XXX

Part of an ELEGY of TIBULLUS, tranflated.

L

(Divitias alius fulvo fibi congerat Auro. )

1729-30. By the Same.

ET others heap of wealth a fhining store,

And much poffeffing, labour still for more;

Let them, disquieted with dire alarms,

Aspire to win a dangerous fame in arms:
Me tranquil poverty shall lull to rest,

Humbly fecure, and indolently bleft;

Warm'd by the blaze of my own chearful hearth,

I'll wafte the wintry hours in focial mirth;

In fummer pleas'd attend to harvest toils,

In autumn prefs the vineyard's purple spoils,

And oft to Delia in my bosom bear

Some kid, or lamb that wants its mother's care :
With her I'll celebrate each gladsome day,
When fwains their fportive rites to Bacchus pay:

With her new milk on Pales' altar pour,
And deck with ripen'd fruits Pomona's bow'r.
At night how foothing would it be to hear,
Shelter'd and warm, the tempeft whistling near;
And while my charmer in my arms I strain,
Slumber affifted by the beating rain!

Ah! how much happier, than the fool who braves
In fearch of wealth the black tempeftuous waves!
While I, contented with my little store,

In tedious voyage seek no distant shore,
But idly lolling on some shady feat,

Near cooling fountains fhun the dog-star's heat;
For what reward fo rich could Fortune give
That I by abfence should my Delia grieve?
Let great Meffalla fhine in martial toils,

And

grace his palace with triumphal spoils;
Me Beauty holds in ftrong, though gentle chains,
Far from tumultuous war and dufty plains.
With thee, my love, to pass my tranquil days,
How would I flight ambition's painful praise !
How would I joy with thee, my love, to yoke
The ox, and feed my folitary flock!

On thy soft breast might I but lean my head,
How downy fhould I think the woodland bed!

The wretch who fleeps not by his fair one's fide,
Detests the gilded couch's useless pride,

Nor knows his weary, weeping eyes to close,
Though murm'ring rills invite him to repose.
Hard was his heart, who thee, my fair, could leave
For all the honours profp'rous War can give ;
Though through the vanquish'd eaft he spread his fame,
And Parthian tyrants trembled at his name;

Though bright in arms, while hofts around him bleed,
With martial pride he prefs'd his foaming steed.
No pomps like these my humble vows require;
I afk, in thy embraces to expire:

Thee may my closing eyes in death behold!
Thee may my fault'ring hand yet ftrive to hold!
Then, Delia, then thy heart will melt in woe,
Then o'er my breathless clay thy tears will flow;
Thy tears will flow, for gentle is thy mind,
Nor doft thou think it weakness to be kind.
With thee each youth and tender maid shall join
In grief, and mix their friendly fighs with thine:
But ah! my Delia, I conjure thee, spare
Thy heaving breasts and loose difhevell'd hair:
Wound not thy form; left on th' Elyfian coaft
Thy anguish should disturb my peaceful ghost.

But

But now nor death, nor parting should employ Our sprightly thoughts, or damp our bridal joy: We'll live, my Delia, and from life remove All care, all bus'ness, but delightful Love. Old age in vain those pleasures would retrieve, Which youth alone can taste, alone can give ;] Then let us snatch the moment to be bleft, This hour is Love's-be Fortune's all the reft.

Is it because you fear to share

The ills that Love moleft:

The jealous Doubt, the tender Care,

That rack the am'rous breaft?

III.

Alas! by fome degree of woe.
We every bliss must gain :

The heart can ne'er a transport know,
That never feels a pain.

X

Written at Mr. POPE's House at Twickenham, which he had lent to Mrs. Gr-lle.

In August 1735. By the Same.

I.

O, Thames, and tell the busy town,

Go

Not all its wealth or pride

Could tempt me from the charms that crown

Thy rural flow'ry side:

II.

Thy flow'ry fide, where POPE has plac'd

The Mufes' green retreat,

With every smile of Nature grac'd,

With every Art compleat.

III. But