leep.
The fire that boils my pot, with oak or beech
Is piled--dry beech-logs when the snow lies deep;
And storm and sunshine, I disdain them each
As toothless sires a nut, when broth is in their reach.

I clapped applause, and straight produced my gifts:
A staff for Daphnis--'twas the handiwork
Of nature, in my father's acres grown:
Yet might a turner find no fault therewith.
I gave his mate a goodly spiral-shell:
We stalked its inmate on the Icarian rocks
And ate him, parted fivefold among five.
He blew forthwith the trumpet on his shell.
Tell, woodland Muse--and then farewell--what song
I, the chance-comer, sang before those twain.

SHEPHERD.
Ne'er let a falsehood scarify my tongue!
Crickets with crickets, ants with ants agree,
And hawks with hawks: and music sweetly sung,
Beyond all else, is grateful unto me.
Filled aye with music may my dwelling be!
Not slumber, not the bursting forth of Spring
So charms me, nor the flowers that tempt the bee,
As those sweet Sisters. He, on whom they fling
One gracious glance, is proof to Circe's blandishing.

IDYLL X.

The Two Workmen.

_MILO. BATTUS._

What now, poor o'erworked drudge, is on thy mind?
No more in even swathe thou layest the corn:
Thy fellow-reapers leave thee far behind,
As flocks a ewe that's footsore from a thorn.
By noon and midday what will be thy plight
If now, so soon, thy sickle fails to bite?

BATTUS.
Hewn from hard rocks, untired at set of sun,
Milo, didst ne'er regret some absent one?

MILO.
Not I. What time have workers for regret?

BATTUS.
Hath love ne'er kept thee from thy slumbers yet?

MILO.
Nay, heaven forbid! If once the cat taste cream!

BATTUS.
Milo, these ten days love hath been my dream.

MILO.
You drain your wine, while vinegar's scarce with me.

BATTUS.
--Hence since last spring untrimmed my borders be.

MILO.
And what lass flouts thee?

BATTUS.
She whom we heard play
Amongst Hippocooen's reapers yesterday.

MILO.
Your sins have found you out--you're e'en served right:
You'll clasp a corn-crake in your arms all night.

BATTUS.
You laugh: but headstrong Love is blind no less
Than Plutus: talking big is foolishness.