Warned me, by this means or by that to nip 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? 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 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, -Time carries all-our memories e'en-away. 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 And now we're half-way there. I can descry (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— We lack not audience: woods take up the notes. glen, When Gallus died of unrequited love? Not heights of Pindus or Parnassus, no ΙΟ Him e'en the laurels wept and myrtle-groves. |