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Rhodope (Greece) (search for this): poem 8
ts, my shaggy brow, and untrimmed beard, nor deem'st that any god for mortal doings hath regard or care. ‘Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays.’ Once with your mother, in our orchard-garth, a little maid I saw you—I your guide— plucking the dewy apples. My twelfth year I scarce had entered, and could barely reach the brittle boughs. I looked, and I was lost; a sudden frenzy swept my wits away. ‘Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays.’ Now know I what Love is: 'mid savage rocks tmaros or Rhodope brought forth the boy, or Garamantes in earth's utmost bounds— no kin of ours, nor of our blood begot. ‘Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays.’ Fierce Love it was once steeled a mother's heart with her own offspring's blood her hands to imbrue: mother, thou too wert cruel; say wert thou more cruel, mother, or more ruthless he? Ruthless the boy, thou, mother, cruel too. ‘Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays.’ Now let the wolf turn tail and fly the sheep, tough oaks bear g
e green sedge beside a stream, love-lorn, nor marks the gathering night that calls her home— as pines that heifer, with such love as hers may Daphnis pine, and I not care to heal. ‘Draw from the town, my songs, draw Daphnis home.’ These relics once, dear pledges of himself, the traitor left me, which, O earth, to thee here on this very threshold I commit— pledges that bind him to redeem the debt. ‘Draw from the town, my songs, draw Daphnis home.’ These herbs of bane to me did Moeris give, in Pontus culled, where baneful herbs abound. With these full oft have I seen Moeris change to a wolf's form, and hide him in the woods, oft summon spirits from the tomb's recess, and to new fields transport the standing corn. ‘Draw from the town, my songs, draw Daphnis home.’ Take ashes, Amaryllis, fetch them forth, and o'er your head into the running brook fling them, nor look behind: with these will upon the heart of Daphnis make essay. Nothing for gods, nothing for songs cares he. ‘Draw