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 setyour vines in order! Go, once happy flock,my she-goats, go. Never again shall I,stretched in green cave, behold you from afarhang from the bushy rock; my songs are sung;never again will you, with me to tend,on clover-flower, or bitter willows, browse.TITYRUSYet here, this night, you might repose with me,on green leaves pillowed: apples ripe have I,soft chestnuts, and of curdled milk enow.And, see, the farm-roof chimneys smoke afar,