Let us sing a pastoral song; call upon Pan, god of the wind of summer. Selenis and I each watch our flocks, from the round shadow of an olive tree which trembles. Selenis lies upon the meadow. She raises herself and runs, searches for grasshoppers, gathers the flowers and herbs or bathes her face in the cool waters of the brook. And I--I draw up the wool from the white backs of the sheep to garnish my distaff, and I spin. The hours move slowly. In the sky, an eagle passes. The shadow turns; let us move the basket of flowers and the jar of milk. Let us sing a pastoral song, call upon Pan, god of the wind of summer. III MATERNAL ADVICE My mother bathes me in the darkness, she dresses me in the bright sunlight and arranges my hair in the light of lamps; but if we walk out in the moonlight she draws my girdle into a double knot. She says to me: “Play with virgins, dance with little children; look not out of the window, shun the words of young men and turn from the counsel of widows. “One evening, someone will take thee, as others are taken, over the threshold, amidst a great assemblage with sonorous drums and amorous flutes. “That evening, when thou goest away, Bilito, thou wilt leave me three gourds of gall, one for the morning, one for midday and the third, the bitterest, the third for the days of festival.” IV THE NAKED FEET I have black hair all the length of my back and a small round cap. My shirt is of white wool. My legs are fast browned by the sun. If I lived in the city, I would wear jewels of gold and garments broidered with gold and shoes of silver.... I regard my naked feet in their slippers of dust. Psophis! come here, little beggar! carry me to the spring, bathe my feet in thy hands and press olives and violets to perfume them like the flowers. Today thou shalt be my slave, thou shalt follow me and serve me and, at the end of the day, I will give thee, for thy mother, lentils from my garden. V THE OLD MAN AND THE NYMPHS A blind old man lives upon the mountain. For looking upon the nymphs, his eyes have been dead for a long time. And, since, his happiness is a distant memory. “Yes, I have seen them,” he said to me; “Helopsychria, Limnanthis; they were standing near the bank of the green pool of Physos. The water sparkled higher than their knees. “Their necks inclined beneath their long hair. Their nails were thin as the wings of grasshoppers. Their nipples were hollowed like the cups of hyacinths. “They trailed their fingers upon the water and drew up, from an invisible vase, the long-stemmed water-lilies. Around their parted thighs, the ripples slowly widened.” VI SONG