turbulency, under the pretence of preferving the rights, privileges, and immunities of the church. In the year 1171, four perfons murdered him in the cathedral church of Canterbury, by which action they hoped to make their court to the King, to whom Becket had given great trouble and vexation. In 1173 Becket was canonifed, by virtue of a bull from the Pope. In 1221 his body was taken up in the prefence of king Henry the Third, and feveral nobility, and depofited in a rich fhrine, on the eaft fide of the church. The miracles faid to be wrought at his tomb were fo numerous, that we are told two large volumes of them were kept in Canterbury church. His character, however, was thought fo ambiguous by fome, even among the Catholics themselves, that fome time after Becket's death, it was publicly debated in the univerfity of Paris, "Whether the foul of Becket was in heaven or in hell?" It muft, however, be at leaft acknowledged, that St. Thomas of Canterbury, was a faint of great fame and reputation. For his fhrine was vifited from all parts, and enriched with the most coftly gifts and offerings. In one year it is faid that no less than 100,000 came to vifit his fhrine. And we may form fome judgment of the veneration which was paid to his memory, by the account given of the offerings made to the three greatest altars in Chrift Church, which stood thus for one year:

But the following year, when probably the Saint's character was ftill more eftablished in the world, the odds were greater, and St. Thomas carried all before The account was thus:

him.

THE REFLECTOR.

[No. XXXI.]

THE PASTORAL POETRY OF THEOCRITUS.

The paftoral which fings of happy fwains,
And harmless nymphs, that haunts the woods and
plains,

Should thro' the whole discover everywhere,
Their old fimplicity and pious air;

And in the characters of maids and youth,
Unpractis'd plaiunefs, innocence, and truth.
Each paftoral a little plot must own,
Which as it must be fimple must be one,
With fmall digreffions it will yet difpenfe,
Nor needs it always allegoric fense;
Its ftile muft ftill be natural and clear,
And elegance in ev'ry part appear:
Its humble method nothing has of fierce,
But hates the ratt'ling of a lofty-verse;
With native beauty pleafes and excites,

And never with harfh founds the ear affrights!

ANON.

HE nature of paftoral poetry was explained and

when

the Eclogues of Virgil became the topic of examination. We then specified the fubjects best fitted for this kind of poetry, and expatiated on the advantages of which it is almoft exclufively poffeffed. But in confidering the Eclogues, it was impoffible not to refer the reader to the productions of THEOCRITUS, who is by way of eminence ftiled the Father of Paftoral Poetry. We fhall now, therefore, bring forward a few biographical particulars refpecting this great man, and tranfcribe a few illuftrative paffages from his works, which have defervedly attracted the attention of mankind. We are naturally anxious to become acquainted with that fpecies of poetry which has imparted no small deVOL, VIII.

B

gree

gree of gratification to minds endued with genuine fenfibility.

THEOCRITUS was by birth a Syracufian, being born at Syracufe in Sicily; but of his parents little is known. He addreffed one of his poems to Hiero, King of Syracufe, who reigned about 275 years before Chrift. Hiero, though a famous prince, yet feems to have fhewn no great affection for letters. This is fupposed to have been the occafion of THEOCRITUS' 16th Idyllium, infcribed with the monarch's name, where the poet afferts the dignity of his profeffion, laments his poor encouragement, and infinuates to the Prince what a brave figure he would have made in verfe, had he been as good a patron as he was a fubject to the muses! This coldness and neglect induced THEOCRITUS foon after to leave Sicily for the Egyptian court, where King Ptolemy then fat fupreme prefident of arts and wit. Patronifed by this inonarch, the poet has handfomely panegyrifed him, in which, among other things, he extols his generous encouragement both of learning and ingenuity.

Of this delightful fon of the mufes no further account can be drawn from his works, or indeed from any other records with which later ages have been furnished ! Too often are we left to gather, very imperfectly, the particulars of an eminent man's life from fcattered and unconnected paffages of his own productions. Thus it is with great difficulty that we are capable of learning any thing fufficiently decisive to gratify the curiofity.

It has been, indeed, conjectured, that Theocritus fuffered a violent death, arifing from the indignation of a certain monarch, whom he had by his ftrains offended. In this idea, however, we have reafon to believe that the learned have been mistaken. With much greater probability it is fuppofed, that Theocritus, the rhetorician, not the poet, fell by the hands of the executioner. Theocritus, the rhetorician, had been guilty of fome crime against King Antigonus, who, it feems, had

une

one eye only; but being affured by his friends that he hould certainly obtain a pardon as foon as he should ap pear to his majesty's eyes-" Nay then," cried he, "I am indifputably a dead man, if those be the condi

tions!"

The compofitions of this poet are diftinguished among the ancients by the name of Idyllia, or Idylls, in order to exprefs the finallness and variety of their natures. His works, in the language of modern times, would have been entitled mifcellanies, or poems on feveral occafions.

The nine firft and eleventh of his Idyllia, are true paftorals; and the other poems are full of merit. To the former, however, we shall confine ourselves; and the third Idyll will afford us feveral beautiful paffages for the illuftration of paftoral poetry. To perfons who have no tafte for rural perfonages and fcenes, they will not perceive and relifh the beauty of THEOCRITUS, whofe great art is to introduce you into the country, and to entertain you with the objects by which you are there furrounded. This third Idyll is ufually brought forward by way of fpecimen; for it is characterized by eafe and fimplicity. The fubject is love, ever welcome to the youthful heart.

To Amaryllis, lovely nymph, I speed,

Meanwhile my goats upon the mountains feed:
O Tityrus! tend them with affiduous care,
Lead them to crystal fprings and pastures fair,
And of the ridg'ling's butting horns beware.
I, whom you call'd your dear, your love, fo late,
Say, am I now the object of your hate?
Say, is my form difpleafing to your fight?
This cruel love will furely kill me quite.
Lo! ten large apples, tempting to the view,

Pluck'd from your fav'rite tree, where late they grew:
Accept this boon, 'tis all my present store,
To-morrow will produce as many more."

"

After this tender expoftulation, fucceeds a pathetic

B 2

defcription

defcription of the pangs of love; a poet who has fo well delineated them, muft have felt the paffion.

Meanwhile these heart-consuming pains remove,
And give me gentle pity for my love.

Oh! was I made by fome transforming power
A bee-to buz in your fequefter'd bow'r,
To pierce your ivy fhade with murm'ring found,
And the light leaves that compafs you around.
I know thee, love! and to my forrow find
A god thou art, but of the favage kind:
A lionefs fure fuckl'd the fell child,
And, with his brothers, nurft him in the wild;
On me his fcorching flames inceffant prey,
Glow in my bones, and melt my foul away!
Ah! nymph, whofe eyes deftructive glances dart,
Fair is your face but flinty is your heart;
Your fcoin diftracts me, and will make me tear
The flow'ry crown I wove for you to wear,
Where rofes mingle with the ivy-wreath,
And fragrant herbs ambrofial odours breathe.
Ah me! what pangs I feel, and yet the fair,
Nor fees my forrows, nor will hear my pray'r.
I'll doff my garments fince I needs must die,
And from yon rock, that points its fummit high,
Where patient Alpis fnares the finny fry,
I'll leap-and tho' perchance I rife again,

1

You'll laugh to fee me plunging in the main.

The poet then proceeds to enumerate various omens, to which we know the ancients were greatly attached, and in which they implicitly confided:

By a prophetic poppy-leaf I found

You chang'd affection, for it gave no found,
Though in my hand, ftruck hollow as it lay,
But quickly wither'd like your love away:
An old witch brought fad tidings to my ears,
She who tells fortunes with the fieve and fhears;
For leafing barley in my fields of late,
She told me I fhould love and you fhould hate!
For you, my care a milk-white goat supply'd,
Two wanton kids ruir frifking at her fide,