be choked with rushy mire, your ewes with youngby no strange fodder will be tried, nor hurtthrough taint contagious of a neighbouring flock.Happy old man, who 'mid familiar streamsand hallowed springs, will court the cooling shade!Here, as of old, your neighbour's bordering hedge,that feasts with willow-flower the Hybla bees,shall oft with gentle murmur lull to sleep,while the leaf-dresser beneath some tall rockuplifts his song, nor cease their cooings hoarsethe wood-pigeons that are your heart's delight,nor doves their moaning in the elm-tree top.TITYRUSSooner shall light stags, therefore, feed in air,the seas their fish leave naked on the strand,germans and Parthians shift their natural bounds,and these the Arar, those the Tigris drink,than from my heart his face and memory fade.MELIBOEUSBut we far hence, to burning Libya some,some to the Scythian steppes, or thy swift flood,cretan Oaxes, now must wend our way,