Page:Eclogues of Virgil (1908).djvu/9

 What could I do? Not be from service free,

Nor find elsewhere the gods that give us aid.

Here, Melibœus, that young man I saw

To whom, year after year, our altars smoke

For twice six days: at once unto my prayer

He made reply: "My children, feed your herds,

And train your bulls, as ye have done of yore."

How blest is thy old age! thou hast the fields

That meet thy wants, albeit the pastures all

Are covered with bare stones, or marsh-grown reeds.

Thy breeding ewes will eat accustomed food

Nor from a neighbour's flock take any ill.

O fortunate old friend! Near well-known streams

And hallowed fountains canst thou woo cool shade

Near boundary hedge, where bees from Hybla, take

Their fill of honeyed willow-blossom, thou

By their sweet murmurous hum wilt oft be lulled

To softest slumber! Here beneath high rocks

The gatherers of leaves, with cheerful songs

Fill the high winds. Meanwhile thy turtle doves

And hoarse wood pigeons from the lofty elms

Make endless moan.

And so shall never fade

His visage from my heart: sooner than that

May the wild stags be pastured on the air

Or the sea waves cast fishes on the shore!

Or exiled Parthians, breaking bounds, shall drink

Of Arar's stream—Germans, of Tigris old.

But as for us, we turn our weary steps