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FOR A COPY OF THEOCRITUS.
SINGER of the field and fold, THEOCRITUS! Pan's pipe was thine,Thine was the happier Age of Gold.
For thee the scent of new-turned mould,
Thou sang'st the simple feasts of old,— The beechen bowl made glad with wine. . Thine was the happier Age of Gold.
Thou bad'st the rustic loves be told,-
And round thee, ever-laughing, rolled
Alas for us! Our songs are cold;
O Singer of the field and fold,
"TU NE QUAESIERIS."
EEK not, O Maid, to know (Alas! unblest the trying!) When thou and I must go.
Will Jove long years bestow ?—
Now,-when the great winds blow, And waves the reef are plying?.. Seek not, O Maid, to know.
Rather let clear wine flow,
Lies dark; then be it so.
RINCES!-and you, most valorous, Nobles and Barons of all degrees! Hearken awhile to the prayer of us,
Beggars that come from the over-seas! Nothing we ask or of gold or fees; Harry us not with the hounds we pray;
Lo, for the surcote's hem we seize,— Give us-ah! give us-but Yesterday !"
"Dames most delicate, amorous !
Damosels blithe as the belted bees!
Nothing we ask of the things that please;
Lo,-for we clutch and we clasp your knees,--Give us-ah! give us-but Yesterday !"
"Damosels-Dames, be piteous!"
(But the dames rode fast by the roadway trees.) "Hear us, O Knights magnanimous !"
(But the knights pricked on in their panoplies.)