The Shepherds

Cyllene's deep defiles this path leads to.
Then come. Behold his cave and spring. 'Tis there
He lies on thymy bed, and fills the air
With strains beneath yon pine that towers in view.

To this trunk moss-grown tie thy pregnant ewe;—
Dost know, ere long with lambkin, she will bear
Some cheese and milk for him? And nymphs will wear,
Spun from her wool by them, a mantle new.

Mayst be propitious, Pan!—Goat-footed one,
Who guard'st the flocks that on Arcadia run,
Thee I invoke ... He hears! The tree gives sign!

The sun sinks down the radiant West. Depart.
The poor's gift, friend, is as the marble shrine,
If offered to the Gods with guileless heart.