But yesterday I made it: this finger feels the pain
Still, where indeed the rifted reed hath cut it clean in twain.
But who shall be our umpire? who listen to our strain?
Menalcas.
Suppose we hail yon goatherd; him at whose horned herd now
The dog is barking—yonder dog with white upon his brow.
Then out they called: the goatherd marked them, and up came he;
Then out they sang; the goatherd their umpire fain would be.
To shrill Menalcas’ lot it fell to start the woodland lay:
Then Daphnis took it up. And thus Menalcas led the way.