COMETAS.

A cushat I will presently procure and give to her Who loves me: I know where it sits; up in the juniper.

LACON.

Pooh! a soft fleece, to make a coat, I'll give the day I shear My brindled ewe--(no hand but mine shall touch it)--to my dear.

COMETAS.

Back, lambs, from that wild-olive: and be content to browse Here on the shoulder of the hill, beneath the myrtle boughs.

LACON.

Run, (will ye?) Ball and Dogstar, down from that oak tree, run: And feed where Spot is feeding, and catch the morning sun.

COMETAS.

I have a bowl of cypress-wood: I have besides a cup: Praxiteles designed them: for _her_ they're treasured up.

LACON.

I have a dog who throttles wolves: he loves the sheep, and they Love him: I'll give him to my dear, to keep wild beasts at bay.

COMETAS.

Ye locusts that o'erleap my fence, oh let my vines escape Your clutches, I beseech you: the bloom is on the grape.

LACON.

Ye crickets, mark how nettled our friend the goatherd is!

I ween, ye cost the reapers pangs as acute as his.

COMETAS.

Those foxes with their bushy tails, I hate to see them crawl Round Micon's homestead and purloin his grapes at evenfall.

LACON.

_I_ hate to see the beetles that come warping on the wind.

And climb Philondas' trees, and leave never a fig behind.

COMETAS.

Have you forgot that cudgelling I gave you? At each stroke You grinned and twisted with a grace, and clung to yonder oak.

LACON.

That I've forgot--but I have not, how once Eumares tied You to that selfsame oak-trunk, and tanned your unclean hide.

COMETAS.

There's some one ill--of heartburn. You note it, I presume, Morson? Go quick, and fetch a squill from some old beldam's tomb.

LACON.

I think I'm stinging somebody, as Morson too perceives-- Go to the river and dig up a clump of sowbread-leaves.

COMETAS.

May Himera flow, not water, but milk: and may'st thou blush, Crathis, with wine; and fruitage grow upon every rush.

LACON.

For me may Sybaris' fountain flow, pure honey: so that you, My fair, may dip your pitcher each morn in honey-dew.

COMETAS.

My goats are fed on clover and goat's-delight: they tread On lentisk leaves; or lie them down, ripe strawberries o'er their head.

LACON.

My sheep crop honeysuckle bloom, while all around them blows In cl.u.s.ters rich the jasmine, as brave as any rose.

COMETAS.

I scorn my maid; for when she took my cushat, she did not Draw with both hands my face to hers and kiss me on the spot.

LACON.

I love my love, and hugely: for, when I gave my flute, I was rewarded with a kiss, a loving one to boot.

COMETAS.

Lacon, the nightingale should scarce be challenged by the jay, Nor swan by hoopoe: but, poor boy, thou aye wert for a fray.

MORSON.

I bid the shepherd hold his peace. Cometas, unto you I, Morson, do adjudge the lamb. You'll first make offering due Unto the nymphs: then savoury meat you'll send to Morson too.

COMETAS.

By Pan I will! Snort, all my herd of he-goats: I shall now O'er Lacon, shepherd as he is, crow ye shall soon see how.

I've won, and I could leap sky-high! Ye also dance and skip, My horned ewes: in Sybaris' fount to-morrow all shall dip.

Ho! you, sir, with the glossy coat and dangerous crest; you dare Look at a ewe, till I have slain my lamb, and ill you'll fare.

What! is he at his tricks again? He is, and he will get (Or my name's not Cometas) a proper pounding yet.

IDYLL VI.

The Drawn Battle.

DAPHNIS. DAMOETAS.

Daphnis the herdsman and Damoetas once Had driven, Aratus, to the selfsame glen.

One chin was yellowing, one shewed half a beard.

And by a brookside on a summer noon The pair sat down and sang; but Daphnis led The song, for Daphnis was the challenger.

DAPHNIS.

"See! Galatea pelts thy flock with fruit, And calls their master 'Lack-love,' Polypheme.

Thou mark'st her not, blind, blind, but pipest aye Thy wood-notes. See again, she smites thy dog: Sea-ward the fleeced flocks' sentinel peers and barks, And, through the clear wave visible to her still, Careers along the gently babbling beach.

Look that he leap not on the maid new-risen From her sea-bath and rend her dainty limbs.

She fools thee, near or far, like thistle-waifs In hot sweet summer: flies from thee when wooed, Unwooed pursues thee: risks all moves to win; For, Polypheme, things foul seem fair to Love."

And then, due prelude made, Damoetas sang.

DAMOETAS.

"I marked her pelt my dog, I was not blind, By Pan, by this my one my precious eye That bounds my vision now and evermore!

But Telemus the Seer, be his the woe, His and his children's, that he promised me!