who was in the company of Rosaura and Florisa and of the fair Silveria newly wed, with two other shepherdesses of the same village. And though Galatea saw the shepherds coming, she would not for that reason abandon the song she had begun, but rather seemed to give tokens that she felt pleasure at the shepherds listening to her, and they did so with all the attention possible; and what they succeeded in hearing of what the shepherdess was singing, was the following: GALATEA. Whither shall I turn mine eyes In the woe that is at hand, If my troubles nearer stand, As my bliss the further flies? I am doomed to grievous pain By the grief that bids me roam: If it slays me when at home, When abroad what shall I gain? Just obedience, hard to bear! For I have the 'yes' to say In obedience, which some day My death-sentence shall declare; I am set such ills among, That as happiness 'twould be Counted, if life were to me Wanting, or at least a tongue. Brief the hours, ah! brief and weary Have the hours been of my gladness Everlasting those of sadness, Full of dread and ever dreary; In my happy girlhood's hour I enjoyed my liberty, But, alas! now slavery O'er my will asserts its power. Lo! the battle cruel doth prove, Which they wage against my thought, If, when they have fiercely fought, I love not, yet needs must love; Oh displeasing power of place! For, in reverence of the old I my hands must meekly fold And my tender neck abase. What! have I farewell to say, See no more the golden river, Leave behind my flock for ever, And in sadness go away? Shall these trees of leafy shade, Shall these meadows broad and green Never, nevermore, be seen By the eyes of this sad maid? Ah! what doest thou, cruel sire? Lo! the truth is known full well, That thou from me life dost steal In fulfilling thy desire; If there is not in my sighs Power to tell thee my distress, What my tongue cannot express, Mayst thou learn it from my eyes. Now I picture in its gloom The sad hour when we must sever, The sweet glory, lost for ever, And the mournful, bitter, tomb; Unknown husband's joyless face, Troubles of the toilsome road, And his aged mother's mood, Peevish, for I take her place.