ERASTRO. Before the light of yonder peaceful eyes, Whereby the sun is lit the earth to light, My soul is so inflamed, that, in despite, I fear that death will soon secure the prize. Yon clustered rays descending from the skies, Sent by the Lord of Delos, are thus bright: Such are the tresses of my heart's delight, Whom, kneeling, I adore with litanies. Oh radiant light, ray of the radiant sun, Nay sun in very truth, to thee I pray, That thou wouldst let me love,--this boon alone. If jealous Heaven this boon to me deny, Let me not die of grief though grief doth slay, But grant, oh rays, that of a ray I die. The shepherds did not think ill of the sonnet, nor were they displeased with Erastro's voice, which, though not one of the most exquisite, was yet a tuneful one; and straightway Elicio, moved by Erastro's example, bade him play his pipe, to the sound of which he repeated this sonnet: ELICIO. Alas! that to the lofty purpose, born Within the fastness of my loving mind, All are opposed, to wit, Heaven, fire and wind, Water and earth, and she that doth me scorn! They are my foes; 'twere better I should mourn My rashness, and the enterprise begun Abandon. But the impulse who can shun Of ruthless fate, by Love's persistence torn? Though Heaven on high, though Love, though wind and fire, Water and earth, and even my fair foe, Each one, with might, and with my fate allied, Should stay my bliss and scatter my desire, My hope undoing,--yet, though hope should go, I cannot cease to do what I have tried. As Elicio finished, straightway Damon, to the sound of the same pipe of Erastro, began to sing in this wise: DAMON. Softer than wax was I, when on my breast I did imprint the image of the face Of Amaryllis, cruel 'midst her grace, Like to hard marble, or to savage beast. 'Twas then Love set me in the loftiest Sphere of his bliss, and bade sweet fortune come; But now I fear that in the silent tomb Alone shall my presumption find its rest. Of hope did Love, as vine of elm, take hold Securely, and was climbing up with speed, When moisture failed, and its ascent was stayed. 'Twas not the moisture of mine eyes: of old Their tribute ever--Fortune this doth heed-- Unto face, breast and earth, mine eyes have paid. Damon ceased, and Thyrsis, to the sound of the instruments of the three shepherds, began to sing this sonnet: