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Like snow on Athos, or on Hamus high,
Or Rhodopè, or utmost Caucasus.

And he shall sing me how the big chest held
(All through the maniac malice of his lord)
A living goatherd: how the round-faced bees,
Lured from their meadow by the cedar-smell,
Fed him with daintiest flowers, because the Muse
Had made his throat a well-spring of sweet song.
Happy Comatas, this sweet lot was thine!

Thee the chest prisoned, for thee the honey-bees
Toiled, as thou slavedst out the mellowing year:
And oh hadst thou been numbered with the quick
In my day! I had led thy pretty goats

About the hillside, listening to thy voice:
While thou hadst laid thee down 'neath oak or pine,
Divine Comatas, warbling pleasantly."

He spake and paused; and thereupon spake I. "I too, friend Lycid, as I ranged the fells,

Have learned much lore and pleasant from the Nymphs,
Whose fame mayhap hath reached the throne of Zeus.
But this wherewith I'll grace thee ranks the first:
Thou listen, since the Muses like thee well.

[Sings] On me the young Loves sneezed: for hapless I
Am fain of Myrto as the goats of Spring.
But my best friend Aratus inly pines
For one who loves him not. Aristis saw-
(A wondrous seer is he, whose lute and lay
Shrinèd Apollo's self would scarce disdain)-
How love had scorched Aratus to the bone.
O Pan, who hauntest Homolè's fair champaign,
Bring the soft charmer, whosoe'er it be,

Unbid to his sweet arms-so, gracious Pan,
May ne'er thy ribs and shoulderblades be lashed
With squills by young Arcadians, whensoe'er

They are scant of supper! But should this my prayer
Mislike thee, then on nettles mayest thou sleep,
Dinted and sore all over from their claws!
Then mayest thou lodge amid Edonian hills
By Hebrus, in midwinter; there subsist,
The Bear thy neighbor: and, in summer, range
With the far Æthiops 'neath the Blemmyan rocks
Where Nile is no more seen! But O ye Loves,
Whose cheeks are like pink apples, quit your homes
By Hyetis, or Byblis' pleasant rill,

Or fair Dione's rocky pedestal,

And strike that fair one with your arrows, strike
The ill-starred damsel who disdains my friend.
And lo, what is she but an o'erripe pear?
The girls all cry 'Her bloom is on the wane.'
We'll watch, Aratus, at that porch no more,
Nor waste shoe-leather: let the morning cock
Crow to wake others up to numb despair!

Let Molon, and none else, that ordeal brave:
While we make ease our study, and secure
Some witch, to charm all evil from our door."

I ceased. He, smiling sweetly as before, Gave me the staff, "the Muses' parting gift," And leftward sloped tow'rd Pyxa. We the while Bent us to Phrasydeme's, Eucritus and I, And baby-faced Amyntas: there we lay Half-buried in a couch of fragrant reed And fresh-cut vine-leaves, who so glad as we? A wealth of elm and poplar shook o'er head: Hard by a sacred spring flowed gurgling on

From the Nymphs' grot, and in the somber boughs
The sweet cicada chirped laboriously.

Hid in the thick thorn-bushes far away

The tree frog's note was heard; the crested lark

Sang with the goldfinch; turtles made their moan,
And o'er the fountain hung the gilded bee.

All of rich summer smacked, of autumn all:
Pears at our feet, and apples at our side,

Rolled in luxuriance; branches on the ground

Sprawled, overweighed with damsons; while we brushed
From the cask's head the crust of four long years.
Say, ye who dwell upon Parnassian peaks,
Nymphs of Castalia, did old Chiron e'er
Set before Heracles a cup so brave

In Pholus' cavern-did as nectarous draughts
Cause that Anapian shepherd, in whose hand
Rocks were as pebbles, Polypheme the strong,
Featly to foot it o'er the cottage lawns:—
As, ladies, ye bid flow that day for us
All by Demeter's shrine at harvest-home?
Beside whose cornstacks may I oft again

Plant my broad fan: while she stands by and smiles,
Poppies and corn sheaves on each laden arm.

221

AN AUTUMN IDYLL1

Theocritus

"Sweet Themmes! runne softly, till I end my song."

LAWRENCE

FRANK

LAWRENCE

Spenser

JACK

ERE, where the beech-nuts drop among the grasses,

HERE

Push the boat in, and throw the rope ashore.

Jack, hand me out the claret and the glasses;

Here let us sit. We landed here before.

1 Reprinted through special arrangement with Mr. Alban Dobson and with the Oxford University Press.

FRANK

Jack's undecided. Say, formose puer,1

Bent in a dream above the "water wan,"
Shall we row higher, for the reeds are fewer,
There by the pollards, where you see the swan?

JACK

Hist! That's a pike. Look-nose against the river,
Gaunt as a wolf,-the sly old privateer!
Enter a gudgeon. Snap, a gulp, a shiver;-
Exit the gudgeon. Let us anchor here.

FRANK (in the grass)

Jove, what a day! Black Care upon the crupper
Nods at his post, and slumbers in the sun;
Half of Theocritus, with a touch of Tupper,
Churns in my head. The frenzy has begun!

LAWRENCE

Sing to us then. Damotas in a choker,
Much out of tune, will edify the rooks.

FRANK

Sing you again. So musical a croaker
Surely will draw the fish upon the hooks.

1 Handsome youth.

JACK

Sing while you may. The beard of manhood still is Faint on your cheeks, but I, alas! am old. Doubtless you yet believe in Amaryllis;—

Sing me of Her, whose name may not be told.

FRANK

Listen, O Thames! His budding beard is riper, Well, Lawrence, shall we sing?

Say-by a week.

LAWRENCE

Yes, if you will. But ere I play the piper,
Let him declare the prize he has to bring.

JACK

Hear then, my Shepherds. Lo, to him accounted
First in the song, a Pipe I will impart ;-

This, my Beloved, marvelously mounted,
Amber and foam,-a miracle of art.

LAWRENCE

Lordly the gift. O Muse of many numbers,
Grant me a soft alliterative song!

FRANK

Me too, O Muse! And when the Umpire slumbers, Sting him with gnats a summer evening long.

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