Page:Masterpieces of Greek Literature (1902).djvu/467

437 IDYL VII. HARVEST HOME 437

I spake to gain mine ends ; and laughing light so

He said : " Accept this club, as thou 'rt indeed

A born truth-teller, shaped by heaven's own hand !

I hate your builders who would rear a house

High as Oromedon's mountain-pinnacle :

I hate your song-birds too, whose cuckoo-cry 55

Struggles (in vain) to match the Chian bard.^

But come, we '11 sing forthwith, Simichidas,

Our woodland music : and for my part I —

List, comrade, if you like the simple air

I forged among the uplands yesterday." eo

{His Song.^

He spake and paused ; and thereupon spake I.

" I too, friend Lycid, as I range the fells,

Have learned much lore and pleasant from the Nymphs,

Whose fame mayhap hath reached the throne of Zeus.

But this wherewith I '11 grace thee ranks the first : es

Thou listen, since the Muses like thee well."

(The Song.)

I ceased. He smiling sweetly as before,

Gave me the staff, " the Muses' parting gift,"

And leftward sloped tow'rd Pyxa. ΛΥβ the while,

Bent us to Phrasydeme's, Eucritus and I, 70

And baby-faced Amyntas : there we lay

Half-buried in a couch of fragrant reed

And fresh-cut vine-leaves, who so glad as we ?

A wealth of elm and poplar shook o'erhead ;

Hard by, a sacred spring flowed gurgling on 75

From the Nymph's grot, and in the sombre boughs

The sweet cicada chirped laboriously.

Hid in the thick thorn-bushes far away

1 Homer.