The Goatherd

Pursue, O shepherd, in this gorge no more
That bounding, stupid goat; for on the side
Of Maenalus, where summer bids us bide,
Night rises quickly, so thy hope give o'er.

Rest here; of figs and wine I've ample store.
All day this wild retreat have we espied.
Speak low, Mnasylus, Gods roam far and wide
And Hecate's eyes this very spot explore.

A Satyr's cave is yon dark gap below—
Familiar demon whom these summits know.
Be still and he may come from out his nook.

Dost hear the pipe that sings upon his lip?—
'Tis he! His horns now catch the rays; and look,
He makes my charmed goats in the moonlight trip.