Classic Poem

From upland pastures, where the flocks are wending,
Slow-footed ways thro heather-bells and fern,
Comes down a sound with sea-born murmurs blending
Of lips that make sweet melody in turn.
'T is Daphnis with Menalcas sharp-contending
For the bright flute which both are keen to earn;
While hard at hand a goatherd tarries, bending
Rapt ears of judgment while the singers burn.
Menalcas, first, hymns Love and all the blessing
Which haps to field and fold where Love's feet stray;
He tells of dearth and leanness clear confessing
What ills befall, should Love despised betray;
Ah, poor the man, tho land and gold possessing,
In whose demesne no Love consents to stay.