Freedom, which came at length, though slow to come. Nor did my search of liberty begin, Till my black hairs were changed upon my chin; Nor Amaryllis would vouchsafe a look, Till Galatea's meaner bonds I broke. Till then a helpless, hopeless, homely swain, I sought not freedom, nor aspired to gain: Though many a victim from my folds was bought, And many a cheese to country markets brought, Yet all the little that I got, I spent, And still returned as empty as I went. MELIBOEUS. We stood amazed to see your mistress mourn, Unknowing that she pined for your return; We wondered why she kept her fruit so long, For whom so late the ungathered apples hung. But now the wonder ceases, since I see She kept them only, Tityrus, for thee; For thee the bubbling springs appeared to mourn, And whispering pines made vows for thy return. TITYRUS. What should I do?--While here I was enchained, No glimpse of godlike liberty remained; Nor could I hope, in any place but there, To find a god so present to my prayer. There first the youth of heavenly birth I viewed,[295] For whom our monthly victims are renewed. He heard my vows, and graciously decreed My grounds to be restored, my former flocks to feed. MELIBOEUS. O fortunate old man! whose farm remains-- } For you sufficient--and requites your pains; } Though rushes overspread the neighbouring plains, } Though here the marshy grounds approach your fields, And there the soil a stony harvest yields. Your teeming ewes shall no strange meadows try, Nor fear a rot from tainted company. Behold! yon bordering fence of sallow trees Is fraught with flowers, the flowers are fraught with bees; The busy bees, with a soft murmuring strain, Invite to gentle sleep the labouring swain. While, from the neighbouring rock, with rural songs, The pruner's voice the pleasing dream prolongs, Stock-doves and turtles tell their amorous pain, And, from the lofty elms, of love complain. TITYRUS. The inhabitants of seas and skies shall change, And fish on shore, and stags in air, shall range, The banished Parthian dwell on Arar's brink, And the blue German shall the Tigris drink, Ere I, forsaking gratitude and truth, Forget the figure of that godlike youth. MELIBOEUS.