our yearly vows, and when with lustral ritesthe fields we hallow. Long as the wild boarshall love the mountain-heights, and fish the streams,while bees on thyme and crickets feed on dew,thy name, thy praise, thine honour, shall endure.Even as to Bacchus and to Ceres, soto thee the swain his yearly vows shall make;and thou thereof, like them, shalt quittance claim.”MOPSUSHow, how repay thee for a song so rare?For not the whispering south-wind on its wayso much delights me, nor wave-smitten beach,nor streams that race adown their bouldered beds.MENALCASFirst this frail hemlock-stalk to you I give,which taught me “Corydon with love was firedfor fair Alexis,” ay, and this beside,“Who owns the flock?—Meliboeus?”MOPSUSBut take youthis shepherd's crook, which, howso hard he begged,antigenes, then worthy to be loved,prevailed not to obtain—with brass, you see,