Page:Virgil's Pastorals, Georgics and Aeneis - Dryden (1709) - volume 1.pdf/202

60 Love alters not for us, his hard Decrees, Not tho' beneath the Thracian Clime we freeze; Or Italy's indulgent Heav'n forgo; And in mid-Winter tread Sithonian Snow. Or when the Barks of Elms are scorch'd, we keep On Meroes burning Plains the Lybian Sheep. In Hell, and Earth, and Seas, and Heav'n above, Love conquers all; and we must yield to Love. My Muses, here your sacred Raptures end: The Verse was what I ow'd my suff'ring Friend. This while I sung, my Sorrows I deceiv'd, And bending Osiers into Baskets weav'd. The Song, because inspir'd by you, shall shine: And Gallus will approve, because 'tis mine. Gallus, for whom my holy Flames renew, Each hour, and ev'ry moment rise in view: As Alders, in the Spring, their Boles extend; And heave so fiercely, that the Bark they rend. Now let us rise, for hoarseness oft invades The Singer's Voice, who sings beneath the Shades. From Juniper, unwholsom Dews distill, That blast the sooty Corn; the with'ring Herbage kill; Away, my Goats, away: for you have browz'd your fill.