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    Eclogue I - Page 2

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    MELIBOEUS
    So in old age, you happy man, your fields
    Will still be yours, and ample for your need!
    Though, with bare stones o'erspread, the pastures all
    Be choked with rushy mire, your ewes with young
    By no strange fodder will be tried, nor hurt
    Through taint contagious of a neighbouring flock.
    Happy old man, who 'mid familiar streams
    And hallowed springs, will court the cooling shade!
    Here, as of old, your neighbour's bordering hedge,
    That feasts with willow-flower the Hybla bees,
    Shall oft with gentle murmur lull to sleep,
    While the leaf-dresser beneath some tall rock
    Uplifts his song, nor cease their cooings hoarse
    The wood-pigeons that are your heart's delight,
    Nor doves their moaning in the elm-tree top.

    TITYRUS
    Sooner shall light stags, therefore, feed in air,
    The seas their fish leave naked on the strand,
    Germans and Parthians shift their natural bounds,
    And these the Arar, those the Tigris drink,
    Than from my heart his face and memory fade.

    MELIBOEUS
    But we far hence, to burning Libya some,
    Some to the Scythian steppes, or thy swift flood,
    Cretan Oaxes, now must wend our way,
    Or Britain, from the whole world sundered far.
    Ah! shall I ever in aftertime behold
    My native bounds- see many a harvest hence
    With ravished eyes the lowly turf-roofed cot
    Where I was king? These fallows, trimmed so fair,
    Some brutal soldier will possess these fields
    An alien master. Ah! to what a pass
    Has civil discord brought our hapless folk!
    For such as these, then, were our furrows sown!
    Now, Meliboeus, graft your pears, now set
    Your vines in order! Go, once happy flock,
    My she-goats, go. Never again shall I,
    Stretched in green cave, behold you from afar
    Hang from the bushy rock; my songs are sung;
    Never again will you, with me to tend,
    On clover-flower, or bitter willows, browse.

    TITYRUS
    Yet here, this night, you might repose with me,
    On green leaves pillowed: apples ripe have I,
    Soft chestnuts, and of curdled milk enow.
    And, see, the farm-roof chimneys smoke afar,
    And from the hills the shadows lengthening fall!
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