think on it, the jemembrance delights me like the fweet morning air. IvlXVIL MENALCUS and ALEXIS. 57 How happy mufl he be who has done a great deal of good ? The old man embraced the youth with the fweeteft tranf- port of pleafure. Ah, now I fhall defcend without regret to the grave, fince I leave behind me in my cottage piety and beneficence. 58 THE TEMPEST. Idyl XVIIL The TEMPEST. MIS IS and Lamon kept a herd of heifers on the pro-» montory near were Tifernus rufhes through its reedy bed into the bofom of the deep. A black tempeft was gather- ing in the diftatit fky ! A dreadful filence reign'd among the trees ! The affrighted fwallow and the halcyon flew dubious here and there. Already had the flocks quitted the mountain in fearch of fhelter. The two fhepherds remain'd alone to contemplate the approaching hurricane. How terrible is this ealm ! faid Lamon. Behold the fetting' fun retire behind thofe clouds, that rife upon the extremity of the ocean like towering mountains^ Misis. This black and boundlefs fea refembles the eternal night ! It is yet tranquil. But to this fatal calm will foon fuc- ceed a horrid tempeft ! A hollow found already fills the air. Thus, in fome hidden calamity, the bowlings of agony and terror are heard far off. Lamon. Behold thofe mountain-clouds ! How they flowly rife above each other. From out the abyfs they rife, incelfant- ly more black and menacing. Misis. The noife approaches and grows louder ! Darknefs eovers the deep ! The iflands of Diomedes are already funk in Idyl XVIII. THE TEMPEST. 59 obfcurity ; they no more appear ! The neighbouring pharos is only feen to glimmer amid the horrid gloom. But now the winds begin to roar ! They rend the clouds afunder, and drive them furious through the air : they rufli againft the waves al- jeady white with foam. Lamon. The tempeft roars with all its fury ! I like to con- template its rage ! There is I know not what pleafure, mix'd with anxiety, that agitates my breaft ! Let us remain here. Shou'd we want a retreat we have but to defcend the mountain. Mis IS. Lamon, I will ftay with thee. The ftorm is now over our heads. The waves rufh againft the foot of the mountain, and the winds whittle through the tops of the trees. Lamon. The lawlefs waves dafli their foam againft the fkies ! Now like ftupendious rocks they rife, and now they dreadful rufh again into the abyfs ! The lightning that plows the furface of the billows alone illuminates this fcene of horror. Misis. O immortal gods ! A vefiel ! — Sufpended on that wave like a bird upon the point of a rock. Heavens ! it finks ! Where is the veflel ? Where are the wretched mariners ? Swallow'd up in the gulph of the fea ! Lamon. If my eyes deceive me not, the veflel appears again on that wave. Gods ! Save, O fave the unhappy people ! Ah i fee, the wave that follovi's ruflies with all its violence againft them ! Unhappy men, what cou'd you feek, thus to ^uit your native foil, and truft yourfelves to the moft faithlefs I 2 6o THE T E M P E S t. Idyl XVII t of the elements ! Did not your country produce fruits fufEcient to appeafe your hunger ? You feek for riches, jind you meet a miferable death. Misîs. In vain (hall your parents, wives, and children, bedew the paternal fhore with their tears. In vain {hall they offer up irows for your fafety on the altars of Neptune. Your tombs will remain empty. Your bodies will be devoured by the birds of prey on the fea fhore, or by the monllers of the deep. O gods ! grant that I may for ever peacefully inhabit my humble cottage; and, that content with little, my field and flock may all my wants fupply ! L AMON . Great gods ! May I be punifli'd like thefe wretch- ed men, if ever my heart murmurs, if ever I defire more than I now enjoy, fubfiftence and repofe. Mi SIS. Let us go down. Perhaps the waves may call fome of thefe wretches on the fhore. If they be yet alive we fhall have the confolation to fave them. If they be dead, we fhall at leaft appeafe their manes by giving them a peaceful grave. They defcended to the fhore, and there found extended on the fand, a young man, beautiful as the fon of Maia. Unable to recover him, they interred the body on the fhore, fhed- ding their tears over it. Among part of the wreck that was fcatter'd on the flrand, the fhepherds found a cafket fiU'd with gold. What fhall we do with this money ? feid Mifis. Idvl XVIII. THE TEMPEST. 61 Lamon. Let us keep it; not to be rich ourfelves, from that the gods preferve us ! but to reftore it to him that may claim it, or to give it them who want it more than we. The treafure, ufelefs and unknown to the avarice of men, remain'd a long time in the hands of the two fhepherds. They at laft employ'd it in building a temple near the grave of the young man. Six columns of white marble, encircled by the ivy, adorned its front, and within was placed the ftatute of the god Pan. Sweet Moderation ! to thee, and to the god Pan, was this temple confecrated. 62 MIRTILUS AND CHLOE. Idyl XiX. MIRTILUS AND CHLOE. EARLY in the morning, Mlrtilus going out of the cottage found Chloe, his youngeft fifter, bufy in form- ing garlands of flowers. The dew glitter'd on the flowers» and with the dew was mix'd the tears of the little Chloe. MiRT. Dear Chloe, what will you do with thofe garlands ? Alas ! you weep. Chloe. And don't you alfo weep, dear Mirti'lus? But» alas ! who wou'd not weep like us ! Did you obferve our mo- ther, in what diftrefs fhe was ! Before fhe left us, how fhe prefled our hands in her's, and turn'd away her eyes that were •fill'd with tears. MiRT. I faw it as well as thee. Alas ! our father ! he is furely worfe than he was yefterday. Chloe. Ah! my brother, if hefhould die ! How he loves us ! What carefles he bellows upon us, when we do what he likes, and what is pleafing to the gods. MiRT. O my fifter, how every thing is forrowful ! My iamb comes in vain to càrefs me ; I almofl; forget to feed him. la vain my ring-dove flutters upon my Ihoulders, ^nd ftrives •"■'/■■"•'■/•""■'' ÎÏ5VLXÏX. MIRTILUS AND CHLOÊ. 6j to bill my lips and chin. Nothing — no, nothing can delight me now. O my father, if you die, I will die alfo. Chloe. Alas ! do you remember — five days ago, how our deaf father took us both on his knees, and began to weep. MiRT. Yes, Chloe- — I do remember how he fet us down Ï and turn'd pale ! I can hold you no longer, my children, I am ill — very ill. At thofe words he crept to his bed, and from that day he has been fick. Chloe. And from that day his illnefs has continually in- Ereafed. I'll tell you what I defign, my hrothen At the break of day I came out of the cottage to gather frefh flowers, of which I have made thefe garlands. I am going to lay them at the feet of the ftatue of Pan. Does not our mother always tell us that the gods are good, and love to hear the vows of innocence ? I will go, I will offer my garlands to the god Pan. And dofl thou fee in this cage, what is of all things moft dear to me, my little bird — Well then, I will facrifice him alfo to the god. MiRT. O my dear filler! I will go with you— Stay, I pray you an inftant. I will go fetch my baflcet, it is full of the fineft fruit, and my ring-dove, and I will facrifice him alfo to the god Pan. He ran and foon return'd. They then Went together to the foot of the ftatue. It was fituate not far ojflf, upon a little hill, in the midft of Ihady 64- MIRTILUS and CHLOE. Idyl XIX. fir-trees. They knelt down, and thus invoked the god of the fields. " O Pan, proteâor of our villages ! Hear, kindly hear our prayers, and receive our little offerings ; they are all that children can offer to thee. I place thefe garlands at thy feet ; if I cou'd reach higher, I v^ould with them crown thy head, and put them round thy flioulders. Save, O Pan, fave our father, and reftore him to his poor children." MiRT. I bring thee thefe fruits, they are the fairefl I cou'd gather in our orchard. Receive them kindly. I wou'd have facrificed to thee the finefl goat in the flock, but he was too flrong for me. When I am bigger I will facrifice two every year to thee, for having reflored our father to our prayers. Reftore, gracious god, reftore to health the beft of fathers! Chloe. I will now facrifice to thee this bird ; O gracious god ! it is of all things the moft dear to me. See how it fliss upon my hand to feek its food ; but, I will, O Pan ! I will fa- crifice it to thee. MiRT. And I will offer thee this ring-dove. It plays about, and carefTes me; but I will, O Pan, I will facrifice it to thee, that thou mayeft reftore our father to us ! Hear, O Pan ! hear our prayers. Their little trembling hands had already feiz'd the vidims, when a voice pronounced thefe words : " The gods are pleafed IdylXIX. MIRTILUS and CHLOE. 65 « to hear the vows of innocence. Lovely children, do not fa- crifice what makes your greateft pleafure. Your father is re- flored to health." Menalcus immediately recovered his health. Happy in the piety of his children, he went the fame day, with all his fa- mily, to make an offering to the god : and liv'd, furrounded by profperity, to fee his children's children. 66 JEALOUSY. Îdyl XX* JEALOUSY. TH E moft devouring flame, the moft cruel ferpent, with which the Furies torture the human heart, is jealoufya This Alexis proved. He loved, and was beloved by Daphne. Alexis was a brown and manly beauty. Daphnis was beautiful as innocence, and fair as the lily that opens to the rifing of Aurora. Thefe happy lovers had vow'd an eternal paffion. Venus and the Loves feem'd to have fhed their choicefl favours o'er them. The father of Alexis had juft efcaped a dangerous difeafe. My fon, he faid, I have vow'd to facrifice fix ewes to the god of Health. Go, lead the viûims to his temple. The temple of Efculapius was diftant two long days journey. Alexis pour*d a torrent of tears on parting from his fhep- herdefs. One wou'd have thought he was going to traverfe the vaft ocean! Thoughtful and melancholy he drove the fheep before him, and as he left the village, like the tender dove he moan'd along the road. He pafs'd the moft beautiful meadows, and faw them not. The moft pleafmg landfcapes had no charms for his eyes. He felt nothing but love, and faw nothing but his fhepherdcfs. He be- held her in the fhades, by the border of the ftream ; he Idyl XX. JEALOUSY. tj heard her repeat the name of Alexis, and anfwer'd her with fighs. Thus he toil'd through the folitary paths, following his fheep, and lamenting that they had not the fwiftnefs of the roe-buck. He arrived at the temple ; he offered the vidtims ; and the facrifice completed, he flew on the wings of love to regain his village. But in pailing through the bulhes a thorn pierced his foot. The torment was fo great that he was fcarce able to reach a neighbouring cottage. A beneficent fhepherd receiv'd him, and apply'd to the wound fome falutary herbs. Gods! how unfortunate I am! he cry'd incefTantly. Penfive and gloomy, he told each minute by his fighs. An hour appear'd to him as a long winter's night. Some ma- lignant power at laft pour'd into his heart the poifon of jea- loufy. Gods ! he cry'd in a low murmur, and calling a fierce look around him, gods, wh^t a thought ! Can Daphne be perfidious I — Unjuft and hateful thought ! — But Daphne is a woman, and Daphne is beautiful. Who can fee her and refift her charms ? Has not Daphnis figh'd a long time for her ? Is he not handfome ? Who is not melted by the fweet accents of his voice ? and who like him can touch the lyre ? His cottage is clofe to that of Daphne. They are feparated only by a de- lightful fhady walk. — But away — Haï— Begone diflradl- ing thoughts — Alas ! you grave yourfelves inceifantly flill deeper in my heart! You purfue me night and day. Oft- times the roving imagination of Alexis, fhow'd him hia K2 6S JEALOUSY. ' Idyl XX fliephcrclefs, dealing, with timid fteps, through the fhadc wh-ere Daphnis figh'd to the Echoes, his anguifh and his love. There he faw her, with looks all languifhing, ftifle with pain the fighs that made her bofom pant. Sometimes he faw her fleeping beneath a jeflamine bower. Daphnis follows her thither ; he gazes on her, hé dares to approach her — his eager looks de- vour her charms — he takes her hand — be prefTes it to his lips. Daphne awakes not; he kiffes her cheek, he kifies her lips» and yet fiie awakes not, he cries, tranfported with fury ! — • But what horrid Images does my fancy create I Why am 1 in- genious only to torment myfelf with a moft cruel punifhment! Unjuft ! ungrateful! why do I only think on what can wound her innocence ? Six days hadnhis dreadful torture already lafted, and his wound was not yet quite heal'd. But nothing cou'd detain him longer. He embrac'd his benefador ; he oppofed all that gentle hofpitality cou'd invent to reftrain him. Purfued by the Furies, he departed ; and notwithftanding his pain he ran, he flew ! Night w^as already come on, but by the light of the moon he perceived at a diflance the cottage of Daphne! Ah, henceforth be gone detefted thoughts ! fly far from me ! 'Tis there the nymph that loves me dwells ! This night, O gods ! this very night I fliall weep with joy on her bofom ! As he fpoke thefe words, he haften'd his pace, and prefently faw Daphne coming through the grove that led to her cottage. It Idyl XX. JEALOUSY. 69 is (he ! O Daphne, it is thou ! It is thy fl^.ape fo elegant, thy xvalk fo airy, and thy robe more white than is the fnow. it is flie, O gods ! But whither goes (lie at this hour ! For a fearful Ihepherdefs, 'tis dangerous in the night to walk the fields. Perhaps, impatient for my return, fhe is come forth to meet me. Scarce had he fpoke thofe words when a young man came from the grove, and followed her* He walk'd by her fide, and Daphne tenderly prefs'd her hand in his. He gave her a little baflcet of flowers, which with a charming grace, flie put upon her arm. Then they went to- gether from the cottage by the light of the moon. Alexis, feiz'd with horror, remained at a diftance, and trembled at every joint. Immortal gods ! What do I fee? It is then too true ! What fo cruelly tormented me is certain ! Some com- paffionate divinity made me forefee it. O unhappy — Whoe'er thou art, whether god or goddefs, O thou that didft forewarn me of my mifery, revenge, ah! revenge my wrongs! Let me but fee this infidelity punilh'd, and then let me die of anguifh ! 4 Daphne and the fhepherd, their arms in each others, took the path which leads to the grove of myrtles that furrounds the temple of Venus. . The moon enlighten'd their fteps, and their behaviour declared a tender intercourfe. They are going to the fhade of thofe myrtles, cried the en- raged Alexis, and it was under the fliade of thofe very trees 70 JEALOUSY. Idyl XX. that (Ke fo oftea fwore to me an eternal pafllon. They are now in the grove ! Heavens ! I can no longer fee them ; con- ceal'd by the thicknefs of the leaves, they are gouig to feat themfelves on the grafs. But, no, I fee them again — her white robe refleûs the light of the moon, amid the branches of the trees and their dufky trunks. Tliey flop ! That's a fweet retreat, and the mofs is forefrefhing — Perfidious ! — enjoy thy repofe — -fwear in the prefence of Luna — fwear your guilty loves. May the Furies dart terror between you ! But no. Hark. The nightingales repeat the mofi: tender airs, and the turtles figh around them. Yet — it is not there neither they intend to remain. They are going even to the temple of the goddefs ! I will draw near. I will fee them, and liften to their talk. He entered the grove of myrtles. He faw them advance to- ward the temple, whofe columns, of the whiteft marble, en- lightened by the moon refulgent fhone amidft the fhades Oi night. Ha ! — do they dare to tread thofe facred fteps ! Cari the goddefs of Love proted the fouleft perfidy ! He faw, in fad, the young fhepherdefs mount the fteps of the temple. She crofs'd the portico, with the little baficet of flowers on her arm ; while the young man ftopp'd under the firft arcade. Alexis, ftill approach'd by the favour of the fliade, trembling with iiorror and defpair, he crept to the fliadow of one of the îbVL XX. JEALOUSY. 71 pillars, and placed himfelf againft it. There he dlftin'^ly faw Daphne approach the ftatue of Venus ; it was of marble, vrhite as milk ; every part of it was illumin'd by the torch of ni^ht. The gcddcis reclining backward, with an en- chanting majefty, feem'd to fhun the aftonifli'd view of mor- tals; while, from her height fublime, fhe caft]a gracious look on thofe who perfumed her altars. Daphne bow'd her knee at the feet of the goddefs, placed the garlands before her, and in the mofl tender and plaintive ac- cents faid : *' Hear, O fweet goddefs, protedrefs thou of faithful lovers! Hear my prayer. Favourably accept thefe flowers I dare to offer thee; they are yet wet v^ith the dew of evening and with my tears. 'Tis now fix days fince Alexis has been far diftant from me. O propitious goddefs reftore him to my arms ! proteâ: him by the way, and bring him back faithful and tender as when he parted from me. Return him to me, that I may prefs him to my bofom, that now pants with love !" Alexis heard; and he difcover'd the young fliepherd, who flood oppofite to him, and on whofe vifage the moon now fhone. It was the brother of Daphne. Full of tender fears ihe dared not expofe herfelf to the dangers of the night, by going alone to the temple of Venus. 72 JEALOUSY. Idyl XX. Alexis, quitting the pillar that conceal'd him, fuddenly ap- pear'd before his love. Daphne, feiz'd with the fweeteft ex- tafy, and Alexis tranfported with joy and fhame, funk in each other's arms at the feet of the goddefs. ■■^^ ■S'0//.u,t,- /-11, ■'■m IûylXXI. e r y t h e a. 71 E R Y T H E A. Myrson. ^^^ OME, Lycidas, let us go into the brook, it ^^ will refrefli our feet. There the willow and the bending poplar form an arch of the mofl lively verdure. LyciDAS. Myrfon, mofl: willingly. In this fuffocating heat where can we find fo cool a retreat ? Myrson. Let us go to the rock from whence), the ftream precipitates. We fhall there find the coolnefs as delicious as if we bathed in the river by the light of the moon. Lycîoas. Hark ! I already hear the found of the falling water. One wou'd think that all things breathing came to feek refrelhment in thefe fhades. What a buzzing ! What a murmur ! What a fweet chattering ! What a various and de- lightful tumult animates thefe folitary groves! and that little goldfinch, dees he mean to fliow us the way ? How he leaps with wanton joy from ftone to ilone ! Doft thou obferve the brilliant ray that darts through a hole in the willow whofe L 74 E R Y T H E A. Idyl XXI. trunk is encircled by the ivy ? Ha ! mark the young goat that fleeps in the trunck of the tree ! What a lucky retreat has he found ! Myrson. You fee all things, and you do not perceive that we are come to the place we propofed. Lycidas. O Pan ! O god ! what a delightful fpot ! Myrson. The falling ftream, that looks like a filver tapeftry floating gently as the wind direâs, covers the entry of the cavern, and thofe buflies crown it with their cluflering foliage. Come, let us go behind the cafcade and enter the grotto. Lycidas. This pleafing coolnefs makes me fhudder. How the ftream falls foaming at our feet ! Each drop of water, by refleding the rays of the fun, appears a fpark of fire. Myrson. Let us feat ourfelves on this mofiy rock. Our feet will reft upon the ftones that ftand out of the water, and eiiclofed in this cavern the cafcade will fnread before us a tranfparent curtain. Lycidas. No, never have I feen a more enchanting re- treat ! Myrson. Yes, this grotto is delicious, and it is confecrat- ed to the god Pan. The ftiepherds retire from it toward the middle of the day. For they fay about that hour the god comes, Idyl XXL E R Y T H E A. 7j hither to repofe himfelf. Dofl: thou know the wonderful hiftory of this ftream ? If thou art willing, I will fing it thee. Lycidas. We are here pleafingly repofed ; feated on the mofs, and againft the rock reclining, I ihall hear thy fong with rapture. Myrson. How lovely wert thou! Erythea, daughter of Eridan, the faireft of Diana's nymphs ! Yet did her beauty juft begin to bloom. VVhen almoft a child her fhape by ele- gance was form'd. On her charming vifage fmil'd the rifing flower of innocence ! A timid candour foften'd the fplendof of her azure eyes, and her rifing bofom, rounded by the Graces, like the faireft rofe-buds, promis'd all their future charms ! During the ardours of a fummer's day, with her filler nymphs, fhe chaced the foreft deer. Fatigued, and languifh- ing with heat, fhe to a fountain ran to quench her thirft. There (he laved her beauteous vifage, and from the hollow cf her hand, with her fweet rofy lips fhe fipp'd the water. Thus reclining o'er the fountain, Erythea, of no danger dream'd. But Pan, conceal'd behind a neighbouring bufh, had fix'd his eyes upon her : fudden the god felt all the furious flames of love. Unperceiv'd he had already ftole upon her, when the ruftling of the grafs beneath his feet L 2 76 E Pv Y T H E A. Idyl XXL betray'd his near approach. Seiz'd with fear, fhe fled, fhe fcap'd the nervous arms of Pan ; thofe arms that trembled ftrong with fierce defire. On her bofom already fhe perceiv'd their burn- ing heat, jufl ready to embrace her; a rofe-leaf wou'd have fill'd the fpace between them. She leap'd the ftream, more light than is the hind j fear to her flight gave ftrength. He purfued. She flew acrofs the meadow like a rapid wind, that of the rifmg grafs fcarce bends the tops. But terror foon fufpends her flight. To the border of a fleep rock arrived, back flie flarts ; all pale and trembling fees the dread abyfs below. O Diana ! with accents of defpair, fhe cries, O Diana ! thou the chafte virgin's fure protedrefs, O fave me; fuffer not a brutal arm to prefs this bofom, devoted to thy worfhip. Come, chafle goddefs, to my aid, O come ! But already had the god approach'd fo near, that his burning breath fhe felt, and his hands already were ftretch'd out to feize her. When Diana, an ene- my to favage love, heard the plaintive accents of her nymph. Pan, thinking to embrace the nymph, perceiv'd the waters from his hands efcape, and flow acrofs his bofom, pant- ing with fierce defire. Erythea in his arms became a foun- tain. Thus in the heat of fpring, from the black rocks defcends the melting fnow. — She fprang from the arms of the god. Idvl XXI. E R Y T H E A. 77 fhe trickled down his knees, and murmur'd through the grafs ; fhe fell from the height of the rock, and quickly roU'd her waters to the bottom of the valley. Thus was the chafte ftream of Erythea found. 7$ THEWOODENLEG, THE WOODEN LEG, AN HELVETIC TALE. ON the mountain from whence the torrent of Rauti pre-» cipitates into the valley, a young fliepherd fed his goats. His pipe call'd Echo gayly from the hollow rocks, and Echo bid the vailles feven times refound his fongs melodious. On a fudden he perceiv'd a man climbing with pajn the mountain's fide. The man was old j years had blanch'd his head. A ftaff bent beneath his heavy tottering fteps, for he had a wooden leg. He approach'd the young man, and feated himfelf by him on the mofs of the rock. The young fhepherd look'd at him with furprize, and his eyes were fix'd on the wooden leg. My fon, faid the old man, fmiling, do you not think, that infirm as I am, I £hou*d have done better to have remain'd in the valley ; know, however, that I make this journey but once a year, and this leg» as you fee it, my friend, is more honourable to me then are to many the moft flraight and ac- tive. I don't doubt, father, replied the fhepherd, but it is very honourable to you, though 1 dare fay another wou'd be AN HELVETIC TALE. 79 more ufefiil. Without doubt you are tired. Will you drink fome milk from my goats, or fome of the frefii water that fpouts below from the hollow of that rock ? Old Man. I like the franknefs painted on thy vifage. A little frefli water will be fufficient. If you will bring it me hither, you fhall hear the hiftory of this wooden leg. The young fhepherd ran to the fountain, and foon return'd. When the old man had quench'd ^his third, he faid. Let young people, when they behold their fathers maimed, and cover'd o'er with fears, adore the Almighty Power, and blefs their valour ; for without that, you wou'd have bow'd your neck beneath the yoke, inftead of thus balking in the fun's warmth, and making the Echos repeat your joyful notes. Mirth and gaiety inhabit thefe hills and vallies, while your fongs refound from one mountain to the other. Liberty ! fweet liberty ! it is thou that pourefl felicity upon this blefled land ! All we fee around us is our own. We cultivate our own fields with pleafure. The crops v/e reap are ours, and the time of harveft is with us rejoicing days. Young Shepherd. He does not deferve to be a freeman, who can forget that his liberty was purchafed with the blood of his forefathers. Old Man. But v/ho in their place wou'd not have done as they did? Ever fmce that bloody day of Nefels*, I come * The battle of Neftis, in the Canton of Claris, in 1388. 8o THE WOODEN LEG, once each year, to the top of this mountain ; but I perceive that 1 am now come for the laft time. From hence I ftill be- hold the order of the battle, where liberty made us con- querors. See, it was on that fide the army of the enemy ad- vanced. Thoufands of lances glltter'd at a diflance, with more than two hundred horfemen, cover'd with fumptuous armour. The plumes that fhaded their helmets nodded as they march'd, and the earth refounded with their horfes' hoofs. Our little troop was already broke. We were but three or four hundred men. The cries of the defeat was re-echo'd from ev^ery fide, and the fmoke of Nefels inflames, fill'd the valley, and fpread with horror along the mountains. How- ever, at the bottom of the hill, where we now are, our chief had placed himfelf He was there, where thofe two pines fiioot up from the edge of that pointed rock. I think I fee him now, furrounded by a fmall number of warriors, firm, immoveable, and calling round him the difperfed troops. I hear the ruftling of the ftandard that he wav'd in the air ; it was like the found of the wind that precedes a hurricane. From every fide they ran towards him. Doeft thou fee thofe floods rufli down from the mountains ? Stones, rocks, and trees o'erthrown, in vain oppofe their courfe ; they o'erleap, or bear down all before them, and meet together at the bot- tom, in that pool. So v\'e ran to the cry of our general, cutting our way through the enemy. Rank'd around the hero, we AN HELVETIC TALE. 8t made a vow, and God was our witnefs, to conquer or to die. The enemy advancing in order of battle, pour'd down im- petuoufly upon us ; we attacked thera in our turn. Eleven times we return'd to the charge, but always forced to retire to the fhelter of thefe hills, we there clofed our ranks, and became unfliaken as the rock by which we were proteded. At laft, enforced by thirty Swifs warriors, we fell fuddenly oft the enemy, like the fall of a mountain, or as fome mighty rock defcends, rolls through the foreft, and Vv'ith a horrid crufh lays wade the trees that interrupt its courfe. On every fide the enemy, both horfe and foot, confounded in a mofl moft dreadful tumult, overthrew each other to efcape our rage. Grown furious by the combat, we trod under foot the dead and dying, to extend vengeance and death ftill further. I was in the middle of the battle. A horfeman of the enemy in his flight rode over me, and crufh'd my leg. The foldier who fought neareft me, feeing my condition took me on his fhoulders, and ran with me out of the field of battle. A holy father was proftrate on a rock not far dlfcant, and imploring Heaven to aid us. — Take care, good father, of this warrior, my deliverer cried, he has fought like a fon of liberty ! He faid, and flew back to the combat. The viâory was ours, my fon, it was ours ! But many of us were left extended on the heaps of the enemy. Thus the weary mower repofes on the fheaves himfelf has made. I was carefully attended ; 1 was M $2 THE WOODEN LEG, cured, but never cou'd find out the man to whom I owe iriy life. I have fought him in vain. I have made vows and pil- grimages, that feme faint of Paradife, or fome angel, wou'd reveal him to me. But, alas ! all my efforts have been fruit- lefs. I fhall never in this life fliew him my gratitude. The young fhepherd having heard the old warrior with tears in his eyes, faid i No, father ; in this life you can never fhow him your gratitude. The old man fui-prifed, cry'd. Heavens ! What doll: thou fay ? Doft thou then know, my fon, who my deliverer was ? Young Shepherd. I am much deceived if it was not my father. Often he has told me the ftory of that battle, and of*- ten I have heard him fay, I wonder if the man I carried from the field of battle be ftill alive ? Old Man. O God! O angels of Heaven! Was that ge* nerous man thy father ? Young Shepherd. He had a fear here— (pointing to his left cheek) he had been wounded with a lance ; perhaps it was before he carried you from the field. Old Man. His cheek was covered with blood when he bore me off. O my child ! My fon ? Young Shepherd. He died two years ago, and as he was poor, I am forced for fubfiflence to keep thefe goats. The old man embraced him, and faid : Heaven be prais'd, I can recompenfe thee for his generofity. AN HELVETIC TALE. 83 Come ! my fon, come with me, and let fome other keep thy goats. They defcended the hill together, and walk'd toward the old man's dwelling. He was rich in land and flocks, and a lovely daughter was his only heir. My child, he faid to her, he that fav'd my life was the father of this young fliep- herd. If thou can'ft love him, I fhall be happy to fee you united ! The young man was of an amiable perfon ; health and pleafure fhone in his countenance ; locks of yellow gold fhaded his forehead, and the fparkling fire of his eyes was foften'd by a fweet modefty. The young maiden, with an in- genuous referve, afk'd three days to refolve; but the third ap- pear'd to her a very long one. She gave her hand to the young fhepherd ; and the old man, with tears of joy, faid to them ; My bleffing reft upon you my children ! This day has made me the moft happy of mortals. M2 LETTER FROM M. G E S S N E R to M. F U S L I N, Author of the History of the Swiss Painters, O N LANDSCAPE PAINTING. L E E R O N LANDSCAPE PAINTING. YO U think then, fir, that I may be entertaining;, per- haps even ufeful, by pointing out the route I have taken to attain fome proficiency in the arts of defign, in an age but little favourable to great fuccefs. It certainly is to be wifhed that a projed of this kind had been executed by fome 88 LETTERON celebrated artifls. What advantage fhould we not reap from are liiftory of painters, if with the events of their lives, it con- tained an account of the progrefs of their talents? We fhou'd there fee the different routes that lead to the fame end ; the obftacles there are to encounter, and the means of furmount- ing them; the development of fcience relative to the dif- play of genius, and to the obfervations that arife from prac- tice. Now if thefe forts of details had been wrote by the artifts themfelves, they wou'd undoubtedly have prefcnted that important and ufeful truth, and that engaging entertainment which conftantly attend it. Perhaps, it is true, we fhou'd not find in thefe fimple re- citals thofe profound refearches which they labour to make, who defcant on arts they never pradife ; but they who prac- tife them would there find the refources and informations that experience alone can give. Thus the work of LairefTe, fo ufeful to young praditioners, has juftly acquired him the title of benefador to thofe arts his labours have adorn'd. Thus alfo the work of Mengs, may aflift his rivals to equal him, by affording more opportunity for refledtion in a few lines on the principles of painting, than is to be found in large works. If he fometimes gives us oc- cafion to wifh that he had been more perfpicuous as a philo- fopher, what amends does he not make us as an artift, wherx he explains his method of proceeding, and his principles, and LANDSCAPE PAINTING. 89 makes us admire the energy, the pure tafte, and refined art •which we ought to exped; from him whom his cotemporarles call the Raphael of his age. May I be permitted to defcend to myfelf after having foar'd thus high ? Shall I dare to fulfil my promife ? I, who have advanced only a few paces in the career, and perhaps {hall find myfelf ftopp'd by compulfive circumftances and occupa- tions. But I am engaged. It is in the name of friendfnip, and friendfliip fhall be my excufe. You know that fortune did not feem to have intended mc for the pradlice of painting. A natural inclination, however, fhown in early youth by continual eflays, feem'd to indicate that nafure in this matter, did not agree with thofe circum- ftances of fituation that depend not on her. I drew, therefore^ in my infancy all objeds that occurr'd, without being then able to guefs what this difpofition meant, and without an at- tention being paid to it fufficient to render it ufeful. I made no progrefs, my tafte declined, aild my choiceft days pafs'd away j but the beauties of nature, and the excellent imitations of that grand model, made inceffantly the moft vivid impref- fions on my mind. I had abandori'd the pencil ; a fecret im- pulfe made me take up the pen, and by the aid of that, which appear'd to me to have lefs difficulty in the pradlice, I imitat- ed artlefs fcenes and pidurefque beauties; in a word, the charms of nature that ftruck me moft. N gQ LETTER ON A feled -colleâiion, however, that belonged to my father- in-law *, awaken'd in me the pafTion for drawing ; and to- ward my thirtieth year I attempted to deferve, in this fort of imitation, the indulgence, and if it might be, the approba- tion of artifts and conoiffeurs. My natural inclination led me to landfcapes^ I fought with ardour the means of fatisfying my de fire, and embarraffed in the route I Ihould take, I faid to myfelf, there is but one model, there is but one mafler ; and I determined to draw af- ter nature. But I foon found, that this great and fublime mafter does not explain himfelf clearly but to thofe that have learnt to comprehend him. My precifion in following him every where led me aftray. I loft myfelf in thofe minute de- tails that deftroy the efFed of the whole. I had not catch'd that manner which without being fervile or flight, expreffcs the true character of objeifîs. My trees were dryly defign'd^ and not detach'd in maffes. The v/hole was difturbed by a labour without tafte. In a word, my eye confmed too clofely to one point, was not accuftomed to embrace a large extent. I was ignorant of that addrefs which adds to or diminifhes in the parts that art cannot equal. My firfl progrefs, therefore^ was to difcern what I was not able to perform ; the fécond was, to ha>ve recourfe to the great mailers, and to the prinr- * M. Heidegguer, counfellor of flate at Zuric. LANDSCAPE PAINTÏN G. 97 ciples they have eftabhfhed by their precepts and their works ; and is not this the natural progrefs in all arts ? The firfl who pradifed them fell into that drynefs with which they are reproach'd, by a too great accuracy in imitating nature^ whofe beauties they confider'd, too much in detail. In fadl, thefe details are executed by our firft painters, in a manner fufficiently finifh'd, as well in the fubordinate objeûs as in the moft llriking parts. They that follow'd them remarked thefe defeats, and difcovered that a charaderiftic imitation was more intereiling than an imitation of parts. The ideas of mafles, of effedts and dlfpofition offer'd themfelves ; thefe ideas pro- duced principles, and the great painters have aim'd at a gene- ral effeâ:, as the poets have at a principal objeâ:. I employed myfelf, therefore, in fludying the great maf- ters, in diftinguilhing them from each other ; and above all in attaching myfelf to the beft works only; for I perceived, that in the ftudy of model, the moft prejudicial quality is medio- crity. The bad ftrike and difguft; but thofe that are not good nor abfolutely bad, deceive us by offering a flattering and dangerous facility. It is for this reafon that engraving, which may contribute to the progrefs of the arts, when it is employ'd on fubjeds that are judicioufly chofen, and in copying them juftly, may become prejudicial by the in- different works it multiplies without number. How many prcdudions of that art have required the labour of a year, and N 2 çz ALETTERON do not deferve a moment's attention ! But let Raphael be copy'd by (kilful engravers, let a young artift profit by his labours, and works without dignity and expreffion, will loon become intolerable to him ; he will perceive to what an eleva- tion the excellence of the art can raife him. The way to know and to avoid mediocrity, is by the ftudy and imitation of beau- tiful produdlions ; or in want of them, of the mofl finilhed tranflations that have been made from them, for fo we may- call beautiful prints. Let a young draughtfman ftudy the heads of Raphael, and he will not fee without difguft the for- did figures of indifferent painters. But if you firft feed him with thofe infipid fubftances, he will foon lofe the tafte necef- fary to rehfh the excellence of Antinous and Apollo. In the one cafe he will advance firmly in his career, in the other he will continually totter, and even not be fenfible of his own weaknefs. It was from thefe refle£tions that, following the fteps of the matters, I dared to form a method of my own. My firft pre- cept was to pafs from one principal part to another, without flaying to attempt at once the numberlefs details that I per- ceiv'd in each of them. By this method I accuftomed myfelf to defign, or rather difpofe the trees in maffes, chufmg Waterloo for my model ; and the more I ftudied this artift, the more I found in bis landfcapes the true charadler of nature, and the m,ore that difcovery ftruck me, the more pleafuxe I found LANDSCAPE PAINTING. 93 in imitating him. So that it was to him I owed at laft the feli- city of expreffing my own ideas, but it was by borrowing his ftyle. Then, to avoid what they call a manner, I ventured to infert more variety in my ftudies, and to aflbciate with my firft mafter thofe,artifl:s whofe taftes differ from his; but who, at the fame time, have, like him, nature and truth for their objeâ:. Swanefeld and Berchem by turns prefided over my labours. Like the bee I fearch'd honey from many flowers. I confult- ed, I imitated, and returning to nature, wherever I found a tree, a trunck, or foliage that attraded my regard, that fix'd my attention, I made a Iketch of it, more or lefs finifh'd. By this method I joined to facility the idea of charadter, and I form'd a manner that became more perfonal to me. It is true, an original inclination frequently brought me back to my firft guide ; I return'd to Waterloo, when the difpofition of the trees was to be regulated ; but Berchem and Salvator Rofa obtained the preference in difpofing the grounds, and charac- terifing the rocks. Meyer, Ermels, and Hakert alTifted me in diftinguilhing the truth of nature, and Lorrain inftruded me in a happy choice of viftos, and a fine harmony of the grounds. I learnt by ftudying him to imitate the verdure of the fields, the foft diftances, and admirable gradations, by the fecret ar- ■ tifice of their Ihades. To conclude, I had recourfe to Wou- wermans for thofe light and fweet tranfient fcenes that illumi- g4. ' L E T T E R O N nated with a moderate light, and cover'd with a tendef verdure, have no defedt but the appearing fometimes too- tufted. Thus paffing from various imitations to continual reflec- tions, and then returning to nature, I found at laft that my efforts became lefs laborious. The principal maifes and forms lay'd themfelves open to my fight. Effeds that I had not per- ceiv'd, ftruck me. I was at laft able to expfefs, by a fingle ftroke what art cou'd not detail without prejudice. My man- ner became expreffive. How often before this firft progrefs, have I fearch'd, without finding them, objedls favourable to imitation ; and how often did they prefent themfelves to my fight ! Not, however, that every view, or every tree, contains all that pi£turefque beauty I fought after ; but my experienced eye no longer beheld objeds without diftinguifliing forms that pleafed me, or charadters that fix'd my attention. I faw no ihade that had not fome branch well difpofed, fome mafs of foliage agreeably group'd, fome part of a trunk whofe Angu- larity was not ftriking. A detach'd ftone gave me the idea of a rock ; I expofed it to the fun in the point of view that beft agreed with my defign, gave it in my mind a proportionable larger extent, and then difcover'd the moft brilliant effeds in the clare obfcure, the demi-tints, and the refledions. But when in this manner we inveftigate our fubjeds in nature, we ôiou'd take care not to let them lead us away by their fingu- LANDSCAPE PAINTING. 95 larky. Let us feek for the beautiful and noble in the forms, and manage with tafle thofe that are merely fantaftic. It is the idea of a noble fimplicity in nature thatmuft moderate a flight that wou'd carry the artift to a tafte for the marvellous, to exaggeration, perhaps even to chimeras ; and lead him a- way from that probability in which the troth of imitation confifts. With regard to the manner in which I executed my ftiidiesi they were not finifhed drawings, nor mere {ketches. The more Intereftlng any part of my fubjed appear'd, the more I finlfh'd it at the firft attempt. There are painters who content themielves with making in îiafte a mere (ketch of a finifh'd pidure that nature prefents them, and lay it afideto be finifli'd at leifure. What is the confe* quence ? Their accuftomed manner takes place of the idea too lightly imprefs'd on the mind ; the charafleriftlc of the objedt difappears, and is loft. What can fupply this ? Neither the magic of the'colouring, nor the efFeds of the claxe obfcure ; they may amufe for a moment, but the critical eye will fearch for the true and natural, and finding it not, will turn away from the work with dlfdain. But when I wou'd have ufed my ftudies made after na* ture in the invention of a whole, I found myfelf embarrafs'd and intimidated. I fell into faditious details which Vv'ou'd avat agree with the fimplicity and truth of thofe parts! 96 LETTER ON had taken from nature. I cou'd not find in my landfcapes tlic great, the noble, the harmonious, and the ftriking efFed of the whole. I was, therefore, obliged to have recourfe to thofe mafters who appear'd to me to excel in compofition. Everdinghen, whom I have not yet mentioned, frequent- ly prefented me with that rural fimplicity, which plcafes even in thofe countries where reigns the greateft variety. In his works I found impetuous torrents, rocks broken and cover'd with thé thickeft brambles, and ruftic fpots, where poverty finds a happy retreat in the moft fimple cottage. Though his bold and fpirited touches where capable of infpiring me, I did not think that he was the only one whofe example I fhould follow. It even appear'd to me not unprofitable to have learnt, before imitating him, to paint rocks in a better ftyle. Dietrich taught me. The pieces he has compofed of this kind are fuch, that one wou'd fay they are Everdinghen's, but he has furpafs'd himfelf* Swanefeld, in his turn, ofFer'd me the dignity of ideas. I admired the prodigious efFed of his execution, and that of his refleded lights, which dart in fo ftriking a manner on the large mafles of fhades. Salvator Rofa often attraded me by the warmth and fury of his genius. Rubens by the boldnefs of his compofitions, by the brillancy of his colours, and by the choice of his fubjeds. But the two Pouffins, and Claud Lorrain, at laft poflefs'd me entirely. It was in their works LANDSCAPE PAINTING. 97 that I found dignity and truth united. Not a fimple and fer- vile imitation of nature, buta choice of the mofl fublime and. interefting beauty. A poetic genius united in the two Pouffins all that is great, all that is noble. They tranfport us to thofe times for which hiftory, and efpecially poetry, fill us with veneration ; into thofe countries v^here nature is not favaçc, but furprifing in her variety ; where, under the moft happy ficy^ every plant acquires its utmoft perfedion. The buildings that adorn the pivflures of thofe celebrated artifts are in the true tafte of the antique architedure. The figures have a noble air, and a firm attitude. It is thus the Greeks and Romans ap- pear to us, when our imagination, render'd enthufiaftic by their great adions, tranfports itfelf to the ages of their profpe- rity and glory. Repofe and amenity reign throughout all the countries the pencil of Lorrain has created. The mere view of his pidures excites that fweet emotion, thofe delicious fenfations that a well-chofen profped has the power to pro- duce in the mind. His fields are rich without confufion, and variegated without diforder ; every objed prefents the idea of peace and profperity; we continually behold a happy foil that pours its bounteous gifts on the inhabitants ; a fky ferene and bright, under which all things fpring forth, and all things fiouriih. Not content to fill my mind with the principles and beau- ties that the works of thefe great matters of the art prefented O 98 LETTERON me ; lendeavour'd to draw from my memory the principal parts that had ftruck me in thefe beautiful models. I fpmetimes copy'd one of their works, and I preferve thefe eflays as they bring to my mind the route I took, and the guides that con- duded me to it. By forming this method I have acquired the ufeful habit of tracing, in order to remember them the better, the compofitions and plans of thofe works that have particular- ly engaged my attention. Perhaps this labour may be thought fuperfluous, as the engravings made after thofe beautiful pic- 'tures contain their exaâ: reprefentations. But the pains 1 have taken in copying them myfelf has imprinted a more durable idea on my mind. How many colledlions of prints and draw- ings referable thofe large libraries whofe polTeflbrs reap not the leaft advantage from them ! I found, however, that when I apply 'd myfelf too long in me- ditating on the mafters I had chofen, a too great timidity. When I wou'd invent, overcharg'd, fo to fay, with the great ideas of the celebrated artifts, I felt my weaknefs, and humbled by my want of ftrength, I perceiv'd how difficult it was to equal them. I obferv'd how much a too continued imitation weakens the flight of fancy. Of this the celebrated Frey is an inflance; and the greatefl part of engravers confirm this obfervation. In reality, their own compofitions are in general the mofl in- different part of their works. Inceffantly employed in ex- prefling the ideas of others, and obliged to copy them with LANDSCAPE PAINTING. ^^ the mod fcrupulous exadlltude, that boldncfs, that warmth of imagination, without which there can be no invention, is either enfeebled or totally loft. Startled by thefe refledions, I abandon'd my originals, I left my guides, and deliver'd my- felf up to my own ideas. I prefcrib'd myfelf fubjeds, and laid down problems for my folutlon, and I thus endeavour'd to find out what might beft agree with my feeble talents. I re- mark'd what I found moft difficult, and difcover'd to what ftudies I muft for the future apply my greateft attention. Then the difficulties began to difappear. My courage increafed. I perceiv'd that my imagination was extended by perfeverance. Wretched are the artifts and poets who are the fervile copiers of their models ; they refemble the fhadow that follows the body in its moft trifling movements. I took care, however, not to forfake the pradice of copying from nature, a fketch, or memorandum of any thing fingular, ftriking, or agreeable. Conftantly furnifh'd with the neceflary apparatus, and always attentive to every objed that occur'd, I was not affiam'd to re- tire a moment in order to fill my tablets. A pidure, a print, a view, an effed, a group, an afped, all paid me tribute, and my fketches, or drawings, were a fort of cypher, that recall'd to my mind thofe ideas whofe rapid and flight imprefllons wou'd have been otherwife infallibly loft. A thought conceiv'd in the firft warmth, an efi^ed with which we are ftruck at the firft view, is never fo well exprefs'd as by the ftrokes that are 2 ICO LETTERON drawn at thatinftant. In thefe firft emotions, fo important to befeized, a happy thought will not produce mediocrity merely. What poet has not fometimes conceiv'd a good verfe, of which an indifFerent one has given him the idea ! The latter was a rough diamond, which he polifhed. The works of Merian, to which fufficient juftice is not done, contain the moft happy choice of truths taken from nature ; what then can difguife their merit ? The infipid tone of the execution. Give to his trees and his grounds the legerity of Waterloo ; infert among his rocks, and the whole of his compofitions, more variety, and you will fee brilliant effedls arife, whofe fplendor and har- mony will do honour to genius, and of which the difpofition and ground-work are all to be found in Merian. But it is not fufficient to have always before our eyes both nature and the finifh'd works of the great mafters. We fhou'd alfo read the hiflory of the art and of the artifts. This read- ing will extend the circle of our knowledge, and render us attentive to the different revolutions that have arrived in the empire of the arts. It will lead thofe who exercife the arts to employ themfelves more vigoroufly to what fhould be their principal objeâ:. How can v/e refrain from being interefted in the fate of a man whofe talents we admire ? How can we avoid fearching after, and beholding with attention, the works of a man whofe character and fate has affeâied us ? Can we perceive the veneration with which they talk of the great LANDSCAPE PAINTING. loi artifts and their immortal works, without conceiving the higheft idea of the importance of the art ? Can we be inform- ed of the indefatigable ardour with which they labour'd to attain perfedion, without being unconcern'd at the pains we have taken ? Even their defeds inftrudl us, and their misfor- tunes endear them to us. But fince I have digrefled from the pradice of the art to theoretic ideas, and have indicated the means of improv- ing the imagination, and elevating the genius, ï muft here re- commend to the young artifts the reading of the good poets. What can be of more ufe in refining their tafte, exalting their ideas, and enriching their imagination ? The poet and the painter, friends and rivals, draw from the fame fource; they both borrow from nature, and communicate their riches by rules that are analogous. Variety without confufion. That is the grand principle of all their compofitions. In ihort, the fame delicacy of fenfation and tafte Ihou'd guide them in the choice of circumftances and images, the detail, and the whole. How many artifts wou'd be more happy in their choice, how many poets wou'd put more truth in their pidures, and be more pidorefque in their expreflions, if the one and the other knew how to unite a profound knowledge of the two arts. The ancients, and efpecially the Greeks, whofe language is fo poetic, and whofe pidures are fo juft, knew nothing of the fine facility of our modern poets;, who, by heaping together J©2 1 E T T E R O M a number of images and figures, taken at random, prefumg to attribute to themfelves the expreffion of Corregio, and cry out;, " We alfo are painters." Let them read what Mr. Webb has wrote on the beautiful in painting. Nothing better proves what I advance t^ian the manner in which he explains his prin- ciples. He elucidates almoft all of them by fome paffage drawn from the great poets of antiquity, and by this method {hows us that thofe men of fuperior genius had a true know- ledge of the beautiful and fublime in the arts ; very different doubtlefs from the idea that is form'd of it by thofe of our mo- dern poets, who imitate Durer in painting the graces, or Ru- bens in expreffing that ideal beauty which fliould charadcrife a goddefs, or the higheft degree of mortal beauty. But to return to the arts, which are my prefent fubjedl. How I pity the unfeeling landfcape painter, whom the fublime pidlures of Tomfon cannot infpire ! In reading the defcrip- tions of that great mafter, we feem to fee the paintings of our moft famous artifts. We might tranfpofe on the canvafs, and realife what he defcribes in his variegated fcenes. Sometimes the fimplicity of Berchem, of Potter, or Roos ; fometimes the grace and amenity of Lorrain ; frequently the great and noble charadler of Pouffin; and then, by that contraft fo important in. the effedl, the gloomy and favage tone of Salvator Rofa. Give me leave on this occafion to revive the remembrance of one of our poets, almoft forgotten; Brookes, who followed na- LANDSCAPE PAINTING. loj ture even in her leaft details, was endowed with lively and deli- cate fenfations, felt the mofl gentle impreffions, and was mov- ed by the moft trivial circumftances. A plant cover'd with dew and illumin'd by a bright ray of the fun roufed his en- thufiafm. A bird complaining for tlie lofs of her young ones fiU'd him with emotion. His pieces., it is true, are liable to objeûion by being too ftudy'd, but they are neverthe- lefs a rich magazine of pidures and images borrow'd from nature, and where we behold her as in a faithful mirror, which fuppreflfes nothing that is offer'd to it. Muft we then, fome artifts will fay, with a fcornful fmile, muft we then join to fo much neceflary ftudy, that which belongs to fcholars ? Muft we read that we may paint ? If you afk that queftion, what need is there to reply ! O ! you can paint without any fuch aid the remains of a table, and a parcel of drunken peafants. There labour to produce the efFedls of the clare obfcure, and the magic of colouring, and you will have at leaft, without fatiguing your genius, the merit of a brilliant execution. But do not afpire to charm the mind and touch the heart. Never expeâ: more than the tribute of the eye for what is merely the work of the hand, Thefe, my dear friend, are the obfervations that my ftudies have produced. This is the plan that I have form'd. The fuc- cefs does not depend on my defires alone. It is not to myfelf, bat to the public that belongs the right of judging me. But iô4 LETTER ON this I think Ï can maintain, that the moft ready and fure mc- thod is to work alternately after the chefs d'oeuvres of the greaS mafiers and after nature, and thus learn to compare the moft beautiful exprefTions of art with nature itfelf, and the beauties of nature v^ith the refources of art. If the fituations I have been in have ?ender'd it impoffibler for me to proceed any further, I feel at leaft, with a religi- ous awe, how many reficftions and fludies are neceffary to at- tain thefublime heights of a divine art. What then muft be the fate of thofe who do not join an inflexible labour to an habi- tual meditation ? Let the artift who defpifes or negleds thefe important means, make no pretenfion to the recompenfe du& to aâive and fenfible minds. There is no reputation for him to whom a tafte for his art does not become his ruling pafllon, to whom the hours he employs in its cultivation are not the moft delicious of his life, to whom the ftudy of it does not conftitute his real exigence, and his primary happinefs ; to whom the fociety of artifts is not, of all others, the moft pleaf- ing, tohim whofe watchings, or dreams in the night, are not occupy'd with the ideas of his art, who in the morning does not fly with frefli tranfport to his painting-room. But above all others, unhappy is he who defcends to flatter the corrupt tafte of the age in which he lives, who delights himfelf with applauded trifles, who does not labour for true glory, and the admiration of pofterity. Never will he be admired by it ; his LANDSCAPE PAINTING. 105 name will never be repeated ; his works will never fire the imagination, nor touch the hearts of thofe fortunate mortals who cherifh the arts, who honour their favourites, and fearch after their works. This letter has already pafs'd the bounds I prefcribed, fuf- fer me, however, fir, to add the wifhes I long fince form'd. for the fuccefs of an enterprize that would doubtlefs contribute to the progrefs of the arts of defign. The young artifts feem to me to defire methods of inftruc- tion that are clear and concife. I cou'd wifli that books of the elements were compofed for the ufe of fcholars and matters. We have fome excellent works, but they are neither fufficient- ly fîmple nor pradlical for beginners. In the work I propofe» the fundamental rules of the art fhou'd be firft laid down, with all the perfpicuity, and all the precifion pofTible, and then ap- ply'd to different examples ; it will be neceffary that thefe examples he taken from the engravings made after the beft piâures of the great maflers. In every branch of the art the moft certain method fhould be explaln'd, the principal works, and moft celebrated artifts of that fort pointed out. The elements of Preyflerare almoft generally adopted in Germany; young people are tormented with them ; the contours of that maf- ter, however, are frequently incorredt, and his heads have a vulgar charadler. Some elements of defigning that have P io6 LETTER ON appeared in the countries where the arts are exercifed, ofFer examples that can be no fure guide to the young artift, as the out-line is too much negleûed, and corrednefs- is the bafis on which inftrudion fhou'd be founded. I think it wou'd be likewife of confequence, if to the methods of which I have here given an idea, there were added a collec- tion of exadt defcriptions of the befl: pidures there are of every kind, and of the engravings of thofe pidures, made with the greateft care. An examination of thefe works, ac- cording to the true principles of the art, wou'd be an ex- cellent leflbn. It wou'd be difficult, it is true, to extend it to the colouring; but the harmony of the clare obfcure might be there difcufled, and the obfervations on the con- nedion that it has with colouring wou'd fupply the defed in- part, and cou'd not fail to intereft and inftrud the artill and the connoifTeur. It wou'd be cffential in the plan I here propofe, not to chufe any but the befl compofitions of every age, and to dwell on thofe only in which the charader of the time, and the fchool is particularly mark'd. The defcriptions we find in the Treatife of Boydelj in the writings of Winkelman, of Hagedorn, Richardfon, and fome others, may ferve as models. That of the altar-piece, of the Chev. Mengs at Drefden, inferted in the third volume of the Bibliothèque des Belles Lettres and des Beaux Arts, is a LANDSCAPE PAINTING. 107 chef d'œuvre that fuppofes a mort: profound knowledge of all parts of the art. In like manner the work of which I have here defcribed the idea, can be of no ufe unlefs executed by the greateft artifts, or moft fkilful connoifleurs. None but a Hagedorn, a Cafanove, a Wattelet, a Cochin, &c. fhou'd be permitted to attepipt it. F 2 THE TWO FRIENDS O F OUR O N ? MORAL TALE. % M, DIDEROT. J' Gf/intryifLTt The TWO FRIENDS of BOURBON. ' I ^ HERE were two men, who might be called the Pylades •*- and Oreftes of Bourbon : the one was named Oliver, and the other Felix. They were born on the fame day, in the fame houfe, and of two fiflers : they were nourifh'd with the fame milk ; for one of the mothers dying in child-birth, the other took both the chil- dren. They were brought up together, and convers'd with none but each other. Their mutual love was like exiftence, which ad- mits of no doubt; they perceived it inceflantly, but perhaps had never fpoke of it to each other. Oliver once faved the life of Fe- lix, who piqued himfelf on being a great fwimmer, and was near being drowned. This adion neither of them remember'd. Felix had a hundred times extricated Oliver from dangerous adventures, in which the impetuofity of his temper had involved him, yet he 112 THE TWO FRIENDS never thought of thanking the other ; they returned home with- out fpeaking, or talking of other matters. When they drew for the militia, the lot fell on Felix; Oliver faid, the other is for me. When they had ferved out their time, they re- turned home. More dear to each other than before — that I can't af- firm ; for, my dear brother, though reciprocal benefits cement friçndfhips form'd by refledion, perhaps they are nothing to thofe I freely call animal and domeftic friendfhips. At a rencounter in the army, a ftroke with a faulchion was aimed at the head of Oli- ver ; Felix put himfelf, mechanically in the way, and received the gafli : they pretend he was proud of the fear, but for my own part I don't believe it. At Haftenbeck, Oliver drew Felix from amidft the heap of dead that was left on the field. When they were queftion'd, they related fometimes the affiftance they had received from each other, never that they had given. Oliver talk'dofFelix, and Felix of Oliver, but neither of himfelf. After they had lived a confiderable time in the country, they both, at the fame time, became in love, and both with the fame girl ; but there was no rlvality between them ; he who firft perceived the paffion of his friend gave up his own pretenGons. It was Felix, and Oliver married. Felix, difgufted with life, without knowing why, plung'd into all kind of hazardous enterprifes; the laft was to become a fmuggler. You know, my dear brother, that there are in France four tri- bunals for trying of fmugglers ; Caen, Rheims, Valence, and Touloufe, and that the mofl: fevere of the four is Rheims, where a man named Talbot prefides, who has a foul the mofl ferocious that nature ever produced. Felix was taken OF BOURDON, uj when arm'd, condu£led before the terrible Talbot, and con- demned to die ; as five hundred had been before him. Oliver heard of the fate of Felix. One night he rofe, without fpeak- ing to his wife, and went to Rheims. He waited on the judge Talbot, threw himfelf at his feet, and begg'd permiffion to fee and embrace Felix. Talbot look'd at him, remain'd filent for a moment, and then made a fign for him to fit down. Oliver fat down. After about half an hour, Talbot pull'd out his watch, and faid to Oliver : If thou wouldft fee and embrace thy friend alive, make hafte, he is on the road, and, if my watch goes right, in lefs than ten minutes he will be hanged. Oliver rofe, tranfported with fury, and ftruck the judge a prodigious blow with a club on the back of his neck, that laid him almoft dead on the floor, and then ran to the place. Down with the executioner ! he cry'd, attack the officers ! He roufed the people, already fired with indignation againfl: thofe fhameful executions. The flones flew about, and Felix made his efcape. Oliver endeavour'd to retreat, but a foldier of the band had wounded him in the fide, without his perceiv- ing it. He gain'd the gate of the city, but cou'd go no further. Some charitable country people put him in a cart, and laid him down at the door of his cottage, the minute be- fore he expired; he had only time to fay. Wife, come near, and let me embrace thee ; I die, but Felix is faved, a 114 THE TWO FRIENDS One evening, as -we were taking our ufual walk, we faw at the door of a cottage, a tall woman furrounded by four fmall children. Her dejeded, yet refolute afpedl, attraded our at- tention, and our attention excited her's. After a minute's filence, fhe faid to us : Behold thefe four infants, I am their mother, but I have now no hufband. This intrepid manner of exciting commiferation was well adapted to affed us. We offer'd our contributions, which fhe accepted with decency. It was on this occafion that we learn'd the hiftory of her huf- band Oliver and his friend Felix. We have talk'd of her, and- I truft that our recommendation has not been ufelefs to her. You here fee, my dear brother, that greatnefs of mind and noble endowments are common to all conditions, and all countries ; that fome men die obfcurely, not for want of abili- ties, but a proper theatre to difplay them; and that two» friends may be found in a cottage, or among the Iroquois. You defire, my dear brother, to know what is become of Felix. Your curiofity is fo natural, and the motive of it fa laudable, that we were a little fcandalifed at not having made any inquiry. To repair that fault we thought at firftofM. Papin,dodor in theology, and redor of St. Mary's, at Bourbon;- but our mother, upon refledion, gave the preference to the fub-delegate Aubert, who is an honeft jolly fellow, and'who> O F B O U R B O N. 115 has fent us the following account, on the veracity of which you may rely. " The man named Felix is fllll alive. When he efcaped from the hands of juftlce at Rheims, he took refuge in the forefts of the province, with all the intricacies of which he be- came acquainted while he was a fmuggler. He cndeavour'd to approach, by degrees, the dwelling of Oliver, of whofe fate he was ignorant. " In the center of a wood, where you have fometimes walk'd, there is a collier, whofe cottage ferved for an afylum to the fmugglers ; it was alfo the magazine where they depo- fited their merchandize and their arms. There Felix retreat- ed, not without danger of falling into the hands of the offi- cers, who followed him by his track. Some of his aflbciates had carry'd thither the news of his being imprifon'd at Rheims, fo that the collier and his wife when they faw him return, thought themfelves in the hands of juftice. " I fhall now relate what I had from this collier, who died not long fince. " It was the children, who were rambling about the wood, that faw him firft. While he ftopp'd to carefs the youngefl, who was his god-child, the others ran to the cottage crying, Felix ! Felix I The father and mother ran out repeating the fame cry of joy; but the wretch was fo harrafs d with fatigue and hunger, that he had not power to reply, but fell into their arms almoft void of life. ii6 THE TWO FRIENDS " The honeft collier and his wife gave him what affiftance they coud They fet before him bread, wine, and fome ve- getables. He eat, and laid down to reft. *' When he awoke, the firft word he pronounc'd was Oliver ! Children, do you know nothing of Oliver ? No, they reply*d. He then related what had happenM at Rheims. He pafs'd the next day and night with them. He figh'd j he repeated the name of Oliver j whom he fuppofed to be in the prifon of Rheims ; he wou'd go thither and die with. him ; and it was not without difficulty they diffuaded from, that defign. *< In the middle of the fécond night he took a muflcet, he- put a fabre under his arm, and faid to the collier in a low voice, — Collier ! — Felix ! — Take thy hatchet and away. — Whither? — What a queftion ! to Oliver. —They fet off. But jufl as they got out of the foreft, they were furrounded by a, party of the militia. ** I relate what v^^as. told me by the collier, though it ap-. pears incredible, Thefe two men on foot were able to defend themfelves againft twenty horfemen. Probably the latter were fcatter'd, and they were willing to take their prey alive. Be that as it may, the adion was very hot. There were five horfes maim'd, and feven of the riders cut down by the hatchet or fabre. The poor collier remain'd dead on the fpot, by a; Hhoi. in the head. Felix, regain'd the foreft, and as he is of an.. OF BOURBON. 117 incredible agility, he retreated from one part to another, and as he retreated he charged his muflcet ; he fired, and whiftled -, thefe firings and whiftling repeated at different intervals, and in different places, made the horfemen think their was a large gang of fmugglers, and they retired with precipitation. " When Felix found they were difperfed, he returned to the field of battle. He took the body of the collier on his fhoulders, and went back to the cottage, where the woman and her children were flill afleep. He ftopp'd at the door, fat himfelf down with his back againd: a tree, his face turn'd toward the entrance of the hut, and the dead body at his feet. <♦ The wife awoke, and found that her hufband was gone from her fide. She look'd round for Felix, he too was gone- She arofe, flie went forth, (he faw, fhe cry'd out, fhe fell on the earth. The children ran out, they faw, they cry'd they fell upon their father and their mother. The mother, recall'd to life by the tumultuous diftraded cries of her children, pluck'd up her hair by the roots, and tore her face with her nails. Felix rcmain'd immoveable at the foot of the tree,, with his eyes clofed, and his face turn'd away, and faid, in a faint voice, Kill me. A moment's filenceenfued ; then again the cries of grief and difîraâ:ion burfl forth, and Felix. faid again, Kill. me,, children, for, pity's fake kill me. ii8 THE TWO FRIENDS , Three days and nights they pafs'd in this ftate of defola« tion. On the fourth morning FeHx faid, Woman, take thy fack, put bread into it, and follow me. After a long circuit through the forefts, and over the mountains, they arrived at the cottage of Oliver, which is fituate, as you remember, at the extremity of the town, where two roads meet, one of which goes to Franche Comte, and the other to Lorrain. •* There Felix learnt the death of Oliver, and found himfelf between the widows of two men both maffacred for him. He cnter'd, and faid haftily to the widow of Oliver, Where is Oliver ? By her filence, by her drefs, and her tears, he found that Oliver was no more. A dejeâion feiz'd him ; he fell fenfelefs to the earth, and cut his head againft a kneading trough. As the two widows rais'dhim up, his blood ran over them, and while they were bufied in flopping it with their aprons, he faid to them, you are their widows, and yet you fuccour me. Then again his fenfes left him ; and again they return'd; then he figh'd, and cry'd out; Why did he not leave me to my fate ? Why did he come to R helms ? Why was he fufFer'd to come tuither ? Then his reafon left him, he became furious, he roU'd on the earth, and tore his cloaths. In one of thefe fits, he drew his fabre, and wou'd have kill'd himfelf; but the two women threw their arms round him, and call'd for help ; the neighbours ran in, they OF BOURBON. 119 bound him with cords, and bled him profufely. As his ftrength was exhaufted, his fury fubfided, and he remain'd as dead for fcveral days> At laft his reafon return'd. At firfl he look'd round him, as a man juft waked from a found fleep, and faid. Where am I ? Women, who are you ? One of them faid, I am the collier's widow. Ah ! he cry'd, yes, you are his widow. And who are you ? The widow of Oliver remain'd filent. Then he burft into tears. He turned himfelf toward the wall, and faid, with fobs, I am in the houfe of Oliver — this is his bed — and that woman there was, alas, his wife. " The two widows attended him with fo much folicitudcj they infpired him fo much commiferation ; they intreated him fo earneftly to live, they reprefented to him in fo affeding a manner what wou'd be their wretched condition without him, that he fufFered himfelf at laft to be overcome. " During all the time he remain'd in that houfe, he never went to reft. When the night came on, he iffued forth, he wander'd about the fields, he roll'dupon the ground, andcall'd on Oliver. One of the women follow'd him, and brought him back at the break of day. " Several perfons knew that he was in Oliver's dwelling, and fome among them had unfriendly intentions. The two widows inform'd him of his peril. One afternoon he was- fitting on a bench, his fabre on his knees, his elbows refting 120 THE TWO FRIENDS on a table, and his hands before his eyes. He gave no an-» fwer to any thing that was aik'd him. The widow Oliver had a fon about eighteen years, the collier's widow a daughter of fifteen. On a fudden he faid to the latter; Go, find thy daughter, and bring her hither. He had fome mowed grafs hard by, which he fold. The collier's widow return'd with her daughter. The fon of Oliver marry'd her. Felix gave them the money he receiv'd for his grafs; he embraced them, and alk'd their forgivenefs with tears. They fix'd their habi- tation in the cottage where they now dwell, and where they ferve as father and mother to the other children. The two widows lived together, and the children of Oliver had one fa- ther and two mothers. It is now near a year and half fince the collier's widow died, and the widow of Oliver flill daily laments her lofs with tears. *' One evening as they were watching, Felix, (for one or other of them was confl:antly with him) they obferv'd him melt into tears. He turn'd his hands in filence toward the door that feparated him from the women, and then went to making up his wallet. They faid nothing to him, for they were fenfible how necefiary his departure was. They all figh'd without fpeaking. In the night he rofe. The women were unable to fleep. He advanc'd, on tip toe, to the door ; there he fl:opp'd, look'd toward the bed where the two widows lay, dry'd his eyes with his hands, and went forth. The two OF BOURBON. I2£ v.'omen clafp'd each other in their arms, and pafg'd all the reft of the night in tears. It was not known whither he has retired, but there was fcarce a week that he did not fend them fome relief. " The foreft where the daughter of the collier lives with the fon of Oliver, belongs to M, le Clerc de Rançonnieres, a man of great wealth, and lord of another village in thofe cantons, call'd Courcelles. One day as M. Rançonniers, or Courcelles, as you pleale, vv'as hunting in the foreft, he came to the hut of yfiung Oliver, he went in, and diverted himfelf with the children, who are pretty. The figure of the wife, which is not difagreeable, pleafed him; the manly tone of the hufband, that much refembles his father's, ftruck him. He learn'd the hiftory of their parents. He promifed to folic it a pardon for Felix. He fought it, and obtain'd it. " Felix enter'd into the fervice of M. de Rançonniers, who gave him the place of a keeper of the foreft. After he had lived about two years in the caftle of Rançonnieres, during which time he fent the two widbv/s a large part of his falary ; an attachment to his mafter, and the impetuofity of his own temper, involved him in an affair, which, though trifling at firft, was followed by the moft ferions confequences. " M. Rançonnieres had at Courcelles a neighbour named Four mont, a judge in the principal court of judicature at Lh . Their two houfes were feparated only by a boun- R 122 THE TWO FRIENDS clary, which crowded the gate-way of M. Rançonnieres, an^ made it difficult for carriages ; he therefore put it fome feet nearer to M. Fourmont, who replaced it as much nearer M,. Rançonnieres j from hence arofe hatred, infults, and a law- fuit between the two neighbours. The fuit of the boundary produced two or three others more confiderable. Matters were in this ftate, when one evening M. Rançonnieres return- ing from the chace, attended by his keeper, Felix, met in the highway M. Fourmont, the magiftrate, and his brother an officer, who faid, Brother, fuppofe we were to cut the throat of that old fcoundrel, what think you of it ? This propofal was not heard by M. Rançonnieres, but was, unfortunately, by Felix, who addreffing himfelf boldly to the young man, faid. Captain, are you valiant enough only to try to do what you have faid ? and at the fame iriftant, laid down his gun, and put his hand upon his fabre, for he never went without it. The young officer drew his fword, and advanced on Felix. M. Rançonnieres ran to him, and feized the hilt of his fword; the officer then took up the gun, and fired at Felix, but miffed him ; he return'd the fire with a ftroke of his fabre, by which he cut down the officer's fword, and with it a part of his arm. From hence a criminal procefs was added to three or four civil actions ; Felix was confined in the jail ; a horrible pro- fecution carryM on ; and in confequence of this procedure, a «xagiftratç was d^raded from his rank, and rendered almoft OF BOURBON. i2j infamous ; and an officer excluded from his corps ; M.Rançon- nieres died of chagrin, and Felix was doom'd to perpetual imprifonment, and expofed to all the refentment of the Four- monts. His end muft have been miferable, if love had not come to his aid. The jailor's daughter conceiv'd a paffion for him, and contrived his efcape. If this was not the fa£l, it is at lead the common opinion. He fled into Pruflia, where he now ferves in the regiment of guards. He is faid to be efteem'd by his comrades, and even noticed by the king. His military name is Le Trifle. The widow Oliver tells me that he continues to fend her affiftance. " This, Madam, is all I have been able to colleâ: of the hiftory of Felix. I have inclofed in this account a letter from our rector M. Papin. What it contains [ know not, but much I fear that the poor prieft, whofe mind is rather contradled, and whofe heart is none of the beft, will be direded folely by prejudice in his account of Oliver and Felix. I mufi: con- jure you, madam, to attend to fads, on the veracity of which you may rely, and to the goodnefs of your own heart, which will advife you better than the firft cafuift of the Sor- bonne, who is not M. Papin. R2 324 THE TWO FRIENDS LETTER OF M. PAPIN, DOCTOR IN THEOLOGY, AND RECTOR OF ST. MARY AT BOURBON. I DO not know, madam, what M. Subdelegate may have wrote you concerning Oliver and FeUx, nor what can in- tereft you to inquire after two ruffians, whofe fteps have been conftantly mark'd by blood. Providence, which has puniih'd the one, has left the other fome moments of refpite, of which, I much fear, he wUl not avail himfelf. But God's will be done ! I know there are people here (and I fhou'd not be furprifed if M. Subdelegate fhou'd be of their number) who fpeak of thefe two men as rnodels of extraordinary friendfhip. But what ie the mod fublime virtue in the eyes of God, when deftitute of the fentiments of piety, of refpedl for the church and her minifters, and of fubmiffion to the law of the fove- reign ? Oliver died at the door of his houfe without receivinn- the facraments. When I was called to Felix by the two widows, I cou'd get nothing from him but the name of Oli- ver; no fign of religion, nor any mark of repentance; I do not remember that he ever once prefented himfelf before the tribunal of penitence. The wife of Oliver is an arrogant créa- . ture, who has been wanting in her refpefl: to me more than once. Becaufe fhe can write and read, fhe thinks herfelf cap- . O F B O U R B O N. 125 able of educating her children, and they never appear at the parifh fchool, nor attend my inf^rudtions. After this, let Madam judge if fuch people as thefe are worthy her benefi- cence ! The Gofpel recommends to us inceflantly, a commifer- ation for the poor ; but the merit of our charity is doubled by a prudent choice of the objedls, and nobody better knows who are the real indigent than the common paftor of the rich and poor. If Madam fhall deign to honour me with her con- fidence, I fhall, perhaps, difpofe of the marks of her muni- ficence in a manner more ufeful for- the miferable, and more meritorious for herfelf. I am, with refpeâ:, &c. Madam de *** thank'd the Subdelegate Aubert for his at- tention, and fent her donation to M. Papin, with the follow- ing letter. " I am extremely obliged to you. Sir, for your fagacious advice ; I mufl acknowledge that the hiftory of thofe two men afi"eded me ; and you will allow that an example of fuch ex- traordinary friendfliip was well calculated to feduce a perfon of integrity and fennbility. But you have enlighten'd my mind, and I am now convinc'd, that it is more proper to nourifti the unhappy profelTors of Chriftian virtues, than fueh as are natural and pagan. I beg you will accept the fmall 102 THE TWO FRIENDS fum I here fend, and diftribute it in a manner more prudent than I firft intended. I have the honour to be, &c. It is eafy to conceive, that the widow Oliver and Felix had no part of the liberalty of madam * * * . Felix died, and the poor widow, with her children, wou'd have perifhed inifer- ably, if (he had not found a refuge in the foreft, at her eldeft fon's, where fhe labours, notwithftanding her great age, and fupports an exiftence, in the midft of her children, and their offspring. Now, there are three forts of tales — There are many more you will fay — Be it fo — But 1 diftinguilh, firft, the tale in the manner of Homer, Virgil, and Taffo, and this I call the mar- vellous tale. Nature is here exaggerated, the truth is am- biguous; and if the relator have a due regard to the plan he lays down, if every thing in the aâion and the dialogue corre- fpond to the defign, he has obtained the degree of perfedion the nature of his work admits, and you have nothing more to require of him. When you enter on his poem, you fet your foot on an unknown country, where nothing happens as in that you inhabit ; where all things are magaitied. OF BOURBON. 127 as about you they are diminifh'd. — Then there is the pleafant tale, in the manner of Fontaine, Vergier, Ariofto, and Ha- milton ; here the relator does not propofe any imitation of na- ture, nor truth, nor illufion j but launches forth into the re- gions of imagination. Say to him, be gay. ingenious, varie- gated, original, and even extravagant ; you have my confent ; but deceive me by the details ; let the charm of the decorations conftantly conceal the improbability of the faâ; and here, if the writer does all you require, his work is complete. There h, laftly, the hiftoric tale, fuch as thofe of Scaron, Cervantes, &c. — The devil take the hiftoric tale, and tale-maker ! He is a dull infipid lyar. — Ay, when he does not underftand his trade. This propofes to deceive you ; he feats himfelf by your fire-fide, he pretends to the rigorous truth ; he will be be- lieved, he will intereft, affe£t, move, tranfport, make the flefh fhiver, and the tears flow, effedts that are not to be ob- tain'd without eloquence and poetry. But eloquence is a fpecies of lying, and nothing is more oppofite to illufion than poetry ; they both exaggerate, amplify, and excite a miftruft. How then can this writer be a deceiver ? As thus ; he inferts in his relation a number of little circumftances, fo conneded with the plan, and in a manner Co fimple, fo natural, and al- ways fo difficult to imagine, that you are forced to fay to your- felves ; Faith, thisjnuft be true; thefe things cannot be in- 128 THE TWO FRIENDS ventlon. It is thus tliat he palliates the exaggeration of elo- quence and poetry; that the truth of nature conceals the Ulu- lions of art, and that he unites two f:tuations which fecm to be irreconcilable, which are, to be at once an hiftorian and a poet, a writer of veracity and a deceiver. An example bor- row'd from another art will, perhaps, render my meaning more obvious, A painter executes the figure of a head; all the parts of it are ftrong, great, and regular, the whole is quite perfed, and very extraordinary. I look at it with ap- probation, with refped, with admiration, and awe. I en- deavour to recoiled: the model in nature, but I find it not, when compared with it, all appears weak, trifling, and mean. I perceive, I fay to myfelf, it is an ideal head .... But let the artift place a flight fear on the fore-head, a wart on the temple, or an almoft; imperceptible cut in the under-lip ; and at the in- ftant the ideal head becomes a real portrait; a mark of the fmall-pox at the corner of the eye, or on the tip of the nofe, and the head is not that of Venus, but one of my neighbours. I fay the fame, therefore, to our hilloric tale-makers ; your figures are fine, I allow, but there wants the wart on the temple, the cut in the lip, the mark of the fmall-pox on the nofe, which fhould render them real ; and, as my friend Cailleau fays, put a little dufl: on my fhoes, and then I don't come from home, I come out of the country. O F B O U R B O N. 129 Atque ita mentitur, fic veris falfa remifcet Primo ne medium, medio nc difcrepet imum. HoR. Art. Poet. And now a little morality, and then a little poetry ; that is To natural. Felix was a beggar not worth a groat; Oliver an- other beggar, juft as poor; you may fay the fame of the col- lier and his wife, and of all the other parties concern'd ; and from thence conclude in general, that there can fcarçe be any unconfined and folid friendfliip but between thofe that have nothing. A man is then all the fortune of his friend, and his friend ail his. From whence the truth of the experience, that misfortunes draw the bands clofer, and this will afford inatter for another fmall paragraph to the next edition of the Treatife De L'Esprit. N I S. %■■ ^^ y ♦. , A-OfCAlIFOi o ■== ? I-" vjclOSANCEli V o "I '■ ^lOSANCEU '^/^a3AiNn-3\ i i '%0JI1VJJ^ rri UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. REC'D LD-URL APR 2 6 1986 41584 ■"^^ia^MNiVJ^V^ ■ ^CAbvaaiv^^'^ ,^ è. ^ C3 i<> or ' >- or < ,v>;lOSAflC[t£r^ •%OJIWj ^lOSANCElfr, ^.OFCAIIFO% ^^M•UBRARYOA B ? 'f'.ÏOJIlVDJO'^ ^OFCAllFOff^ O Awaani^ ^OAavaaiii^ aWEUNIVERî/a ^lOSANCEl^;^ '^A ^tllBRARYO/- \MEUNIVER% ^TJlîDIffSOI^ v/^ajAiNn-j^^" AMEUNIVERiy^ ^VlOSANCElfj> >■ ce 'v^r ^OFCALIFOSV ^0FCAIIF0% fe toi te ^'J 58 01098 6668 sr >r^r :^ % JAIN(1]WV^ ^yox ^xm>^l% dÛdlTV3-J0^ uaiiiv \ncF[fr/ ^V\EllNIVF ^A %ojnv.rjo^ Ul' -f>- ^W .m IW vlOS-AMCFlfr /.