As that but strengthens our delayed desire
See too, the mere is calm and still, and now
The murmurs of the breeze have died away.
But still before us lies our journey's half,
For we have nearly reached Bianor's tomb.
Here may we sing, oh Mœris—here put down
Thy kids, for even so we'll reach the town:
Or if we fear lest night should gather rain
Let us go singing to beguile our way.
See, I will take thy burden on my back
That we may still with song enliven toil!
Mœris.Nay, cease to urge me—rather let us mind
That which concerns us now. When he shall come
We may the better sing Menalcas' songs.
44
