C. "Ye mossy rills, and lawns more soft than

T. "Warm hearth, good faggots, and great fires you'll find

In my home black with smoke are all its planks:

We laugh, who 're in it, at the chill north wind,

As wolves at troops of sheep, mad streams at banks."

C. "Here furry chesnuts rise and juniper: Heaped 'neath each tree the fallen apples lie:

All smiles. But, once let fair Alexis stir

From off these hills-and lo! the streams

are dry."

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T. "Thirsts in parched lands and dies the blighted

grass;

Vines lend no shadow to the mountain-height; But groves shall bloom again, when comes my

lass;

And in glad showers Jove descend in might.” C. "Poplars Alcides likes, and Bacchus vines; Fair Venus myrtle, and Apollo bay:

T.

But while to hazel-leaves my love inclines,

Nor bays nor myrtles greater are than they." “Fair in woods ash; and pine on garden-grass:

On tall cliffs fir; by pools the poplar-tree. 70 But if thou come here oft, sweet Lycidas, Lawn-pine and mountain-ash must yield to thee."

M. All this I've heard before: remember well How Thyrsis strove in vain against defeat. From that day forth 'twas 'Corydon' for me.

ECLOGUE VIII.

ALPHESIBUS's and Damon's muse

Charmed by whose strife the steer forgot to graze; Whose notes made lynxes motionless, and bade Rivers turn back and listen-sing we next: Alphesibous's and Damon's muse.

Winn'st thou the crags of great Timavus now,
Or skirtest strands where break Illyrian seas?
I know not. But oh when shall that day dawn
When I may tell thy deeds? give earth thy lays,
That match alone the pomp of Sophocles?
With thee began, with thee shall end, my song:
Accept what thou didst ask; and round thy brow
Twine this poor ivy with thy victor bays.

ΙΟ

'Twas at the hour when night's cold shadow scarce
Had left the skies; when, blest by herdsmen, hangs
The dewdrop on the grass; that Damon leaned
On his smooth olive-staff, and thus began.

"Wake, morning star! Prevent warm day, and come! While, duped and humbled, I-because I loved Nisa with all a husband's love-complain;

20

And call the gods, (though naught their cognizance Availed,) at my last hour, a dying man.

Begin, my flute, a song of Arcady.

'There forests murmur aye, and pines discourse; And lovelorn swains, and Pan, who first reclaimed From idleness the reed, hath audience there. Begin, my flute, a song of Arcady.

"Nisa-is aught impossible in love?—

Is given to Mopsus. Griffins next will mate
With mares: our children see the coward deer 30
Come with the hound to drink. Go, shape the
torch,

Mopsus! fling, bridegroom, nuts! Thou lead'st a wife
Home, and o'er Eta peers the evening star.
Begin, my flute, a song of Arcady.

"Oh, mated with a worthy husband! thou

Who scorn'st mankind-abhorr'st this pipe, these

goats

Of mine, and shaggy brows, and hanging beard: Nor think'st that gods can see what mortals do! Begin, my flute, a song of Arcady.

"Within our orchard-walls I saw thee first,
A wee child with her mother-(I was sent
To guide you)-gathering apples wet with dew.
Ten years and one I scarce had numbered then;
Could scarce on tiptoe reach the brittle boughs.
I saw, I fell, I was myself no more.

Begin, my flute, a song of Arcady.

40

"Now know I what love is. On hard rocks born Tmaros, or Rhodope, or they who dwell

In utmost Africa do father him;

No child of mortal blood or lineage.

Begin, my flute, a song of Arcady.

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"In her son's blood a mother dipped her hands At fierce love's bidding. Hard was her heart

too