Warned me, by this means or by that to nip
This strange strife in the bud: or dead were

now

Thy Moris; dead were great Menalcas too. L. Could such curse fall on man? Had we so

near

Lost thee, Menalcas, and thy pleasantries?
Who then would sing the nymphs? Who strow

with flowers

20

The ground, or train green darkness o'er the

springs?

And oh that song, which I (saying ne'er a

word)

Copied one day-(while thou wert off to see
My darling, Amaryllis,)—from thy notes:
"Feed, while I journey but a few short steps,
Tityrus, my goats: and, Tityrus, when they've
fed,

Lead them to drink and cross not by the way

:

The he-goat's path: his horns are dangerous.” M. But that to Varus, that unfinished one!

"Varus! thy name, if Mantua still be ours- 30 (Mantua to poor Cremona all too near,)—

Shall tuneful swans exalt unto the stars."

L. Begin, if in thee's aught. So may not yews

Of Cyrnus lure thy bees: so, clover-fed,

Thy cattle teem with milk. Me too the muse Hath made a minstrel: I have songs; and me The swains call 'poet.' But I heed them not. For scarce yet sing I as the great ones sing, But, a goose, cackle among piping swans. M. Indeed, I am busy turning o'er and o'er- 40 In hopes to recollect it-in my brain A song, and not a mean one, Lycidas.

"Come, Galatea! sport'st thou in the waves? Here spring is purpling; thick by river-banks Bloom the gay flowers; white poplar climbs above

The caves, and young vines plait a roof between.

Come! and let mad seas beat against the shore."

L. What were those lines that once I heard thee

sing,

All uncompanioned on a summer night—

I know the music, if I had the words.

50

M.

ર

"Daphnis! why watch those old-world planets

rise?

Lo! onward marches sacred Cæsar's star,
The star that made the valleys laugh with corn.
And grapes grow ruddier upon sunny hills.
Sow, Daphnis, pears, whereof thy sons shall
eat."

-Time carries all-our memories e'en-away.
Well I remember how my boyish songs
Would oft outlast the livelong summer day.
And now they're all forgot. His very voice
Hath Moeris lost on Moris wolves have

looked.

бо

-But oft thou 'lt hear them from Menalcas yet. L. Thy pleas but draw my passion out. And lo! All hushed to listen is the wide sea-floor,

And laid the murmurings of the soughing
winds.

And now we're half-way there. I can descry
Bianor's grave. Here, Moris, where the swains
Are raking off the thick leaves, let us sing.
Or, if we fear lest night meanwhile bring up
The rain clouds, singing let us journey on-

(The way will seem less tedious)-journey on Singing and I will ease thee of thy load.

M. Cease, lad. We'll do what lies before us

now:

Then sing our best, when comes the Master

home.

ECLOGUE X.

GALLUS.

OH Arethuse, let this last task be mine!

One song-a song Lycoris' self may read—
My Gallus asks: who'd grudge one song to him?
So, when thou slid'st beneath Sicilian seas,
May ne'er salt Doris mix her stream with thine :
Begin and sing-while yon blunt muzzles search
The underwood-of Gallus torn by love.

We lack not audience: woods take up the notes.
Where were ye, Naiad nymphs, in grove or

glen,

When Gallus died of unrequited love?

Not heights of Pindus or Parnassus, no
Aonian Aganippe kept ye then.

ΙΟ

Him e'en the laurels wept and myrtle-groves.
Stretched 'neath the lone cliff, piny Mænalus
And chill Lyceum's stones all wept for him.
The sheep stood round. They think not scorn of us;
And think not scorn, O priest of song, of them.
Sheep fair Adonis fed beside the brooks.