THYRSIS.

  Free speech and servitude but ill accord,
  Friend Mopsus, and the hind is folly-fraught
  Who rates his lord!  He’s wiser far than I.
  To tend these kine is all my mastery.

  SCENE II

  ARISTAEUS, in pursuit of EURYDICE.

  Flee not from me, maiden! 
    Lo, I am thy friend! 
    Dearer far than life I hold thee. 
    List, thou beauty-laden,
    To these prayers attend: 
    Flee not, let my arms enfold thee! 
    Neither wolf nor bear will grasp thee: 
    That I am thy friend I’ve told thee: 
    Stay thy course then; let me clasp thee!—­
    Since thou’rt deaf and wilt not heed me,
    Since thou’rt still before me flying,
    While I follow panting, dying,
    Lend me wings, Love, wings to speed me!

  [Exit ARISTAEUS, pursuing EURYDICE.

  SCENE III

  A DRYAD.

  Sad news of lamentation and of pain,
    Dear sisters, hath my voice to bear to you: 
    I scarcely dare to raise the dolorous strain. 
  Eurydice by yonder stream lies low;
    The flowers are fading round her stricken head,
    And the complaining waters weep their woe. 
  The stranger soul from that fair house hath fled;
    And she, like privet pale, or white May-bloom
    Untimely plucked, lies on the meadow, dead. 
  Hear then the cause of her disastrous doom! 
    A snake stole forth and stung her suddenly. 
    I am so burdened with this weight of gloom
  That, lo, I bid you all come weep with me!

  CHORUS OF DRYADS.

  Let the wide air with our complaint resound! 
    For all heaven’s light is spent. 
    Let rivers break their bound,
    Swollen with tears outpoured from our lament!

  Fell death hath ta’en their splendour from the skies: 
    The stars are sunk in gloom. 
    Stern death hath plucked the bloom
    Of nymphs:—­Eurydice down-trodden lies. 
  Weep, Love!  The woodland cries. 
    Weep, groves and founts;
    Ye craggy mounts; you leafy dell,
    Beneath whose boughs she fell,
    Bend every branch in time with this sad sound.

  Let the wide air with our complaint resound!

  Ah, fortune pitiless!  Ah, cruel snake! 
    Ah, luckless doom of woes! 
    Like a cropped summer rose,
    Or lily cut, she withers on the brake. 
  Her face, which once did make
    Our age so bright
    With beauty’s light, is faint and pale;
    And the clear lamp doth fail,
    Which shed pure splendour all the world around

  Let the wide air with our complaint resound!

  Who e’er will sing so sweetly, now she’s gone? 
      Her gentle voice to hear,
      The wild winds dared not stir;
      And now they breathe but sorrow, moan for moan: 
  So many joys are flown,
      Such jocund days
      Doth Death erase with her sweet eyes! 
      Bid earth’s lament arise,
      And make our dirge through heaven and sea rebound!