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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,—
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.
Now,-now, churl Time is flying;
Seek not, O Maid, to know
"PRINCES!—and you, most valorous,
Nobles and Barons of all degrees!
Hearken awhile to the prayer of us,-
"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.)