L L black And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud! For we were nursed upon the self-same hill, Fed the same flock, by fountain, shade, and rill; Together both, ere the high lawns appeared Under the opening eyelids of the Morn,› We drove a-field, and both together heard What time the grey-fly winds her sultry horn, Battening our flocks with the fresh dews of night, Oft till the star that rose at evening bright Toward heaven's descent had sloped his westering wheel. Meanwhile the rural ditties were not mute; Tempered to the oaten flute, 25 30 Rough Satyrs danced, and Fauns with cloven heel From the glad sound would not be absent long; 35 And old Damotas loved to hear our song. /But, oh! the heavy change, now thou art gone, Now thou art gone, and never must return! Thee, Shepherd, thee the woods and desert caves, X With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'ergrown, 40 And all their echoes, mourn. The willows, and the hazel copses green,) Shall now no more be seen Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays. Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze, Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherd's ear. 45 siod. 50 Where were ye, Nymphs, when the remorseless deep Closed o'er the head of your loved Lycidas? For neither were ye playing on the steep Where your old bards, the famous Druids, lie, 55 Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream. Ay me! I fondly dream "Had ye been there,"....for what could that have done? What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore, The Muse herself, for her enchanting son, 60 Whom universal nature did lament, When, by the rout that made the hideous roar, His gory visage down the stream was sent, Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore? Alas! what boots it with uncessant care 35 To tend the homely, slighted shepherd's trade, And strictly meditate the thankless Muse? Were it not better done as others use, To sport with Amaryllis in the shade, Or with the tangles of Neæra's hair? Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise (That last infirmity of noble mind) L To scorn delights, and live laborious days; But, the fair guerdon when we hope to find, And think to burst out into sudden blaze, 75 Comes the blind Fury with the abhorrèd shears, And slits the thin-spun life. "But not the praise," Phoebus replied, and touched my trembling ears: Set off to the world, nor in broad rumour lies, O fountain Arethuse, and thou honour'd flood, And listens to the Herald of the Sea 80 85 That came in Neptune's plea. He asked the waves, and asked the felon winds, 90 What hard mishap hath doomed this gentle swain? They knew not of his story; And sage Hippotades their answer brings, Built in the eclipse, and rigged with curses dark, Next, Camus, reverend sire, went footing slow, His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge, Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge 100 105 Like to that sanguine flower inscribed with woe. Ah! who hath reft," quoth he, "my dearest pledge?" Last came, and last did go, The Pilot of the Galilean Lake; 110 Two massy keys he bore of metals twain' He shook his mitred locks, and stern bespake:- Enow of such as, for their bellies' sake, Blind mouths! that scarce themselves know how 120 A sheep-hook, or have learnt aught else the least That to the faithful herdman's art belongs! What recks it them? What need they? They are sped; And, when they list, their lean and flashy songs Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw; 125 The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed, But, swoln with wind and the rank mist they draw, Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread; Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw Daily devours apace, and nothing said. 130 But that two-handed engine at the door Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more." 135 Return, Alpheus, the dread voice is past The white pink, and the pansy freaked with jet, The musk-rose, and the well-attired woodbine, 145 150 To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies. Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise. 155 |