FROM the forests and highlands

    We come we come；

    From the river-girt islands

    Where loud waves are dumb

    Listening to my sweet pipings.

    The wind in the reeds and the rushes

    The bees on the bells of thyme

    The birds on the myrtle bushes

    The cicale above in the lime

    And the lizards¹ below in the grass

    Were as silent as ever old Tmolus was

    Listening to my sweet pipings.

    Liquid Peneus was flowing

    And all dark Tempe lay

    In Pelion's shadow outgrowing²

    The light of the dying day

    Speeded by my sweet pipings.

    The Sileni and Sylvans and Fauns

    And the Nymphs of the woods and waves

    To the edge of the moist river-lawns

    And the brink³ of the dewy caves

    And all that did then attend and follow

    Were silent with love as you now Apollo

    With envy of my sweet pipings.

    I sang of the dancing stars

    I sang of the d？dal earth

    And of heaven and the giant wars

    And love and death and birth.

    And then I changed my pipings—

    Singing how down the vale of M？nalus

    I pursued a maiden⁴ and clasp'd a reed：

    Gods and men we are all deluded⁵ thus！

    It breaks in our bosom⁶ and then we bleed.

    All wept—as I think both ye now would

    If envy or age had not frozen your blood—

    At the sorrow of my sweet pipings.

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