of yonder veteran beeches, all the landwas by the songs of your Menalcas saved.MOERISHeard it you had, and so the rumour ran,but 'mid the clash of arms, my Lycidas,our songs avail no more than, as 'tis said,doves of Dodona when an eagle comes.Nay, had I not, from hollow ilex-bolewarned by a raven on the left, cut shortthe rising feud, nor I, your Moeris here,no, nor Menalcas, were alive to-day.LYCIDASAlack! could any of so foul a crimebe guilty? Ah! how nearly, thyself,reft was the solace that we had in thee,Menalcas! Who then of the Nymphs had sung,or who with flowering herbs bestrewn the ground,and o'er the fountains drawn a leafy veil?—who sung the stave I filched from you that dayto Amaryllis wending, our hearts' joy?—“While I am gone, 'tis but a little way,feed, Tityrus, my goats, and, having fed,