an interloper own our little farm,and say, “Be off, you former husbandmen!These fields are mine.” Now, cowed and out of heart,since Fortune turns the whole world upside down,we are taking him—ill luck go with the same!—these kids you see.LYCIDASBut surely I had heardthat where the hills first draw from off the plain,and the high ridge with gentle slope descends,down to the brook-side and the broken crestsof 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.