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Well ;-we agreed ; And Lycidas, with one of his sweet smiles, Said, “You must let me give you, when we finish, This olive-stick, for you have proved yourself A scion truly from the stock of Jove. I also hate the builder that pretends To rival mountain-tops, and just as much The petty birds that with ridiculous toil Chatter and chuff against the Chian warbler. But come, let us begin, Theocritus.-Well, I'll be first then. Tell me if you like This little piece, friend, which I hammered out The other day when I was on the mountain.

Ageanax, if he forgets me not
His faithful friend, shall safely cross the seas
To Mitylene, both when the south wind,
Warned by the westering kids, adds wet to wet,

And when Orion dips his sparkling feet.
Let halcyons smooth the billows, and make still
The west wind and the fiercer east, which stirs
The lowest sea-weeds ;-halcyons, of all birds
Dear to the blue-eyed Nymphs, and fed by them.
Let all things favour the kind voyager,
And land him safely ;- and that day, will I,
Wearing a crown of roses or white violets,
Quaff by my fire-side Pteleatic wine;
And some one shall dress beans; and I will have
A noble couch, to lie at ease upon,
Heaped up of asphodel and yielding herbs ;
And there I'll drink, in a divine repose,
Calling to mind Ageanax, and drain
With clinging lips the goblet to the dregs :
And there shall be two shepherds to play to me
Upon the pipe; and Tityrus, standing by,
Shall sing how Daphnis was in love with Xenia,
And used to walk the mountain, while the oaks

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Moaned to him on the banks of Himera ;
And how he melted in his love away,
Like snows on Athos, or on Rhodope,
Or Hæmus, or the farthest Caucasus -
And Tityrus shall sing also, how of old
The goatherd by his cruel lord was bound,
And left to die in a great chest; and how
The busy bees, up coming from the meadows
To the sweet cedar, fed him with soft flowers,

Because the Muse had filled his mouth with nectar.

Yes, all these sweets were thine, blessed Comatas;
And thou wast put into the chest, and fed
By the blithe bees, and passed a pleasant time.
Would that in my time also thou wert living,
That we might keep our flocks upon the mountain,
And I might hear thy voice, while thou shouldst lie
Under the oak-trees or the pines, and modulate
Thy pipe deliciously, divine Comatas."

Here ended he his song, and thus in turn
I took up mine :-“Dear Lycidas, the Nymphs
Have taught me also, while I kept my flocks,
Excellent subjects; and the best of all
I'll tell you now, since you are dear to them :

'Twas on the unlucky side the Loves sneezed

to me,

For I love Myrto, as the goats love spring,
But to no purpose. Meanwhile too, Aratus,
My best of friends, becomes in love with Pholoe.
Aristis has long known it-good Aristis,
To whom Apollo's self would not disdain
To play his harp on his own golden tripod.
O Pan, who gained by lot the lovely soil
Of Homole,- send her to his arms,
Her, or another girl as beautiful!
O do but so, and the Arcadian youth

Shall scourge thee not with squills, when they have

missed

Their hunted

game: :-but if thou dost it not Thou shalt be flayed, and sent to sleep in straw: In mountains and by rivers of the north Mid winter shalt thou pass; and then in summer Be changed to utmost Æthiopia, there To tend thy flocks under the Blemyan rock, Where thou canst see not Nile.—But you, ye Loves, With your sweet apple cheeks, leave the moist

nooks

Of Hyetis and Byblis, and fly up
To Venus's own heaven, and thence, ah thence,
Shoot with your arrows for me this desired one,
Shoot,-since she pities not my friend and guest.
Riper is she than the moist pear; and yet
The women say to her; “ Alas, alas,
Your flow'r will wither, Pholoe on the stalk !"

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