Now that a whiter beard than that of yore
Fell from my razor: still she marked, and

came

(All late) to help me-now that all my thought Is Amaryllis, Galatea gone.

While Galatea's, I despaired, I own,

Of freedom, and of thrift. Though from my farm

Full many a victim stept, though rich the cheese

40

Pressed for yon thankless city: still my hand Returned not, heavy with brass pieces, home. M. I wondered, Amaryllis, whence that woe, And those appeals to heav'n: for whom the peach

T.

Hung undisturbed upon the parent tree.
Tityrus was gone! Why, Tityrus, pine and rill,
And all these copses, cried to thee, "Come
home!"

What could I do? I could not step from out
My bonds; nor meet, save there, with Pow'rs

so kind.

There, Melibus, I beheld that youth

50

For whom each year twelve days my altars smoke.

Thus answered he my yet unanswered prayer;

"Feed still, my lads, your kine, and yoke your bulls."

M. Happy old man! Thy lands are yet thine own! Lands broad enough for thee, although bare

stones

And marsh choke every field with reedy mud.
Strange pastures shall not vex thy teeming ewes,
Nor neighbouring flocks shed o'er them rank
disease.

• Happy old man! Here, by familiar streams

And holy springs, thou'lt catch the leafy cool. 60
Here, as of old, yon hedge, thy boundary line,
Its willow-buds a feast for Hybla's bees,
Shall with soft whisperings woo thee to thy
sleep.

Here, 'neath the tall cliff, shall the vintager
Sing carols to the winds: while all the time
Thy pets, the stock doves, and the turtles make
Incessantly their moan from aëry elms.

T. Aye, and for this shall slim stags graze in air,

And ocean cast on shore the shrinking fish;
For this, each realm by either wandered o'er, 70
Parthians shall Arar drink, or Tigris Gauls;

Ere from this memory shall fade that face!
M. And we the while must thirst on Libya's sands,
O'er Scythia roam, and where the Cretan stems
The swift Oaxes; or, with Britons, live
Shut out from all the world. Shall I e'er see,
In far-off years, my fatherland? the turf
That roofs my meagre hut? see, wondering, last,
Those few scant cornblades that are realms
to me?

79

What! must rude soldiers hold these fallows trim?
That corn barbarians? See what comes of strife,
Poor people-where we sowed, what hands shall
reap!

Now, Melibœus, pr'ythee graft thy pears,

And range thy vines! Nay on, my she-goats, on,
Once happy flock! For never more must I,
Outstretched in some green hollow, watch you
hang

From tufted crags, far up: no carols more

I'll sing nor, shepherded by me, shall ye

T.

Crop the tart willow and the clover-bloom.

Yet here, this one night, thou may'st rest with

me,

90

Thy bed green branches. Chestnuts soft have I
And mealy apples, and our fill of cheese.
Already, see, the far-off chimneys smoke,

And deeper grow the shadows of the hills.

ECLOGUE II.

CORYDON.

For one fair face-his master's idol-burned The shepherd Corydon; and hope had none. Day after day he came ('twas all he could) Where, piles of shadow, thick the beeches rose: There, all alone, his unwrought phrases flung, Bootless as passionate, to copse and crag.

"Hardhearted! Naught car'st thou for all my

songs,

Naught pitiest. I shall die, one day, for thee.
The very cattle court cool shadows now,

Now the green lizard hides beneath the thorn: 10
And for the reaper, faint with driving heat,
The handmaids mix the garlic-salad strong.

My only mates, the crickets-as I track

'Neath the fierce sun thy steps-make shrill the

woods.

Better to endure the passion and the pride

Of Amaryllis better to endure

Menalcas-dark albeit as thou art fair.