the 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,or Britain, from the whole world sundered far.Ah! shall I ever in aftertime beholdmy native bounds—see many a harvest hencewith ravished eyes the lowly turf-roofed cotwhere I was king? These fallows, trimmed so fair,some brutal soldier will possess these fieldsan alien master. Ah! to what a passhas civil discord brought our hapless folk!For such as these, then, were our furrows sown!Now, Meliboeus, graft your pears, now set