they grew, and pleached with leaves of green. We had not yet reached
the mid-point of the way, nor was the tomb of Brasilas yet risen upon
our sight, when,--thanks be to the Muses--we met a certain wayfarer,
the best of men, a Cydonian. Lycidas was his name, a goatherd was
he, nor could any that saw him have taken him for other than he was,
for all about him bespoke the goatherd. Stripped from the roughest
of he-goats was the tawny skin he wore on his shoulders, the smell of
rennet clinging to it still, and about his breast an old cloak was
buckled with a plaited belt, and in his right hand he carried a
crooked staff of wild olive: and quietly he accosted me, with a
smile, a twinkling eye, and a laugh still on his lips:-

'Simichidas, whither, pray, through the noon dost thou trail thy
feet, when even the very lizard on the rough stone wall is sleeping,
and the crested larks no longer fare afield? Art thou hastening to a
feast, a bidden guest, or art thou for treading a townsman's wine-
press? For such is thy speed that every stone upon the way spins
singing from thy boots!'

'Dear Lycidas,' I answered him, 'they all say that thou among
herdsmen, yea, and reapers art far the chiefest flute-player. In
sooth this greatly rejoices our hearts, and yet, to my conceit,
meseems I can vie with thee. But as to this journey, we are going to
the harvest-feast, for, look you some friends of ours are paying a
festival to fair-robed Demeter, out of the first-fruits of their
increase, for verily in rich measure has the goddess filled their
threshing-floor with barley grain. But come, for the way and the day
are thine alike and mine, come, let us vie in pastoral song,
perchance each will make the other delight. For I, too, am a clear-
voiced mouth of the Muses, and they all call me the best of