Pretend to woo another:—­and she hears
    (Heaven help me!) and is faint with jealousy;
    And hurrying from the sea-wave as if stung,
    Scans with keen glance my grotto and my flock. 
    ’Twas I hissed on the dog to bark at her;
    For, when I loved her, he would whine and lay
    His muzzle in her lap.  These things she’ll note
    Mayhap, and message send on message soon: 
    But I will bar my door until she swear
    To make me on this isle fair bridal-bed. 
    And I am less unlovely than men say. 
    I looked into the mere (the mere was calm),
    And goodly seemed my beard, and goodly seemed
    My solitary eye, and, half-revealed,
    My teeth gleamed whiter than the Parian marl. 
    Thrice for good luck I spat upon my robe: 
    That learned I of the hag Cottytaris—­her
    Who fluted lately with Hippocooen’s mowers.”

      Damoetas then kissed Daphnis lovingly: 
    One gave a pipe and one a goodly flute. 
    Straight to the shepherd’s flute and herdsman’s pipe
    The younglings bounded in the soft green grass: 
    And neither was o’ermatched, but matchless both.

IDYLL VII.

Harvest-Home.

    Once on a time did Eucritus and I
    (With us Amyntas) to the riverside
    Steal from the city.  For Lycopeus’ sons
    Were that day busy with the harvest-home,
    Antigenes and Phrasidemus, sprung
    (If aught thou holdest by the good old names)
    By Clytia from great Chalcon—­him who erst
    Planted one stalwart knee against the rock,
    And lo, beneath his foot Burine’s rill
    Brake forth, and at its side poplar and elm
    Shewed aisles of pleasant shadow, greenly roofed
    By tufted leaves.  Scarce midway were we now,
    Nor yet descried the tomb of Brasilas: 
    When, thanks be to the Muses, there drew near
    A wayfarer from Crete, young Lycidas. 
    The horned herd was his care:  a glance might tell
    So much:  for every inch a herdsman he. 
    Slung o’er his shoulder was a ruddy hide
    Torn from a he-goat, shaggy, tangle-haired,
    That reeked of rennet yet:  a broad belt clasped
    A patched cloak round his breast, and for a staff
    A gnarled wild-olive bough his right hand bore. 
    Soon with a quiet smile he spoke—­his eye
    Twinkled, and laughter sat upon his lip: 
    “And whither ploddest thou thy weary way
    Beneath the noontide sun, Simichidas? 
    For now the lizard sleeps upon the wall,
    The crested lark folds now his wandering wing. 
    Dost speed, a bidden guest, to some reveller’s board? 
    Or townward to the treading of the grape? 
    For lo! recoiling from thy hurrying feet
    The pavement-stones ring out right merrily.” 
    Then I:  “Friend Lycid, all men say that none