Page:Eclogues of Virgil (1908).djvu/29



My Muse at first did condescend to sing

In Syracusan verse, nor did she blush

To dwell in simple woodland. As for me,

As I was praising battles fierce, and kings,

Apollo twitched my ear, with this advice:

"A shepherd, Tityrus, may tend fat sheep,

But it becomes him to subdue his song."

Now will I hold my slender reed awhile

And meditate upon the Muse of fields;

For there be many, Varus, who will long

To tell thy praises, and describe grim wars.

Nor do I sing a quite unbidden strain:

But if there should be one to read my verse,

Induced by love—oh, Varus, every grove

And all our shrubs shall surely sing of thee.

There is no page that pleases Phœbus more

Than does that one that Varus' name doth bear.

Muses, continue. In a cave, two boys

Chromis, and Mnasylos, Silenus found

Lying asleep, all swollen with the wine

Of yesterday, as always he is seen.