away, 460 Hosts rais'd by fear, and phantoms of a day: Astrologers, that future fates foreshew, Projectors, quacks, and lawyers not a few; And priests, and party zealots, numerous bands, With home-born lies or tales from foreign lands; Each talk'd aloud, or in some secret place, And wild impatience stared in ev'ry face. The flying rumours gather'd as they roll'd, Scarce any tale was sooner heard than told; And all who told it added something new, And all who heard it made enlargements too; 471 In ev'ry ear it spread, on ev'ry tongue it grew. Thus flying east and west, and north and south, News travel'd with increase from mouth to mouth. So from a spark that, kindled first by chance, With gath'ring force the quick'ning flames advance; Till to the clouds their curling heads aspire, And towers and temples sink in floods of fire. When thus ripe lies are to perfection Full D Thro' thousand vents, impatient, forth they flow, And rush in millions on the world below. Fame sits aloft, and points them out their course, Their date determines, and prescribes their force; Some to remain, and some to perish soon, Or wane and wax alternate like the moon. Around, a thousand winged wonders fly, Borne by the trumpet's blast, and scatter'd thro' the sky. There, at one passage, oft you might survey A lie and truth contending for the way; 490 And long 't was doubtful, both so closely pent, Which first should issue thro' the narrow vent: At last agreed, together out they fly, While thus I stood, intent to see and hear, One came, methought, and whisper'd in my For who so fond as youthful bards of But few, alas! the casual blessing boast, (Unsure the tenure, but how vast the fine!) The great man's curse, without the gains, endure, Be envied, wretched; and be flatter'd, poor; 520 Or if no basis bear my rising name, Drive from my breast that wretched lust of praise; Unblemish'd let me live or die unknown; Oh, grant an honest fame, or grant me none!' Here the press'd herbs with bending tops betray Where oft entwin'd in am'rous folds we lay; 170 I kiss that earth which once was press'd by you, And all with tears the with'ring herbs bedew. For thee the fading trees appear to mourn, And birds defer their songs till thy return: Night shades the groves, and all in silence lie, All but the mournful Philomel and I: With mournful Philomel I join my strain, Of Tereus she, of Phaon I complain. A spring there is, whose silver waters show, Clear as a glass, the shining sands below: A flowery lotos spreads its arms above, 181 Shades all the banks, and seems itself a grove; Eternal greens the mossy margin grace, Watch'd by the sylvan genius of the place. Here as I lay, and swell'd with tears the flood, Before my sight a wat❜ry virgin stood: She stood and cried, "O you that love in vain! Fly hence, and seek the fair Leucadian main. Alas! the Muses now no more inspire; Untuned my lute, and silent is my lyre. 229 My languid numbers have forgot to flow, And fancy sinks beneath a weight of woe. Ye Lesbian virgins, and ye Lesbian dames, Themes of my verse, and objects of my flames, No more your groves with my glad songs shall ring, No more these hands shall touch the trembling string: My Phaon 's fled, and I those arts resign; (Wretch that I am, to call that Phaon mine!) Return, fair youth, return, and bring along Joy to my soul, and vigour to my song: 239 Absent from thee, the poet's flame expires; But ah! how fiercely burn the lover's fires! moan, And kindly sigh for sorrows not your own, Whom Delphi and the Delian isle obey, Andræmon lov'd; and bless'd in all those charms That pleas'd a God, succeeded to her arms. 'A lake there was with shelving banks around, Whose verdant summit fragrant myrtles crown'd. |