<SPAN name="book09"></SPAN>
<h3> ECLOGUE IX<br/> </h3>
<h3> LYCIDAS MOERIS<br/> </h3>
<br/>
<p class="poem">
LYCIDAS<br/>
Say whither, Moeris?- Make you for the town,<br/>
Or on what errand bent?<br/></p>
<p class="poem">
MOERIS<br/></p>
<p class="poem">
<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 15em">O Lycidas,</SPAN><br/>
We have lived to see, what never yet we feared,<br/>
An interloper own our little farm,<br/>
And say, "Be off, you former husbandmen!<br/>
These fields are mine." Now, cowed and out of heart,<br/>
Since Fortune turns the whole world upside down,<br/>
We are taking him- ill luck go with the same!-'<br/>
These kids you see.<br/></p>
<p class="poem">
LYCIDAS<br/></p>
<p class="poem">
<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 11em">But surely I had heard</SPAN><br/>
That where the hills first draw from off the plain,<br/>
And the high ridge with gentle slope descends,<br/>
Down to the brook-side and the broken crests<br/>
Of yonder veteran beeches, all the land<br/>
Was by the songs of your Menalcas saved.<br/></p>
<p class="poem">
MOERIS<br/>
Heard it you had, and so the rumour ran,<br/>
But 'mid the clash of arms, my Lycidas,<br/>
Our songs avail no more than, as 'tis said,<br/>
Doves of Dodona when an eagle comes.<br/>
Nay, had I not, from hollow ilex-bole<br/>
Warned by a raven on the left, cut short<br/>
The rising feud, nor I, your Moeris here,<br/>
No, nor Menalcas, were alive to-day.<br/></p>
<p class="poem">
LYCIDAS<br/>
Alack! could any of so foul a crime<br/>
Be guilty? Ah! how nearly, thyself,<br/>
Reft was the solace that we had in thee,<br/>
Menalcas! Who then of the Nymphs had sung,<br/>
Or who with flowering herbs bestrewn the ground,<br/>
And o'er the fountains drawn a leafy veil?-<br/>
Who sung the stave I filched from you that day<br/>
To Amaryllis wending, our hearts' joy?-<br/>
"While I am gone, 'tis but a little way,<br/>
Feed, Tityrus, my goats, and, having fed,<br/>
Drive to the drinking-pool, and, as you drive,<br/>
Beware the he-goat; with his horn he butts."<br/></p>
<p class="poem">
MOERIS<br/>
Ay, or to Varus that half-finished lay,<br/>
"Varus, thy name, so still our Mantua live-<br/>
Mantua to poor Cremona all too near-<br/>
Shall singing swans bear upward to the stars."<br/></p>
<p class="poem">
LYCIDAS<br/>
So may your swarms Cyrnean yew-trees shun,<br/>
Your kine with cytisus their udders swell,<br/>
Begin, if aught you have. The Muses made<br/>
Me too a singer; I too have sung; the swains<br/>
Call me a poet, but I believe them not:<br/>
For naught of mine, or worthy Varius yet<br/>
Or Cinna deem I, but account myself<br/>
A cackling goose among melodious swans.<br/></p>
<p class="poem">
MOERIS<br/>
'Twas in my thought to do so, Lycidas;<br/>
Even now was I revolving silently<br/>
If this I could recall- no paltry song:<br/>
"Come, Galatea, what pleasure is 't to play<br/>
Amid the waves? Here glows the Spring, here earth<br/>
Beside the streams pours forth a thousand flowers;<br/>
Here the white poplar bends above the cave,<br/>
And the lithe vine weaves shadowy covert: come,<br/>
Leave the mad waves to beat upon the shore."<br/></p>
<p class="poem">
LYCIDAS<br/>
What of the strain I heard you singing once<br/>
On a clear night alone? the notes I still<br/>
Remember, could I but recall the words.<br/></p>
<p class="poem">
MOERIS<br/>
"Why, Daphnis, upward gazing, do you mark<br/>
The ancient risings of the Signs? for look<br/>
Where Dionean Caesar's star comes forth<br/>
In heaven, to gladden all the fields with corn,<br/>
And to the grape upon the sunny slopes<br/>
Her colour bring! Now, the pears;<br/>
So shall your children's children pluck their fruit.<br/></p>
<p class="poem">
Time carries all things, even our wits, away.<br/>
Oft, as a boy, I sang the sun to rest,<br/>
But all those songs are from my memory fled,<br/>
And even his voice is failing Moeris now;<br/>
The wolves eyed Moeris first: but at your wish<br/>
Menalcas will repeat them oft enow.<br/></p>
<p class="poem">
LYCIDAS<br/>
Your pleas but linger out my heart's desire:<br/>
Now all the deep is into silence hushed,<br/>
And all the murmuring breezes sunk to sleep.<br/>
We are half-way thither, for Bianor's tomb<br/>
Begins to show: here, Moeris, where the hinds<br/>
Are lopping the thick leafage, let us sing.<br/>
Set down the kids, yet shall we reach the town;<br/>
Or, if we fear the night may gather rain<br/>
Ere we arrive, then singing let us go,<br/>
Our way to lighten; and, that we may thus<br/>
Go singing, I will case you of this load.<br/></p>
<p class="poem">
MOERIS<br/>
Cease, boy, and get we to the work in hand:<br/>
We shall sing better when himself is come.<br/></p>
<br/><br/><br/>
<div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />