Part 38

This he submitted to Walsh. Pope. "Quære, whether to say the sun is outshined be too bold and hyperbolical?" Walsh. "For pastoral it is." Pope. "If it should be softened with seems? Do you approve any of these alterations?

If Sylvia smile, she brightens all the shore, { All nature seems outshined, and charms no more. { Light seems outshined, and nature charms no more. { And vanquished nature seems to shine no more.

Quære, which of these three?" Walsh. "The last of these three I like best."]

Hot as ripe noon, sweet as the blooming day, Like July furious, but more fair than May.--WAKEFIELD.]

This wretched pun on the word "bears" is called "dextrous" by Wakefield, but Warton says that it is "one of the most trifling and puerile conceits" in all Pope's works, and is only exceeded in badness by the riddle "which follows of the thistle and the lily."]

Nay, tell me first what region canst thou find In which by thistles lilies are outshined? If all thy skill can make the meaning known, The prize, the victor's prize, shall be thy own.--WAKEFIELD.

Pope submitted the first two lines to Walsh in conjunction with the version in the text. "Quære, which of these couplets is better expressed, and better numbers? and whether it is better here to use thistle or thistles, lily or lilies, singular or plural? The epithet more happy refers to something going before." Walsh. "The second couplet [the text] is best; and singular, I think better than plural."]

Dic quibus in terris inscripti nomina regum Nascantur flores, et Phyllida solus habeto.--POPE.

Thus translated by Dryden;

Nay, tell me first in what new region springs A flow'r that bears inscribed the names of kings; And thou shalt gain a present as divine As Phoebus' self, for Phyllis shall be thine.

Either the commentators on Virgil have not hit upon the true solution of his riddles, or they are not at all superior to the parody of Pope.]

Et vitula tu dignus, et hic.--WAKEFIELD.]

The turf with country dainties shall be spread, And trees with twining branches shade your head.--POPE.]

SUMMER:

THE SECOND PASTORAL,

ALEXIS.

TO DR. GARTH.

A shepherd's boy (he seeks no better name) Led forth his flocks along the silver Thame, Where dancing sun-beams on the waters played, And verdant alders formed a quiv'ring shade; Soft as he mourned, the streams forgot to flow, 5 The flocks around a dumb compassion show, The Naïads wept in ev'ry wat'ry bow'r, And Jove consented in a silent show'r. Accept, O GARTH! the muse's early lays, That adds this wreath of ivy to thy bays; 10 Hear what from love unpractised hearts endure, From love, the sole disease thou canst not cure. Ye shady beeches, and ye cooling streams, Defence from Phoebus', not from Cupid's beams, To you I mourn; nor to the deaf I sing, 15 "The woods shall answer, and their echo ring." The hills and rocks attend my doleful lay, Why art thou prouder and more hard than they? The bleating sheep with my complaints agree, They parched with heat, and I inflamed by thee. 20 The sultry Sirius burns the thirsty plains, While in thy heart eternal winter reigns. Where stray ye, muses, in what lawn or grove, While your Alexis pines in hopeless love? In those fair fields where sacred Isis glides, 25 Or else where Cam his winding vales divides? As in the crystal stream I view my face, Fresh rising blushes paint the wat'ry glass; But since those graces please thy eyes no more, I shun the fountains which I sought before. 30 Once I was skilled in ev'ry herb that grew, And ev'ry plant that drinks the morning dew; Ah wretched shepherd, what avails thy art, To cure thy lambs, but not to heal thy heart! Let other swains attend the rural care, 35 Feed fairer flocks, or richer fleeces shear: But nigh yon' mountain let me tune my lays, Embrace my love, and bind my brows with bays. That flute is mine which Colin's tuneful breath Inspired when living, and bequeathed in death: 40 He said; Alexis, take this pipe, the same That taught the groves my Rosalinda's name: But now the reeds shall hang on yonder tree, For ever silent, since despised by thee. Oh! were I made by some transforming pow'r 45 The captive bird that sings within thy bow'r! Then might my voice thy list'ning ears employ, And I those kisses he receives enjoy. And yet my numbers please the rural throng, Rough satyrs dance, and Pan applauds the song: 50 The nymphs, forsaking ev'ry cave and spring, Their early fruit, and milk-white turtles bring! Each am'rous nymph prefers her gifts in vain, On you their gifts are all bestowed again. For you the swains their fairest flow'rs design, 55 And in one garland all their beauties join; Accept the wreath which you deserve alone, In whom all beauties are comprised in one. See what delights in sylvan scenes appear! Descending gods have found Elysium here. 60 In woods bright Venus with Adonis strayed; And chaste Diana haunts the forest-shade. Come, lovely nymph, and bless the silent hours, When swains from shearing seek their nightly bow'rs; When weary reapers quit the sultry field, 65 And crowned with corn their thanks to Ceres yield. This harmless grove no lurking viper hides, But in my breast the serpent love abides. Here bees from blossoms sip the rosy dew, But your Alexis knows no sweets but you. 70 O deign to visit our forsaken seats, The mossy fountains, and the green retreats! Where'er you walk, cool gales shall fan the glade; Trees, where you sit, shall crowd into a shade; Where'er you tread, the blushing flow'rs shall rise, 75 And all things flourish where you turn your eyes. O! how I long with you to pass my days, Invoke the muses, and resound your praise! Your praise the birds shall chant in ev'ry grove, And winds shall waft it to the pow'rs above. 80 But would you sing, and rival Orpheus' strain, The wond'ring forests soon should dance again, The moving mountains hear the pow'rful call, And headlong streams hang list'ning in their fall. But see, the shepherds shun the noon-day heat, 85 The lowing herds to murm'ring brooks retreat, To closer shades the panting flocks remove; Ye gods! and is there no relief for love? But soon the sun with milder rays descends To the cool ocean, where his journey ends: 90 On me love's fiercer flames for ever prey, By night he scorches, as he burns by day.

FOOTNOTES:

He was a man of the sweetest disposition, amiable manners, and universal benevolence. All parties, at a time when party violence was at a great height, joined in praising and loving him. One of the most exquisite pieces of wit ever written by Addison, is a defence of Garth against the Examiner, 1710. It is unfortunate that this second Pastoral, the worst of the four, should be inscribed to the best judge of all Pope's four friends to whom they were addressed.--WARTON.]

A shepherd's boy, who sung for love, not fame, etc.

Or,

A shepherd's boy, who fed an amorous flame.

Quære, which of all these is the best, or are none of them good." Walsh preferred the parenthesis in the text. "It is Spenser's way," he said, "and I think better than the others."]

A shepherd boy (no better do him call) Led forth his flock.--BOWLES.

Pope's second Pastoral is an ostensible imitation of Spenser's first eclogue, which is devoted to a lover's complaint, but though Pope has echoed some of the sentiments of Spenser, and appropriated an occasional line, his style has little resemblance to that of his model.]

There to the winds Headrigg plained his hapless love, And Amaryllis filled the vocal grove.--WARBURTON.]

The winds within the quiv'ring branches played, And dancing trees a mournful music made.--WAKEFIELD.]