IDYL VII.

THALYSIA.

ARGUMENT.

Simichidas and two others are travelling to a harvest-home; on their way they fall in with Lycidas, who sings for them at the request of Simichidas. The latter also favours his companions with a song. Lycidas gives a crook to Simichidas, and then pursues his journey, while the others turn off to the harvestfeast; the scene and the entertainment are described.

G

IDYL VII.

THALYSIA.

'TWAS when Amyntas, Eucritus, and I,
Did from the city to sweet Haleus hie;
The harvest-feast by that abounding river
Was kept, in honour of the harvest-giver,
By Phrasidamus and Antigenes,

Sons of Lycopeus both, and good men these,
If good there is from old and high descent,
From Clytia and from Calchon, who, knee-bent
Firmly against the rock, did make outflow
The spring Burinna with a foot-struck blow,
Near which a thickly wooded grove is seen,
Poplars and elms, high overarching green.
Midway not reached, nor tomb of Brasilas,
We chanced upon Cydonian Lycidas,

By favour of the muses: who not knew
That famous goatherd as he came in view?
A tawny, shaggy goat-skin on his back,
That of the suppling pickle yet did smack;
Bound by a belt of straw the traveller wore
An aged jerkin; in his hand he bore
A crook of the wild olive; coming nigh,
With widely parted lips, and smiling eye-
The laughter on his lip was plain to see
He quietly addressed himself to me:

"Whither so fast at noon-tide, when no more The crested larks their sunny paths explore, And in the thorn-hedge lizards lie asleep? To feast or to a wine-press do you leap? The stones ring to your buskins as you pass."

To him I made reply-" Dear Lycidas!

All say you are the piper--far the best
'Mid shepherds and the reapers; this confest
Gladdens my heart; and yet (to put in speech
My fancy), I expect your skill to reach.

Our

way is to a harvest-feast, which cater

Dear friends of ours for richly robed Damater,

Offering their first fruits since their garner-floor
Her bounteous love hath filled to running o'er.
Let us with pastoral song beguile the way;
Common the path, and common is the day.
We shall each other, it may be, content;
For I, too, am a mouth-piece eloquent
Of the dear Muses; and all men esteem,

And call me minstrel good

not that I deem,

Not I by Earth! Philetas I surpass,
Nor the famed Samian bard, Sicelidas,

A frog compared with locusts I beguile

The time with song." He answered with a smile :

"This crook I give thee-for thou art all over

An imp of Zeus, a genuine truth-lover.

Who strives to build, the lowly plain upon,

A mansion high as is Oromedon,

I hate exceedingly; and for that matter

The muse-birds, who like cuckoos, idly chatter
Against the Chian minstrel, toil in vain :
Let us at once begin the pastoral strain;
Here is a little song, which I did late,
Musing along the highlands, meditate :