Attamen inter se prostrati in gramine molli
Propter aquæ rivum sub ramis arboris altæ
of the poet, bring strongly to recollection two exquisite morsels in Gray:
Where'er the oak's thick branches stretch
A broader browner shade,
Where'er the rude and moss-grown beech
O'er canopies the glade,
Beside some water's rushy brink,
With me the Muse shall sit, and think
At ease reclin'd
There at the foot of yonder nodding beech
That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high,
His listless length at noontide would he stretch,
And
pore upon the brook that babbles by.
Many passages which powerfully appeal to the heart, and which may, indeed, be esteemed very striking instances of the pathetic, Lucretius has interspersed through his poem, and with one or two of these I shall decorate my pages. The lines which follow have been imitated by Spenser in his Fairy Queen.
Nec ratione alia Proles cognoscere Matrem,
Nec Mater posset Prolem: quod posse videmus,
Nec minùs atque homines inter se nota cluere.
Nam sæpe ante Deûm vitulus delubra decora
Turicremas propter mactatus concidit aras,
Sanguinis exspirans calidum de pectore flumen,
At mater virideis saltus orbata peragrans,
Linquit humi pedibus vestigia pressa bisulcis,
Omnia convisens oculis loca, si queat usquam
Conspicere amissum Fætum: completque querelis
Frundiferum nemus adsistens; et crebra revisit
Ad stabulum, desiderio perfixa Juvenci:
Nec teneræ salices, atque herbæ rore vigentes,
Fluminaque ulla queunt summis labentia ripis,
Oblectare animum, subitamque avertere curam:
Nec Vitulorum aliæ species per pabula læta
Derivare queunt aliò, curaque levare :
Usque adeo quiddam proprium, notumque requirit.
Hence the fond mother knows her tender young,
The tender young their mother: 'midst the brutes
As clear discern'd, as man's sublimer race.—
Thus oft, before the sacred shrine, perfum'd
With spires of frankincense, th' unweeting calf
Pours, o'er the altar, from his breast profound,
The purple flood of life: but, wand'ring wild
O'er the green sward, the plaintive dam bereft
Beats, with her hoof, the deep-indented dale;
Each spot exploring, if, perchance, she still
May trace her idol: thro' th' umbrageous grove
With well-known voice she moans, and oft re-seeks,
Urg'd by a mother's love, th' accustom'd stall.
Nor shade for her, nor dew-distended grass,
Nor stream soft-gliding down its banks abrupt,
Yield aught of solace; or the carking care
Avert that preys within: nor the gay young
Of others soothe her o'er the joyous green.—
So deep she longs, so lingers for her own.
Descriptions of this kind impress us with a very favourable idea of the tenderness and humanity of the poet. What can more deliciously paint the ardours of domestic affection than the ensuing lines:
At jam non domus accipiet te læta; neque uxor
Optima, nec dulces occurrent oscula nati
Præripere, et tacita pectus dulcedine tangent.
They have not escaped the pathetic Virgil: Interea dulces pendent circum oscula nati.
and the elegiac Muse of Gray has imbibed the very' spirit of the Roman:
For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,
Or busy housewife ply her evening care:
No children run to lisp their sire's return,
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.
Thomson has thus depicted circumstances
of a congenial nature:
In vain for him the officious wife prepares
The fire fair-blazing and the vestment warm:
In vain his little children, peeping out
Into the mingling storm, demand their sire
With tears of artless innocence. Alas!
Nor wife, nor children, more shall he behold,
Nor friends, nor sacred home.
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