Lycidas.Ah, tis hard to bear!
When will the wicked cease? That we should risk
The loss of all our help and joy in thee!
Ah, who would then have chanted of the Nymphs
Who, with sweet flowering herbs, have strewn the ground
Or cast shade o'er the springs, or sung those lays
Which lately, from Menalcas, I have learned?
One ran—"Now, Tityrus, whilst I am gone,
But a short way—thou must the she-goats feed—
When satisfied, then drive them to their drink,
But take heed to avoid the he-goat's path,
For with his horn he strikes."
Mœris.Nay, rather this:
Which, tho' unfinished, he to Varus sang—
"Varus, thy name shall to the stars be raised.
"Let but our Mantua remain for us,
"Tho' near Cremona, the ill-fated town."
Lycidas.Now may thy honied swarms avoid the yews
Of Corsica, and may thy cows, full-fed,
Pastured on cytisus, give richest milk,
And even I, a poet, have been made
By Pierus' daughters; even I sing songs.
The Shepherds call me bard; I heed them not.
As yet I am not worthy to be called
Of Varro, or of Cinna, follower.
'Tis but a cackle mine, midst singing swans.
Mœris.And 'tis the same with me—I even now
Am much considering as to this song—
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