LAUSO. Blessèd art thou, though fortune did forsake Thee countless times, for thou dost joyous live, No shadow now doth thy contentment break. THYRSIS. This mortal lowliness that thou didst leave Behind, more full of changes than the moon, Little doth weary thee, doth little grieve. DAMON. Humility thou changedst for the boon Of loftiness, evil for good, and death For life--thy fears and hopes were surely one. ELICIO. He who lives well, though he in semblance hath Fallen, doth soar to Heaven on lofty wing, As thou, Meliso, by the flowery path. There, there, from throats immortal issuing, The voice resounds, that glory doth recite, Glory repeateth, glory sweet doth sing. There the serene fair countenance and bright We see, and in the sight thereof behold Glory's supreme perfection with delight. My feeble voice to praise thee waxeth bold, Yet, e'en as my desire doth greater grow, In check my fear, Meliso, doth it hold. For that which I, with mind uplifted, now View of that hallowed mind of thine, and see Exalted far above all human show, Hath made my mind a coward utterly; I may but press my lips together, may But raise my brows in wondering ecstasy. LAUSO. When thou dost go, thou fillest with dismay All who their pleasure in thy presence sought; Evil draws nigh, for thou dost go away. THYRSIS. In days gone by the rustic shepherds taught Themselves thy wisdom, in that self-same hour They gained new understanding, wiser thought. But, ah! there came the inevitable hour, When thou departedst, and we did remain, With hearts dead, and with minds bereft of power. We celebrate this memory of pain, We who our love for thee in life have shown, E'en as in death we mourn thee once again. So to the sound of your confusèd moan, New breath the while receiving ceaselessly, Shepherds, your sad and mournful chant intone! Even as is the bitter agony, So be the welling tears, so be the sighs, Wherewith the wind is swollen that hastens by. Little I ask, little the boon I prize, But ye must feel all that my tongue to you Can now unfold with feeble, stammering cries. But Phoebus now departs, and robs of hue The earth that doth her sable mantle don. So till the longed-for dawn shall come anew, Shepherds, no more your mournful chant intone!