Illustrated history of ancient literature, oriental and classical

by John D. Quackenbos

Menalcas.

Storms are the fruit-tree’s bane; the brook’s, a summer hot and dry!

The stag’s, a woven net; a gin, the dove’s;

Mankind’s, a soft sweet maiden. Others have pined ere I:

Zeus! Father! hast not thou thy lady-loves?

Thus far, in alternating strains, the lads their woes rehearsed:

Then each one gave a closing stave. Thus sang Menalcas first:

Menalcas.

O spare, good wolf, my weanlings! their milky mothers spare!

Harm not the little lad who hath so many in his care!