2
white privets fall, dark hyacinths are culled.
20
You scorn me, Alexis, who or what I am
care not to ask—how rich in flocks, or how
in snow-white milk abounding: yet for me
roam on Sicilian hills a thousand lambs;
summer or winter, still my milk-pails brim.
25
I sing as erst Amphion of Circe sang,
what time he went to call his cattle home
on Attic Aracynthus. Nor am I
so ill to look on: lately on the beach
I saw myself, when winds had stilled the sea,
30
and, if that mirror lie not, would not fear
daphnis to challenge, though yourself were judge.
Ah! were you but content with me to dwell.
Some lowly cot in the rough fields our home,
shoot down the stags, or with green osier-wand
35
round up the straggling flock! There you with me
in silvan strains will learn to rival Pan.
Pan first with wax taught reed with reed to join;
for sheep alike and shepherd Pan hath care.
