ECLOGUE IX.
MŒRIS.
Lycidas.Whither away, oh Mœris? To the town?
Mœris.Ah, Lycidas, that which we never feared
We yet have lived to see our grievous lot,
That alien owners of our whilom fields
Can say to us, "Begone, ye tresspassers,
"This land is ours."—Well, fortune turns her wheel!
So we are sending to our conqueror
These kids of ours—(may ill luck go with them!)
Lycidas.Nay, surely we had heard that, by his songs
Menalcas had redeemed that grassy slope
Left by the hills, beneath their steeper ridge,
Down to the water-side, and where atop
Decaying beech-trees stand.
Mœris.So was it said.
But, Lycidas, against the will of Mars
Our songs are powerless, as Chaonian does
'Gainst swooping eagles. Yet was I fore-warned
From hollow ilex, by the raven's croak
To end the dire dispute, by any means.
Else would thy friend, thy Mœris, not be here,
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