University of Virginia Library

PROLOGUE.

If the pale shade of old Theocritus,
Wandered from far Elysium, look on us
With sad yet kindly smile, some genial ray
Of olden sunshine, from the unwithered bay
Crowning his brows, upon our pastoral stage
Fall slantingly and bright, 'tis all our age
Dare hope. Yet, though in sweet Sicilian air,
Which but to breathe were cordial to all care,
We walk not, his impassioned nightingale
Visits us still, with the old rapturous tale
Among our blossoming apple-trees by night,
Shy and yet constant. So, not banished quite
By Babel and its din, where once she set
Her buskined feet in triumph, lingers yet
The shy Muse in that Thespian bower she ranged
Singing, ere yet the speech of man was changed
For tones unrhythmical. O, let none sneer
If, singing still, she strive to charm your ear
With vowelled verse, to set before your eyes
An Idyll, picturing 'neath sunnier skies
The shepherd folk of some dim age of gold,
Which yet the laurelled bards in days of old
Ne'er sang: another age, another art.
And haply even the tir'd modern heart
Still keeps its quiet pastoral places, where
The shy Muse comes. O let us enter there,
There sing, there dance, there act our comedy,
And your good-will amend our poesy!