Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE PASTORAL, by PIERRE LOUIS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE PASTORAL, by                    
First Line: The flute that melts beneath his spreading fingers
Last Line: My pastoral flute to your silver olympian lyre.
Alternate Author Name(s): Louys, Pierre
Subject(s): Flutes; Muses; Music & Musicians; Shepherds & Shepherdesses; Singing & Singers; Songs


The flute that melts beneath his spreading fingers,
Sweet to the lips, and quickened, as a maid,
Vibrates, and the swarm of clear held warblings lingers
Over the murmuring fields where his goats have strayed.
The lad, with his light reed, sings to no avail:
Echo alone, far-off and sad, replies.
The Muses are remote from the shepherd's dale
Where a cricket inspires, and a black wing terrifies.
But the youth: "I am, O radiant Apollo,
A singer of pastorals, pure for the cult of the god.
I raise my hopes to the laurel crown that your nod
Bestows; and I wish, that your favoring smile may follow,
To consecrate on the altar of heath and briar
My pastoral flute to your silver Olympian lyre.





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