Classic Poem

Lycidas, Moeris Lyc.

Ho Moeris! whither on thy way so fast?
This leads to town. Moe.
O Lycidas, at last
The time is come I never thought to see
(Strange revolution for my farm and me),
When the grim captain in a surly tone
Cries out, " Pack up, ye rascals, and be gone."
Kicked out, we set the best face on 't we could,
And these two kids, to' appease his angry mood
I bear, of which the devil give him good. Lyc.
Good gods! I heard a quite contrary tale,
That from the sloping mountain to the vale
And doddered oak, and all the banks along,
Menalcas saved his fortune with a song. Moe.
Such was the news, indeed, but songs and rhymes
Prevail as much in these hard iron times
As would a plump of trembling fowl that rise
Against an eagle sousing from the skies;
And had not Phoebus warned me by the croak
Of an old raven from a hollow oak
To shun debate, Menalcas had been slain,
And Moeris not survived him to complain. Lyc.
Now heaven defend! could barbarous rage prevail
So far the sacred Muses to assail?
Who then should sing the nymphs, or who rehearse
The waters gliding in a smoother verse?
Or Amaryllis praise — that heavenly lay
That shortened as we went our tedious way:
" O Tityrus, tend my herd and see them fed,
To morning pastures, evening waters led,
And 'ware the Libyan ridgel's butting head." Moe.
Or what unfinished he to Varus read:
" Thy name, O Varus, if the kinder powers
Preserve our plains, and shield the Mantuan towers
Obnoxious by Cremona's neighbouring crime,
The wings of swans, and stronger-pinioned rhyme
Shall raise aloft, and soaring bear above
Th' immortal gift of gratitude to Jove." Lyc.
Sing on, sing on, for I can ne'er be cloyed,
So may thy swarms the baleful yew avoid,
So may thy cows their burdened bags distend,
And trees to goats their willing branches bend;
Mean as I am, yet have the Muses made
Me free, a member of the tuneful trade;
At least the shepherds seem to like my lays,
But I discern their flattery from their praise:
I nor to Cinna's ears, or Varus' dare aspire,
But gabble like a goose amidst the swan-like choir. Moe.
'Tis what I have been conning in my mind;
Nor are they verses of a vulgar kind:
" Come Galatea, come, the seas forsake,
What pleasures can the tides with their hoarse murmurs make?
See on the shore inhabits purple spring,
Where nightingales their love-sick ditty sing;
See meads with purling streams, with flowers the ground,
The grottoes cool with shady poplars crowned,
And creeping vines to arbours weaved around.
Come then, and leave the waves' tumultuous roar,
Let the wild surges vainly beat the shore." Lyc.
Or that sweet song I heard with such delight,
The same you sung alone one starry night;
The tune I still retain, but not the words. Moe.
" Why, Daphnis, dost thou search in old records
To know the seasons when the stars arise?
See, Caesar's lamp is lighted in the skies,
The star whose rays the blushing grapes adorn,
And swell the kindly ripening ears of corn:
Under this influence graft the tender shoot;
Thy children's children shall enjoy the fruit."
The rest I have forgot, for cares and time
Change all things, and untune my soul to rhyme.
I could have once sung down a summer's sun,
But now the chime of poetry is done.
My voice grows hoarse, I feel the notes decay,
As if the wolves had seen me first today.
But these, and more than I to mind can bring,
Menalcas has not yet forgot to sing. Lyc.
Thy faint excuses but inflame me more,
And now the waves roll silent to the shore;
Hushed winds the topmost branches scarcely bend,
As if thy tuneful song they did attend.
Already we have half our way o'ercome:
Far off I can discern Bianor's tomb.
Here, where the labourer's hands have formed a bower
Of wreathing trees, in singing waste an hour.
Rest here thy weary limbs, thy kids lay down;
We've day before us yet to reach the town;
Of if ere night the gathering clouds we fear,
A song will help the beating storm to bear.
And that thou may'st not be too late abroad,
Sing, and I'll ease thy shoulders of thy load. Moe.
Cease to entreat me, let us mind our way;
Another song requires another day.
When good Menalcas comes, if he rejoice
And find a friend at court, I'll find a voice.