Page:Virgil's Pastorals, Georgics and Aeneis - Dryden (1709) - volume 1.pdf/193

Past. IX. Thy Name, O Varus (if the kinder Pow'rs Preserve our Plains, and shield the Mantuan Tow'rs, Obnoxious by Cremona's neighb'ring Crime,) The Wings of Swans, and stronger pinion'd Rhyme, Shall raise aloft, and soaring bear above Th' immortal Gift of Gratitude to Jove. Sing on, sing on, for I can ne'er be cloy'd, So may thy Swarms the baleful Eugh avoid: So may thy Cows their burden'd Bags distend, And Trees to Goats their willing Branches bend. Mean as I am, yet have the Muses made Me free, a Member of the tuneful trade: At least the Shepherds seem to like my Lays, But I discern their Flatt'ry from their Praise: I nor to Cinna's Ears, nor Varus dare aspire; But gabble like a Goose, amidst the Swan-like Quire. 'Tis what I have been conning in my Mind: Nor are they Verses of a Vulgar Kind. Come, Galatea, come, the Seas forsake; What Pleasures can the Tides with their hoarse Murmurs make? See, on the Shore inhabits purple Spring; Where Nightingales their Love-sick Ditty sing; See, Meads with purling Streams, with Flow'rs the Ground, The Grottoes cool, with shady Poplars crown'd, And creeping Vines on Arbours weav'd around.