All of rich summer smacked, of autumn all: 
    Pears at our feet, and apples at our side
    Rolled in luxuriance; branches on the ground
    Sprawled, overweighed with damsons; while we brushed
    From the cask’s head the crust of four long years. 
    Say, ye who dwell upon Parnassian peaks,
    Nymphs of Castalia, did old Chiron e’er
    Set before Heracles a cup so brave
    In Pholus’ cavern—­did as nectarous draughts
    Cause that Anapian shepherd, in whose hand
    Rocks were as pebbles, Polypheme the strong,
    Featly to foot it o’er the cottage lawns:—­
    As, ladies, ye bid flow that day for us
    All by Demeter’s shrine at harvest-home? 
    Beside whose cornstacks may I oft again
    Plant my broad fan:  while she stands by and smiles,
    Poppies and cornsheaves on each laden arm.

IDYLL VIII.

The Triumph of Daphnis.

DAPHNIS.  MENALCAS.  A GOATHERD.

    Daphnis, the gentle herdsman, met once, as legend tells,
    Menalcas making with his flock the circle of the fells. 
    Both chins were gilt with coming beards:  both lads could sing and play: 
    Menalcas glanced at Daphnis, and thus was heard to say:—­
    “Art thou for singing, Daphnis, lord of the lowing kine? 
    I say my songs are better, by what thou wilt, than thine.” 
    Then in his turn spake Daphnis, and thus he made reply: 
    “O shepherd of the fleecy flock, thou pipest clear and high;
    But come what will, Menalcas, thou ne’er wilt sing as I.”

    MENALCAS. 
    This art thou fain to ascertain, and risk a bet with me?

    DAPHNIS. 
    This I full fain would ascertain, and risk a bet with thee.

    MENALCAS. 
    But what, for champions such as we, would, seem a fitting prize?

    DAPHNIS. 
    I stake a calf:  stake thou a lamb, its mother’s self in size.

    MENALCAS. 
    A lamb I’ll venture never:  for aye at close of day
    Father and mother count the flock, and passing strict are they.

    DAPHNIS. 
    Then what shall be the victor’s fee?  What wager wilt thou lay?

    MENALCAS. 
    A pipe discoursing through nine mouths I made, full fair to view;
    The wax is white thereon, the line of this and that edge true. 
    I’ll risk it:  risk my father’s own is more than I dare do.

    DAPHNIS. 
    A pipe discoursing through nine mouths, and fair, hath Daphnis too: 
    The wax is white thereon, the line of this and that edge true. 
    But yesterday I made it:  this finger feels the pain
    Still, where indeed the rifted reed hath cut it clean in twain. 
    But who shall be our umpire? who listen to our strain?

    MENALCAS. 
    Suppose we hail yon goatherd; him at whose horned herd now
    The dog is barking—­yonder dog with white upon his brow.