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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;
"TU NE QUAESIERIS."
EEK not, O Maid, to know (Alas! unblest the trying!) When thou and I must go.
No lore of stars can show.
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! Hearken awhile to the prayer of us,—
Beggars that come from the over-seas! Nothing we ask of the things that please; Weary are we, and worn, and gray;
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.)