Conscious of pains they knew not how to cure,
In vain they sighed, and sighing begged relief,
No druggist came, by art or reason taught
With strength of potent herbs, to calm their grief.
Fierce tortures to allay, some reverend sage
Preach'd Patience to the pangs, that could not hear;
For restless anguish doomed her victim still
To groan thro' life, and sigh from year to year,
At length from Jove, and heaven's etherial dome
Sky-walking Hermes came to view these plains:
He looked—and saw what fate or gods had done,
And gave the Poppy, to relieve all pains.
Then to the sons of grief his speech addressed,
"Through this dull flower is shed such potent dew,
"When pain distracts—drink this—and drown in sleep
"All ills, that Nature sent to torture you.
"From other worlds, by other beings trod,
"To these bleak climes this plundered plant I bore;
"Receive a gift, all worthy of a god,
"Since pain, when hushed to sleep,—is pain no more."
[80] Text from the 1809 edition.
QUINTILIAN TO LYCIDAS[81]
"While other lads their books forsake,
Or sigh to meet the hours of play:
You, Lycidas, no leisure take,
But still through learned volumes stray:—
With years so few, ah why so grave;
Why every hour to books a slave?
Hence, Lycidas, I pray, retire:
Go with your mates, and take your play—
Not him I prize, or much admire,
Who, curious, hangs on all I say:
The lad that's wise before his time,
Will be a coxcomb in his prime.