Page:Virgil's Pastorals, Georgics and Aeneis - Dryden (1709) - volume 1.pdf/182

44 Whither Timavus or th' Illirian Coast, Whatever Land or Sea thy presence boast; Is there an hour in Fate reserv'd for me, To Sing thy Deeds in Numbers worthy thee? In numbers like to thine, cou'd I rehearse Thy lofty Tragick Scenes, thy labour'd Verse; The World another Sophocles in thee, Another Homer shou'd behold in me: Amidst thy Laurels let this Ivy twine, Thine was my earliest Muse; my latest shall be thine.


 * Scarce from our upper World the Shades withdrew;

Scarce were the Flocks refresh'd with Morning Dew, When Damon stretch'd beneath an Olive Shade,21 [sic] And wildly staring upwards, thus inveigh'd Against the conscious Gods, and curs'd the cruel Maid. Star of the Morning, why dost thou delay? Come, Lucifer, drive on the lagging Day. While I my Nisa's perjur'd Faith deplore; Witness ye Pow'rs, by whom she falsly swore! The Gods, alas, are Witnesses in vain; Yet shall my dying Breath to Heav'n complain. Begin with me, my Flute, the sweet Mænalian Strain.


 * The Pines of Mænalus, the vocal Grove,

Are ever full of Verse, and full of Love: